Unite and Conquer: Can Tisza Bring Down the Orbán System?

Over 16 years in power, Fidesz has reshaped its voter base from a traditionally conservative electorate into a broad illiberal coalition – one increasingly held together by patronage and dependency rather than ideology. After an endless list of scandals exposed the rot at the heart of this system, the question becomes whether Tisza’s coalition of younger, predominantly urban, and well-educated voters can mobilise widely enough to bring down Hungary’s autocracy. Orbán will stop at nothing to cling on to power.

For most of the 20th century, the working class-middle class divide was treated almost as a synonym for left-right in developed democracies. While the nature of this divide has evolved with the decline of traditional parties, class remains a significant predictor of voting behaviour in Western European countries. By contrast, in Eastern European democracies established after the fall of communism, the relationship to the former socialist regime has been more important than class position in determining political orientation.

The socialist system sought to determine who would fill specific positions across all levels of society. Unlike the electoral procedures typical of democratic systems, the selection of the nomenklatura was based on appointments made by the party. Appointment powers extended well beyond politics, including the nationalised economy and other segments and bodies of social life. Within the one-party state, this mechanism facilitated the smooth functioning of top-down decision-making and unquestioning implementation at every level of the system.

The nomenklatura was such a defining feature of the social order that, following the transition of 1989-90, it became one of the key political cleavages in the new system. While this cleavage progressively lost its relevance as the former elite retired from politics, Viktor Orbán’s party, Fidesz, reintroduced a new version of it with the so-called “System of National Cooperation”. Under this system, established in 2010, most appointment powers are held by the ruling party, and they extend to every aspect of public and economic life, from tobacco shop licenses to academic positions and local administrations.

This system has evolved into an effective support machine for Fidesz. Members of the nomenklatura regularly mobilise society in favour of the party, while those whose interests it has damaged tend to support Tisza, the leading opposition party.

Similar to how Fidesz reinvented the nomenklatura, the party was also very successful in reorganising its voter base over three and a half decades since its founding.

Who supports Orbán?

In 1990, when Fidesz was registered as a party and took part in its first parliamentary elections, the youthful nature of its base was visible in the party’s name (Fidesz is an acronym for Fiatal Demokraták Szövetsége, “Alliance of Young Democrats”), style, and electoral manifesto. Over the years, Fidesz began to attract older, less-educated, lower-status groups as well, partly due to its growing size. However, the party’s efforts were also devoted to winning over the middle class, as the 1995 addition of “Hungarian Civic Party” to its name suggests.

Later, as the Hungarian Socialist Party (MSZP) and the trade unions lost workers’ trust in the wake of the 2008 economic crisis, Fidesz succeeded in making the nation an attractive collective identity for the working class. In this framing, the nation is seen as a community of moral solidarity. Thanks to this narrative, the proportion of manual labourers supporting Fidesz peaked in 2010. It has somewhat declined since then, but the party is still primarily supported by lower-status groups. Today, Fidesz’s main base has shifted to the poorer neighbourhoods of major cities and the regions suffering from economic depression.

In many European countries, the urban-rural divide has become a defining political cleavage. A high degree of urbanisation often makes voting for the Left more likely, except where socialist movements have succeeded in aligning themselves with agrarian interests (for example, in Sweden). In Hungary, this division has shaped political behaviour from the early days of democracy in the 1990s. Budapest and a few other cities (typically those with a university campus) have diverged significantly from the rest of the country in most elections. Since 2002, Fidesz’s electoral support has consistently been roughly 10 per cent lower in Budapest than in the countryside. The party’s voter base has a strong rural, regional dimension: its strongholds are eight electoral districts located in the peripheral Southern Transdanubia and in the north-eastern part of the country.

Religion has also played an important role in shaping the profiles of political parties. In 1990, the first coalition government was not brought together by a shared economic vision, but by a commitment to the Christian-national tradition. Since 2010, the Fidesz government has provided significant support to religious organisations through budgetary allocations. In return for this support, the spiritual leaders of the Roman Catholic and the Reformed Church (Calvinist) have regularly mobilised their believers to vote for Fidesz.

In Hungary, the explanatory power of the left-right axis was strongest in 2006, at the height of the two-party system. At that time, “socialist” and “left-wing” were virtually synonymous, just as “Fidesz” and “right-wing”. Since then, voting behaviour and ideological self-identification have become somewhat decoupled, in connection with the emergence of new parties. For example, the radical-moderate axis gained relevance after the extreme-right Mi Hazánk Mozgalom (“Our Homeland Movement”) won parliamentary representation in 2022.

Today, Fidesz primarily appeals to voters of lower social and economic status, the elderly and retirees, the Roma minority, the unemployed, and other groups dependent on government transfers. In many ways, Fidesz’s current voter base resembles that of MSZP in 2010. Among those aged 30 to 44, support for Fidesz does not even reach 10 per cent.

When “winner takes all” backfires

Under Orbán, Hungary experienced a well-documented decline in the quality of democracy. The government removed checks and balances and introduced radical constitutional transformations. Hungary became an illiberal system in which the government regularly frames the opposition as an enemy of the people. Fidesz created a structure where political competition is viewed as an all-or-nothing struggle.

This dynamic made it increasingly challenging for the opposition to operate. By 2018, over 70 per cent of opposition voters (73 per cent of Jobbik voters and 87 per cent of supporters of other parties) did not consider parliamentary elections to be fair and free of fraud. Despite opposition forces trying all possible electoral formulas to beat Orbán’s government at elections – from coordinating their candidates to open, multiparty, and digitalprimaries – Fidesz has won two-thirds majorities consecutively. Over the years, it has become evident that the parliamentary opposition to Fidesz cannot withstand the sustained pressure of the “System of National Cooperation”.

However, illiberal systems can also be fragile. When they fail, it is often due to their inability to manage economic crises and internal scandals, or an overreach that causes them to lose support among more moderate voters. Fidesz’s downfall may come from a combination of these factors.

A series of scandals involving the ruling party has eroded its foothold among traditionally well-off, conservative voters, including those in Budapest districts I, II, and XII.  These voters were outraged to find out that Viktor Orbán’s father, Győző, is about to complete construction of an opulent palace that flies in the face of the ethical principle of civic modesty. They were equally shaken when Gergő Bese, a Catholic priest who amplified Orbán’s anti-LGBTQIA+ rhetoric, was found to have participated in gay sex parties in 2024.

But it was another scandal that dealt Fidesz the biggest – and possibly decisive – blow in the eyes of many voters. In February 2024, revelations that President Katalin Novák had pardoned a man involved in the cover-up of a child sexual abuse case led to her resignation. Former Minister of Justice Judit Varga, who had signed the pardons, also resigned from her parliamentary seat and from her role as leader of the Fidesz list for the European elections.

It was this crisis that catapulted Péter Magyar, Varga’s ex-husband, to the centre of Hungarian political life. His first move was to organise an anti-government protest on 15 March, a national holiday commemorating the 1848 Revolution and the War of Independence against Habsburg rule. Since then, the opposition movement led by Magyar has grown to the point of threatening the illiberal incumbents.

Back to a two-party system?

Party systems in East-Central Europe have already demonstrated in the wake of the 2009 economic crisis that they are generally less stable and more permeable to newcomers than those in long-established democracies. In Hungary’s 2010 elections, two new parties (the conservative Jobbik and the green-liberal LMP) entered the parliament, and the two main forces that had emerged from the regime change (the Socialists and the centre-right Hungarian Democratic Forum) suffered major losses from which they never recovered. Meanwhile, Fidesz gained a two-thirds majority of seats.

This week’s elections are likely to be just as consequential. All current parliamentary opposition parties could lose representation, which would effectively turn Hungary into a two-party system again. The fact that some opposition candidates withdrew in order to maximise the chances of defeating Orban makes this outcome more likely.

Tisza is projected to win comfortably in Budapest, its main stronghold, and in all other large urban areas. Voters under the age of 40 are more likely than average to choose Magyar’s party. First-time voters and college graduates also support it at a higher-than-average rate. The large number of voters (approximately 220,000) who have registered to cast their ballots at an address other than their official address reflects the mobilisation of university students in favour of Tisza.

But Magyar’s party also appeals to those who identify as upper and upper-middle class, and a majority of its supporters are religious. In this respect, Tisza’s voter base resembles that of Fidesz back in 2006. Moreover, Tisza is expected to win about 70 per cent of the vote of Hungarians living abroad – another constituency that traditionally supported Fidesz. This shift reflects the dissatisfaction of Hungarians who emigrated after Fidesz came to power in 2010.

Vote rigging and social tension

According to most polls, Tisza is well ahead, while a growing list of scandals – from fabricated espionage charges against a journalist to allegations of Russian interference and a major pollution case – is damaging Orbán’s chances. However, it would be premature to count Fidesz out.

A documentary released in March, drawing on a six-month investigation by independent filmmakers and journalists, exposed the scale of Fidesz’s illicit efforts to secure votes. Citizens, mayors, former election officials, and a police officer interviewed in the film claim that voters who are disloyal to the ruling party may be punished by being denied access to work opportunities, firewood, water, and electricity. In some cases, parents are even threatened that their children might be taken away from them.  

According to the investigation, Fidesz is attempting to secure more than half a million votes using these methods, primarily in economically disadvantaged villages in northern and eastern Hungary. These practices are not new, and have been used to maximise the ruling party’s vote share over the years. These revelations cast serious shadows over the legitimacy of the electoral system.

The situation might become explosive if the election fails to produce a clear winner. If Fidesz loses by a tight margin, it could challenge the result using the outgoing parliament to overhaul the political system and cement Viktor Orbán’s power, presenting it as the only way to avoid chaos. A mob-like assault of the institutions, similar to that carried out by Donald Trump’s supporters after the US elections in 2021, cannot be ruled out either.

For the first time in many years, Fidesz seems unable to control the political agenda and communication. The question is whether this will be enough to oust a ruling party that has held power with a two-thirds majority for four consecutive mandates, or whether the predictions of investigative journalists and political experts – who have been warning for months that Orbán’s transfer of power will not be smooth – will prove accurate.

Tschernobyl: Wie die Katastrophe Bulgarien und Osteuropa geprägt hat

Um 1:23 Uhr morgens am 26. April 1986 kam es im Reaktor Nummer 4 des Kernkraftwerks Tschernobyl in der UdSSR zu einer katastrophalen Kernschmelze und Explosion, die einen Teil der Anlage zerstörte. Der Reaktorkern lag frei und setzte große Mengen radioaktiver Substanzen in die Atmosphäre frei. In den folgenden Monaten wurden mehr als 200.000 Menschen aus den umliegenden Gebieten evakuiert.

Der radioaktive Niederschlag, der vom Wind verbreitet wurde, verseuchte große Teile Europas, wobei die Ukraine, Belarus und Russland am stärksten betroffen waren. Die Emissionen dauerten bis zum 5. Mai an und bildeten Wolken aus Cäsium-137 und anderen Isotopen, deren Konzentration zwar mit zunehmender Entfernung abnahm, aber dennoch weite Gebiete beeinträchtigte. Der Niederschlag erreichte am 1. Mai den Balkan.

Damals war Dimitar Vatsov ein 15-jähriger Gymnasiast in Sofia. „Kurz nach den radioaktiven Regenfällen schickte der Komsomol [die Jugendorganisation der Kommunistischen Partei] meine Klasse zur Arbeit auf die Felder“, erinnert er sich. „Jeden Morgen holte uns ein Bus ab, um Spinat und Schnittlauch zu ernten.“

Bis zum 7. Mai gaben die bulgarischen Behörden keine öffentliche Erklärung zu der Katastrophe ab. In späteren offiziellen Stellungnahmen wurde behauptet, die Umweltverschmutzung sei minimal und erfordere keine besonderen Maßnahmen. Vier von Vatsovs Klassenkamerad*innen starben später an Krebs.

Diese Erfahrung hinterließ tiefe Spuren bei ihm. Heute ist er Philosoph und Professor an der Neuen Bulgarischen Universität in Sofia. Im vergangenen Herbst startete er ein Seminar, das sich ausschließlich mit den Folgen der Katastrophe von Tschernobyl in Bulgarien befasst und Historiker*innen, Journalist*innen und Kernphysiker*innen zusammenbringt.

„Bulgarien war das einzige Land im sozialistischen Block, das nach der Katastrophe keine Maßnahmen ergriff“, erklärt er. Obwohl Bulgarien laut einem Bericht der Vereinten Nationen nur an achter Stelle der am stärksten von der Strahlung betroffenen Länder steht, wies es die höchste Rate an Schilddrüsenkrebs bei Kindern außerhalb der ehemaligen UdSSR auf. „Als Philosoph veranlasste mich diese Besonderheit, über die Wahrheit, die Ethik des politischen Diskurses und, allgemeiner gesagt, über den Zynismus des damaligen kommunistischen Regimes nachzudenken.“

Nur keine Panik! – Bulgarisches Schweigen

Bulgarien sticht als das Land hervor, in dem Informationen am stärksten zensiert und keine sinnvollen Maßnahmen ergriffen wurden.

Nach dem Unfall von Tschernobyl wurden Informationen in den Ostblockländern sorgfältig gefiltert, um die wahrgenommenen Risiken der Katastrophe zu minimieren und gleichzeitig das Ansehen der UdSSR zu wahren. In der Tschechoslowakei beispielsweise wurde das Wort katastrofa in der Anfangsphase bewusst vermieden, während der Begriff havárie („Katastrophe“) nur sparsam und in der Regel ohne weitere Präzisierungen verwendet wurde. In offiziellen Berichten wurden die sowjetische Fachkompetenz und Heldentaten, die schnelle Eindämmung des Unfalls und die angebliche Übertreibung der Ereignisse durch die „westlichen imperialistischen Medien“ hervorgehoben. Dennoch sticht Bulgarien als das Land hervor, in dem Informationen am stärksten zensiert und keine sinnvollen Maßnahmen ergriffen wurden.

„Ceaușescu – einer der autoritärsten Diktatoren jener Zeit – warnte die Rumän*innen am 2. Mai vor der Gefahr einer Kontamination. In Jugoslawien wurden schwangere Frauen und Kinder aufgefordert, zu Hause zu bleiben, und es wurden grundlegende Vorsichtsmaßnahmen empfohlen, wie beispielsweise das Waschen von frischen Lebensmitteln. In Bulgarien herrschte völlige Informationssperre“, sagt Vatsov.

Der Kernphysiker Georgi Kaschiev, der im Kernkraftwerk Kosloduj im Nordwesten Bulgariens arbeitete, erinnert sich noch lebhaft an diese Tage: „Die einzige Information, die wir erhielten, war, dass es in Tschernobyl gebrannt hatte und dass das Feuer gelöscht worden war.“ Dank einer großen Antenne, die auf seinem Gebäude installiert war, konnte Kaschiev jedoch jugoslawische Fernsehsendungen empfangen. „Berichte aus Schweden und Finnland deuteten schnell darauf hin, dass der Vorfall weitaus schwerwiegender war, als offiziell zugegeben wurde. Westliche Medien zeigten Satellitenbilder aus den Vereinigten Staaten, die den zerstörten Reaktor zeigten, Karten, die die radioaktive Wolke verfolgten, und Berichte, dass Jugoslawien Flugzeuge geschickt hatte, um seine Student*innen aus Kiew zu evakuieren.“

Ende April hatten Kaschiev und seine Kolleg*innen erkannt, dass sich die Wolke in Richtung Bulgarien bewegte. Zwischen dem 1. und 2. Mai stieg die Strahlenbelastung auf das Zehnfache des natürlichen Hintergrundwertes, insbesondere nach Regenfällen. Da die Behörden weiterhin schwiegen, breitete sich in der Bevölkerung Panik aus: Ingenieure warnten ihre Angehörigen, grundlegende Vorsichtsmaßnahmen zu treffen. Oft stießen sie dabei auf Unglauben. Nachfolgende Analysen von Lebensmittelproben, darunter Milch aus bulgarischen Betrieben, bestätigten eine extreme Kontamination.

Analysen von Lebensmittelproben, darunter Milch aus bulgarischen Betrieben, bestätigten eine extreme Kontamination.

Aus heute zugänglichen Archivdokumenten geht hervor, dass die bulgarische Regierung die Entwicklung der Katastrophe und das Ausmaß der Kontamination in Europa und innerhalb Bulgariens genau beobachtete. Dazu gehörten die Analyse der Berichterstattung in der ausländischen Presse, Geheimdienstberichte und tägliche Strahlenmessungen im ganzen Land. Vatsov zufolge befürchtete das Politbüro der Bulgarischen Kommunistischen Partei, dass die Offenlegung des tatsächlichen Ausmaßes der Kontamination Panik auslösen und möglicherweise zu politischen Unruhen und Demonstrationen führen würde, wie es in Polen geschehen war. „Darüber hinaus kann ich es nur als eine Form moralischer Schwäche seitens der herrschenden Eliten beschreiben, die ihre Verachtung für den Rest der Bevölkerung zum Ausdruck brachten.“

Petko Kovachev, ein Umweltaktivist, der 1986 seinen Wehrdienst absolvierte, erinnert sich, dass die Armee schnell handelte: „Wir bekamen plötzlich keine frischen Lebensmittel mehr zu essen, sondern nur noch Konserven in der Kantine. Outdoor-Aktivitäten wurden abgesagt, und wir wurden angewiesen, die Strahlenbelastung rund um die Basis mit Geigerzählern zu messen.“ Diese Sicherheitsvorkehrungen brachten jedoch keine größere Klarheit. „Uns wurde nie gesagt, was vor sich ging, und von uns wurde erwartet, dass wir Befehle ohne Fragen befolgten. Erst Jahre später wurde mir das Ausmaß der Katastrophe vollständig bewusst.“

Der Zynismus der Nomenklatura

Der Umgang mit den Folgen von Tschernobyl in Bulgarien offenbarte eklatante Ungleichheiten beim Zugang zu Informationen und beim Gesundheitsschutz. An der Spitze der Hierarchie stand die Nomenklatura – hochrangige Parteifunktionäre, politische Polizisten, Verwaltungsbeamte und Militärs. Während der Krise hatten sie privilegierten Zugang zu Mahlzeiten und Vorräten, die über das staatliche Rila-Hotel im Zentrum von Sofia verteilt wurden. Das Politbüro wurde mit Mineralwasser aus tiefen Quellen und importierten Lebensmitteln versorgt, darunter Lammfleisch aus Australien und Gemüse aus Ägypten und Israel, um eine radioaktive Kontamination zu vermeiden.

Laut Vatsov war die oberste Führungsschicht dieser Nomenklatura – etwa 300 Personen – nie gefährdet, da die für ihre Sicherheit und ihr Wohlergehen zuständigen Behörden besondere Maßnahmen ergriffen hatten. „Das Militär wandte weniger strenge Maßnahmen an, die jedoch ebenfalls die Gefährdung verringerten. Der Rest der Bevölkerung wurde in völliger Unkenntnis gehalten.“

Die oberste Führungsschicht dieser Nomenklatura war nie gefährdet, da die für ihre Sicherheit und ihr Wohlergehen zuständigen Behörden besondere Maßnahmen ergriffen hatten.

Symbolisch für den Zynismus der Regierung war die Entscheidung, die Parade zum Tag der Arbeit am 1. Mai wie gewohnt abzuhalten. Viele Kinder marschierten in Sofia unter radioaktivem Regen. In diesem Monat fanden auch zahlreiche Propaganda-Sportveranstaltungen im ganzen Land statt, und „freiwillige Brigaden“, die sich hauptsächlich aus 15- bis 25-Jährigen zusammensetzten, verrichteten ihre Aufgaben im Freien, wie beispielsweise landwirtschaftliche Arbeiten oder Bauarbeiten. Schätzungsweise 365.000 junge Menschen waren auf diese Weise der Strahlung ausgesetzt.

Am 10. Mai, nach einem Treffen im Energieministerium in Sofia, besuchte Kaschiev seine Schwägerin. Kinder spielten draußen vor dem Wohnblock, während die Erwachsenen sich ungezwungen unterhielten. Als er sie aufforderte, die Kinder im Haus zu lassen und sie nicht im Sandkasten spielen zu lassen, wurde seine Warnung abgetan. „Sie warfen mir vor, Panikmache zu betreiben“, erinnert er sich. „Jemand sagte mir sogar, ich sei wahrscheinlich ein westlicher Agent und drohte mir, die Behörden zu benachrichtigen.“

Ungeachtet der oft unzureichenden Maßnahmen behielten alle Länder des Ostblocks, darunter auch die Tschechoslowakei und Ungarn, die obligatorischen Maiparaden bei. Auch in Polen fanden die Feierlichkeiten zum 1. Mai wie geplant statt, wobei die Regierung öffentlich jegliches Gesundheitsrisiko dementierte. Gleichzeitig verteilten die polnischen Behörden jedoch Jod und beschränkten den Verkauf von Milch. Die rasche Verteilung von Jod, die am Nachmittag des 29. April begann, wird oft als vorbildliche Reaktion auf einen radioaktiven Notfall angeführt. Es handelt sich nach wie vor um die größte präventive medizinische Maßnahme, die jemals in so kurzer Zeit durchgeführt wurde: Innerhalb von drei Tagen erhielten 18,5 Millionen Menschen, darunter Erwachsene und Kinder, Jodlösung.

Wissenschaft und Umweltaktivismus

Kurz nach dem Fall des Regimes erfuhr Kovachev durch eine von Physiker*innen der Universität Sofia organisierte Ausstellung mehr über die Katastrophe von Tschernobyl und ihre Folgen. Bereits unter dem Kommunismus gehörten einige von ihnen zu informellen Umweltnetzwerken, aus denen später Ecoglasnost hervorging, eine Organisation, der Kovachev als Student beitrat.

Ecoglasnost wurde im Frühjahr 1989 gegründet, nur wenige Monate vor dem Fall des Kommunismus. Es handelte sich um eine Bürgerbewegung, die sich auf den Umweltschutz konzentrierte und aus der politischen Liberalisierung hervorging, die durch die sowjetische Glasnost inspiriert war. Im Herbst organisierte sie Petitionen und öffentliche Demonstrationen, darunter die Kundgebung am 3. November in Sofia, die weithin als eine der ersten offenen Mobilisierungen der Bürger gegen das kommunistische Regime angesehen wird. Die Bewegung erweiterte ihre Forderungen bald um bürgerliche Freiheiten und demokratische Reformen. Im Dezember 1989 wurde Ecoglasnost als erste nichtkommunistische politische Organisation in Bulgarien offiziell anerkannt und spielte später eine Schlüsselrolle beim Aufbau der demokratischen Opposition, indem sie sich der Union der Demokratischen Kräfte (einer politischen Partei, die mehrere Organisationen vereinte, die sich gegen die kommunistische Regierung stellten) anschloss. Sie initiierte auch die ersten Inspektionen des Kernkraftwerks Kosloduj.

Das Engagement der Wissenschaft in Umweltkämpfen trug in den letzten Jahren des Regimes zu dessen Schwächung bei. Es hatte sich zunächst in Ruse im Norden Bulgariens manifestiert, wo die Luftverschmutzung durch ein Chemiewerk jenseits der Grenze in Rumänien 1987 zu weit verbreiteten Protesten führte. Aus dieser Bewegung ging das Öffentliche Komitee zum Schutz der Umwelt von Ruse hervor, eine unter dem Kommunismus tolerierte informelle Organisation, die eine entscheidende Rolle bei den frühen nationalen Mobilisierungen und beim demokratischen Übergang spielte.

Etwa zur gleichen Zeit veranlasste die Entdeckung radioaktiver Stoffe in Form von „heißen Partikeln” in Bulgarien – ein Beweis für das Ausmaß der Katastrophe von Tschernobyl – mehrere Physiker*innen dazu, die Krise genau zu beobachten und ihre Folgen zu untersuchen. Die Ausstellung der Universität Sofia, die Kovachev im Dezember 1989 besuchte, war das Ergebnis dieser Forschungen und Beobachtungen.

Ähnliche Bewegungen gab es auch in anderen Ländern des sozialistischen Blocks, wie Ungarn und der Tschechoslowakei. Sie verbanden das Engagement bestimmter Wissenschaftler mit dem Bewusstsein für ökologische und demokratische Fragen.

Als die Strahlenwerte Ende April und Anfang Mai 1986 anstiegen, dokumentierten ungarische Wissenschaftler*innen und Gesundheitsexpert*innen die Kontamination und tauschten informell Informationen aus, während die offizielle Kommunikation begrenzt blieb und beruhigend wirkte. Die wachsende Kluft zwischen Expert*innenwissen und öffentlichen Verlautbarungen führte zu einer moralischen Dissonanz unter Fachleuten, die zwischen wissenschaftlicher Integrität und Loyalität gegenüber dem Staat hin- und hergerissen waren. In diesem Zusammenhang wurden Umweltbelange zu einer verschlüsselten Sprache, mit der Forderungen nach Rechenschaftspflicht und Transparenz zum Ausdruck gebracht wurden. Dies floss in reformistische Netzwerke ein, die später den ausgehandelten Übergang Ungarns zur Demokratie prägten.

In der ehemaligen Tschechoslowakei trug die Katastrophe von Tschernobyl ebenfalls dazu bei, ökologische Bewegungen zu mobilisieren, die später zu wichtigen Akteuren der Samtenen Revolution von 1989 wurden. Obwohl das Regime zu den repressivsten im Ostblock gehörte, tolerierte es Umweltaktivismus mehr als offene politische Dissidenz, da es Bedenken hinsichtlich Umweltverschmutzung, Wasserverschmutzung oder Landschaftszerstörung als relativ harmlos und schwer zu zensieren ansah.

Die zweite Welle der Kontamination

Da die bulgarischen Behörden keine Maßnahmen ergriffen, weideten Kühe, Schafe und Ziegen bis zum Frühjahr 1987 weiterhin auf kontaminierten Weiden und fraßen radioaktives Futter. Milchprodukte aus dieser Nahrungskette blieben im Umlauf, was zu einer „zweiten Welle” der Kontamination führte, die schätzungsweise fast 30 Prozent der Gesamtbelastung ausmachte. Diese Situation – einzigartig in der Geschichte der Katastrophe von Tschernobyl – erklärt die außergewöhnlich hohen Schilddrüsenkrebsraten bei sehr kleinen Kindern in Bulgarien.

Die pensionierte Physikerin Liliana Prodanova, die damals am Institut für Festkörperphysik arbeitete, erfuhr erst Mitte Mai von der Schwere der Lage. „Mein Mann war Vizerektor der Technischen Universität Sofia. Ich selbst war auf Siliziumforschung spezialisiert, daher verstanden wir die Auswirkungen einer solchen Kontamination sehr gut. Wir trafen stillschweigend Vorsichtsmaßnahmen, wie zum Beispiel das systematische Waschen von Lebensmitteln. Außerdem entfernten wir kontaminierte Erde rund um unser Landhaus. In diesem Jahr pflanzten wir nichts an.“

Prodanova erinnert sich, dass sie und ihre Kolleg*innen oft von Freund*innen gebeten wurden, die Radioaktivität von Joghurt für Kinder mit den Geräten des Physikinstituts zu messen. „Wir taten dies diskret, ohne eine offizielle Genehmigung einzuholen.“

Die Nomenklatura hingegen war sich des Risikos voll bewusst. Sie testete die bulgarischen Milchprodukte, die sie konsumierte, und importierte den Rest aus dem Ausland. Rund um den Königspalast von Vratsa am Stadtrand von Sofia, der damals von Parteifunktionären bewohnt war, wurden im Mai die Weiden gemäht, um eine Kontamination zu verhindern. Das Heu wurde jedoch an Viehzuchtgenossenschaften weitergegeben, die die Hauptstadt belieferten und dort kontaminierte Milchprodukte herstellten.

Kaschiev erinnert sich, dass die Physiker*innen des Kernkraftwerks Kosloduj ein spezialisiertes Forschungslabor nutzten, um eigene Messgeräte zu entwickeln. Sie entwarfen ein Gerät zur Messung der Strahlenbelastung der Schilddrüse. „Diejenigen, die Anfang Mai keine Vorsichtsmaßnahmen getroffen hatten, insbesondere Menschen, die zu dieser Zeit im Urlaub waren, waren einer bis zu 10.000-mal höheren Kontamination ausgesetzt als wir. Anfang Mai habe ich so viel Käse und Milchpulver wie möglich gekauft. Das hat uns wahrscheinlich auch während der zweiten Welle geschützt“, sagt er.

Die Tschernobyl-Dissidenten

Laut Vatsov gab es vor dem Unfall von Tschernobyl in Bulgarien keine wirklichen Dissidenten. „Das Bewusstsein, von den Behörden getäuscht und ernsthaften Gesundheitsrisiken ausgesetzt worden zu sein, prägte das politische Engagement einer ganzen Generation, insbesondere innerhalb der wissenschaftlichen Gemeinschaft.“

Kaschiev ist ein gutes Beispiel dafür. Tschernobyl prägte sowohl sein politisches Engagement als auch seinen beruflichen Werdegang. Seine Wut über das moralische und politische Versagen des Regimes veranlasste ihn, sich auf die nukleare Sicherheit zu konzentrieren. Ab Ende der 1980er Jahre wechselte er von der Reaktorphysik zur Risikobewertung, zunächst als Sicherheitskritiker innerhalb des Kraftwerks, dann als Universitätsdozent und Nuklearinspektor. 1997 wurde er zum Leiter des nationalen nuklearen Regulierungslabors Bulgariens ernannt.

Auch in anderen sozialistischen Ländern wurde die Katastrophe von Tschernobyl zum Auslöser für Widerstand gegen das Regime. In Polen entwickelte sich daraus eine starke Anti-Atomkraft-Bewegung. Die Ängste vor der Katastrophe führten schnell zu Widerstand gegen das geplante Kernkraftwerk Żarnowiec und lösten landesweite Proteste aus, an denen sich Umweltgruppen, lokale Aktivist*innen und Dissident*innen wie Lech Wałęsa beteiligten, der später der erste demokratisch gewählte Präsident des Landes wurde. In einem 1990 parallel zu den Kommunalwahlen abgehaltenen Referendum lehnten mehr als 86 Prozent der Wähler*innen das Projekt Żarnowiec ab, woraufhin die Regierung es noch im selben Jahr aufgab. Wie der Politikwissenschaftler Kacper Szulecki feststellt, spiegelten diese Mobilisierungen einen umfassenden sozialen und generationsübergreifenden Wandel wider und beschleunigten ihn gleichzeitig, während sie parallel die Legitimität Moskaus in Polen weiter untergruben.

Die desaströse Bewältigung der Tschernobyl-Katastrophe hat vor allem die Unmoral und den Zynismus des kommunistischen Regimes sowie die Irrationalität seiner Ideologie offenbart.

Obwohl die Katastrophe bleibende Spuren in der bulgarischen Gesellschaft hinterlassen hat, führte sie nicht zu einer groß angelegten Anti-Atomkraft-Bewegung. Das Kraftwerk Kozloduy, das renoviert wurde und noch heute in Betrieb ist, gilt weithin als Quelle des Nationalstolzes und als Garantie für die Energieunabhängigkeit. Die desaströse Bewältigung der Tschernobyl-Katastrophe hat vor allem die Unmoral und den Zynismus des kommunistischen Regimes sowie die Irrationalität seiner Ideologie offenbart.

Im Dezember 1991, nach dem Sturz des Regimes, verurteilte der Oberste Gerichtshof in Sofia den ehemaligen Gesundheitsminister Lyubomir Shindarov und den ehemaligen stellvertretenden Ministerpräsidenten Grigor Stoichkov wegen vorsätzlicher Irreführung der Öffentlichkeit zu Haftstrafen wegen fahrlässiger Tötung. Nach einem langwierigen Berufungsverfahren wurden ihre Strafen auf drei und zwei Jahre Haft reduziert. Sie sind die einzigen hochrangigen Beamten des bulgarischen Regimes, die wegen ihres Umgangs mit der Katastrophe von Tschernobyl ordnungsgemäß strafrechtlich verfolgt und zu Haftstrafen verurteilt wurden.

Der Kernphysiker Atanas Krastanov, der in den 1980er Jahren als junger Forscher Zeuge des Mismanagements der Katastrophe durch die bulgarischen Behörden wurde, glaubt, dass die Kernenergie an sich nicht das Problem ist. Er betont, dass „der Unfall von Tschernobyl in erster Linie auf menschliches Versagen zurückzuführen war“ und merkt an, dass „es sich ursprünglich nicht um eine nukleare Explosion handelte, sondern um eine thermische Explosion, die durch Druckaufbau verursacht wurde“. Heute arbeitet Krastanov als Experte im Zentrum für Katastrophen-, Unfall- und Krisenprävention in Nadezdain Sofia. Vor kurzem war er Co-Autor eines Dokumentarfilms zu diesem Thema, der im Herbst dieses Jahres in Bulgarien erscheinen soll.

Climate Inaction Will Destroy Europe’s Public Budgets

Europe’s fiscal debate remains fixated on debt and deficits. Yet climate change represents a growing and still largely unpriced threat to public finances. Without early investment in mitigation and adaptation, families and businesses will face repeated shocks, higher prices, a weaker economy and a state forced into consistent emergency spending.

In late January, torrential rainfall triggered a massive landslide near Niscemi, Sicily, opening a 4-kilometre chasm beneath homes and forcing entire neighbourhoods to evacuate. Weeks later, storms swept across Spain and Portugal, forcing thousands to be driven from their homes and causing millions of euros of damage to crops. These are not isolated incidents. The 2021 floods in Germany and Belgium killed nearly 200 people and caused an estimated 46 billion euros in damage. Wildfires have repeatedly torn through Greece, Italy, France, and Spain, destroying homes and livelihoods. Indeed, NASA’s satellites recorded extreme weather events last year at twice the intensity of the 2003–2020 average. Climate impacts are increasingly shaping our lives and economies.

Yet the direction of European economic policy is running directly against this reality. Since 2024, the EU’s new fiscal rules have significantly constrained public investment capacity across member states, including for climate-related spending. At the same time, the Commission has moved to roll back core elements of the European Green Deal, weakening corporate sustainability reporting requirements, removing climate transition plan obligations for most companies, and diluting the 2035 internal combustion engine phase-out date, under the banner of competitiveness and simplification.

What is being set aside in economic policy making, in the rush to appear business-friendly, is any serious accounting of what climate inaction will actually cost. New modelling by the New Economics Foundation (NEF) incorporates physical climate damages, mitigation and adaptation costs, and the effect of climate risk on sovereign borrowing costs. It finds that average EU public debt could be around 58 percentage points of GDP higher than official climate agnostic projections by 2050, and around 197 percentage points higher by 2070, under a business-as-usual scenario in which global warming reaches approximately 2.5°C.

Climate change alters debt dynamics through at least three channels. First, it reduces potential economic output. Climate change lowers labour productivity, damages infrastructure and disrupts energy production, agriculture and tourism. These are not one-off shocks but cumulative drags on growth. In 2024 alone, heat exposure across the EU resulted in the loss of 90 million potential working hours, which amounts to 111 per cent more than the 1990–1999 average. Under current policies, OECD projections suggest GDP losses of around 12 per cent across the Mediterranean region by 2070, with Continental and Atlantic Europe close behind at around 10 per cent, and Nordic-Baltic countries seeing losses of just below 9 per cent.

Second, it increases public spending. Governments finance emergency relief, rebuild infrastructure, and support households and firms after disasters. As insurance gaps widen, with less than 20 per cent of climate-related losses in Europe privately insured between 1980 and 2024, the state increasingly becomes the payer of last resort. After the 2021 flood disaster, the German government established a 30-billion-euro reconstruction fund to cover what was not insured and to support local councils and infrastructure reconstruction.

Third, climate exposure and weak transition policies raise sovereign risk premiums, increasing borrowing costs themselves. Research by the ECB finds that climate risks are already being priced into sovereign bond markets. Countries with high carbon emissions face higher borrowing costs, and when extreme weather strikes, highly indebted governments see their yields rise. The implication is clear, as climate risks intensify, states that have not credibly mitigated and adapted to climate change will find it progressively more expensive to borrow.

The climate risk estimates may in fact be conservative. Most climate risk projections assume that climate damages rise gradually as temperatures increase and rely on historical data. But climate systems are not linear. Crossing tipping points, such as large-scale ice-sheet destabilisation or disruption of the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC), could trigger abrupt and potentially irreversible shifts. From an economic perspective, that means damages would not simply accumulate, they could accelerate, compound, and cascade across sectors and regions.

In contrast, scenarios in which governments frontload investment in clean energy, resilient infrastructure, and adaptation show substantially better long-run debt outcomes. The same NEF analysis finds that increased climate action today produces debt trajectories roughly 20 percentage points more favourable than business-as-usual by 2050, and 58 percentage points more favourable by 2070. If greater globally coordinated climate action were achieved, average EU debt falls below current official baseline projections by 2070. In effect, early public investment strengthens fiscal sustainability.

This is because early investment improves debt outcomes through three reinforcing mechanisms. First, it reduces emissions.  Less warming means less damage, and less damage means lower debt. Second, climate investment generates economic activity well above its cost. Research by the IMF finds that each euro of green public spending produces between 1.10 and 1.50 euros of output, as jobs are created, innovation accelerates, and productivity improves. Third, investment in adaptation to climate change reduces the fiscal cost of future climate shocks, so that when extreme weather strikes, the damage is contained. A framework that undervalues these dynamics is not prudent but instead is structurally biased against the investments most likely to improve economic outcomes. It is fiscally irresponsible.

Overcoming this requires a decisive expansion of public investment in clean energy, resilient infrastructure, and adaptation, financed through more progressive taxation, excluding green investment from fiscal rules and through common European borrowing that enables all member states to invest at scale. The case for doing so extends beyond climate risk alone. The conflict in Iran and the resulting energy price spike, Europe’s second major fossil fuel shock in less than five years, is a reminder that dependence on fossil fuels carries its own severe economic and fiscal costs. Investment in clean energy and efficiency is therefore also an investment in strategic resilience. Europe has already shown in the field of defence that it can both mobilise joint borrowing and create fiscal space by exempting strategic expenditure from fiscal constraints.

The choice, ultimately, is not between spending and saving. It is between investing now in resilience and transition, or spending far more later on lost economic potential, damage, recovery, and debt service. Every year of delay narrows the options and raises the bill.

A German version of this article was published in Surplus – Das Wirtschaftsmagazin on 2 April 2026.

How Europe Can Chart Its Own Economic Path

The industrial debate in Europe today revolves almost entirely around the notion of competitiveness. It is often argued that, in order to keep our industries alive, we must scale back our social and environmental standards. But is that really the only choice Europe has? An interview with Dutch economist Paul Schenderling by Elze Vermaas.

Elze Vermaas: Your previous book, Er is leven na de groei (“There Is Life After Growth”), imagined how the Netherlands can shape a post-growth transition at the national level. What motivated you to turn your attention to Europe in your new work, Continent van de kwaliteit (“A Continent of Quality”)?

Paul Schenderling: I really wrote this book out of emotion, because since last year a new narrative has begun to dominate. This narrative suggests that Europe is no longer competitive, and that in order to become competitive again, we should lower all the democratic standards we set for the economy. I truly believe this is not the path we should choose and that there is an alternative course with much more positive outcomes for people, the planet, and the economy. Europe is now facing that choice.

In your book, you argue that lowering democratic standards is linked to what you call the “painful divorce between democracy and capitalism”, and that our democratic options are limited by a “golden straitjacket”. Can you explain what you mean by that?

It was always very naïve to believe that democracy and capitalism would go hand in hand. What usually happens is that economic liberalism erodes people’s certainties, and companies ultimately gain so much influence over the democratic process that democracy is severely undermined.

We see this in many different ways today, but let me highlight the two most important ones. The first is that the professional pride of many practically trained people has been completely eroded due to intense global competition among them. This leads to an overwhelming feeling of underappreciation, which manifests in a loss of confidence in democracy.

Second, companies can simply move their capital around the world. This has made democratically elected politicians vulnerable to blackmail: when they make a democratic proposal, companies can always say, “If you go ahead with that proposal, we will move our business abroad.” This also leads to democratic choices being limited to a very narrow set of options that prioritise the business climate – a situation also referred to as a golden straitjacket.

These two trends are driving democracy and capitalism apart and ultimately ensure that those with economic power also gain the most political power.

 In Belgium, too, we see a strong focus on the business climate, which means that policy ideas that take a different perspective are quickly dismissed as unrealistic. You use the concept of “trilemma” to describe this dynamic. Can you explain how that trilemma works?

I borrowed the trilemma from the work of Harvard economist Dani Rodrik, who developed it in 2011 in his book The Globalisation Paradox. I created a variant of it for Europe in 2025, which consists of three pieces: Hyperglobalisation, the protection of European industry, and the preservation of European social and environmental legislation. According to the trilemma principle, we can only choose two of these at a time. In other words, there are three possible combinations, and Europe is currently at a crossroads.

The first option is that we maintain hyperglobalisation and our social and environmental legislation, but then global competition will destroy our industry – a process that has actually already begun. The second combination we can go for is maintaining hyperglobalisation and protecting our industry. But in this case, we will have to drastically weaken our social and environmental legislation. These two options are currently the main ones in the political debate. You could even say that this is the centre-left and centre-right narrative in Europe at the moment.

Fortunately, however, a trilemma has three possible directions. The third possibility is that we retain our social and environmental legislation and our industry. In this case, we will have to radically abandon hyperglobalisation, which requires pursuing a fundamentally different trade policy.

One of my main motivations for writing this book is to show that, by acknowledging the trilemma, we can start to politicise European trade policy again. Too often, in political debates and election manifestos, trade policy is treated as a kind of law of nature, something that cannot be changed. But it can, and I want to add that third option to the political debate.

How can we best structure our trade policy to avoid both excessive globalisation and excessive protectionism? After all, we also rely on raw materials that come from outside Europe.

If European politicians continue on their current course, there is a good chance that we will swing from one extreme to the other, just like the US has. The enormous discontent that hyper-globalisation creates – for example among the working class – will simply keep building.

If European politicians continue on their current course, there is a good chance that we will swing from one extreme to the other, just like the US has.

Fortunately, there is a reasonable middle ground. Dani Rodrik calls this “globalisation with common sense”. It means saying yes to international trade and no to trade that does not take place under democratic standards.

In my book, I have developed concrete proposals for implementing this approach today. My first proposal is to charge all the costs that companies currently try to avoid outside Europe – for example, the costs of taking good care of employees and the environment – at the European border. Of course, this would not be needed if a company could demonstrate through independent certification that it bears those expenses for its employees and the planet. Such a measure would create a level playing field for international trade again.

My second proposal is to enforce much stricter physical product requirements at the border. This could include, among other things, our warranty legislation, but also product safety requirements. At present, the random checks carried out by customs authorities on the enormous quantity of imported products are far too few to guarantee adequate enforcement. In addition, some of the parcels that we order directly from web shops outside the EU are not checked at the border. Research shows that a large proportion of these products do not even meet basic safety requirements, let alone comply with the European Union’s minimum two-year warranty period. These seas of low-quality products naturally have a huge environmental impact and create unfair competition.

Could you also elaborate on the two other proposals you put forward in your book?

Another way to pursue globalisation with common sense is to bind all causes of exceeding the Earth’s carrying capacity – namely, greenhouse gases, toxic substances, and land, water, and material use – to a hard maximum in the form of a quota. Such caps already exist for CFCs and some greenhouse gases, and both have proven to be extremely effective. I believe this mechanism is ideally suited to setting a very clear democratic standard for the ecological impact of the economy, as well as offering plenty of scope for entrepreneurs’ creativity and innovation in finding ways to stay within quota and function within democratic standards.

There is also a second proposal that I would like to highlight. I expect that for 70 per cent of people, buying higher-quality goods with a longer lifespan is affordable, but this may not be feasible for the lowest 30 per cent of income earners. I think the proceeds from border levies should be used to finance a quality dividend for the latter group, so that they too can afford better, longer-lasting goods. Such a measure pays for itself: sustainable products are often cheaper over their entire lifespan. This is extremely important for making the green transition a social one as well, and it would be a win-win for both people and the planet.

You argue that our current interpretation of freedom, understood as the ability to consume without limits, is too superficial and that we should strive for a more meaningful form of freedom. Why is that?

I think that growth addiction is the perfect example of this erosion of freedom. We are being enslaved by the economy because we are being manipulated in the most subtle way – namely, through neuromarketing. In my book, I give the example of people literally being put in brain scanners to measure which biscuit contains the optimal ratio of sugar and fat that is truly addictive. And that biscuit then ends up in the shops. In the same way, advertisements are shown to people in MRI scanners to see which ones people click on most compulsively.

While serving human well-being should be our ultimate goal, we have become a means to serve the economy. This reversal has been a historical mistake, comparable to the militarism of the 1930s. Back then, too, people became cogs in a completely out-of-control arms race between European nations, where ultimately no one could see the point anymore. We risk doing that again – not with militarism, but with economism.

While serving human well-being should be our ultimate goal, we have become a means to serve the economy. This reversal has been a historical mistake.

Economists speak of people’s “freedom” to buy what they want, when in fact this is ultimately a fake form of freedom. Firstly, because we are heavily manipulated into choosing what we choose – how free are we really to choose that flavour of biscuit? And secondly, because the freedom to consume what you want is a very superficial form of freedom that does not bring deep and lasting happiness. Real fulfilment comes from long-term relationships and contributing to a greater whole by doing meaningful work.

The more advanced manipulation techniques get, the more difficult it becomes to overcome the growth addiction. And then you might end up in a dystopian situation where politicians will ultimately also use AI and advanced marketing methods to manipulate our political preferences. At this point, even democratic freedom will be at risk.

You yourself are a Christian Democrat. How do you see this philosophy fitting in with Christian Democratic thinking? And how would you convince a liberal of these ideas?

I think it is important for Christian Democrats that the economy not be seen as an end in itself, but that it should truly serve the good life. I share that fundamental conviction, but I believe that many Christian Democrats do not take its radical consequences seriously enough.

As for liberals: the liberal Aldous Huxley [author of the book Brave New World], who was wholeheartedly committed to freedom, was extremely wary of growth addiction. That is something he did not express in those terms at the time, but he was very wary of what in his terms and in his time was called propaganda, as well as the highly sophisticated manipulation techniques with which our freedom is ultimately taken away. Huxley spoke of people who ultimately become dodos – birds that have forgotten how to fly. And I think that consumerist society, in which people are thoroughly manipulated into choosing only pleasure and comfort, subordinates true freedom – namely, the ability to develop fully and make choices such as what you want to contribute to the greater whole – to the freedom to consume whatever you want, whenever you want. And so, I also believe that a true classical liberal who strives for that real freedom must set very clear restrictions on how the economy manipulates people to take away our real freedom. That is why a political liberal imposes limits on economic liberalism: because there is enormous tension between political liberalism and economic liberalism.

A Toxic Dependency: Europe’s Growing Reliance on US Gas

As part of its strategy to “diversify” energy supplies, the European Union has increasingly replaced its addiction to Russian fossil fuels with a reliance on American liquefied natural gas. Europe already depends on the US for more than half its LNG imports, and the share is expected to reach up to 80 per cent by the end of the decade. In the Gulf Coast area of the US, this gas craze is fuelling a new wave of infrastructure construction and extraction, threatening fragile ecosystems and endangering residents.

On the stretch of US coastline along the Gulf of Mexico between Texas and Louisiana, there stand some of the most important terminals for the export of liquefied natural gas (LNG). Several LNG export plants are currently undergoing expansion, while at least five major new terminals are under construction and others are in advanced planning stages. Here, Donald Trump’s “Drill, baby drill!” slogan is being put into action, transforming the natural landscape and the lives of its inhabitants.

Extracting more oil – and the associated gas that sits over it – means not only focusing on increasing domestic consumption of fossil fuels, but also allocating a large portion of production to international markets. In particular, the European market, which has reduced its reliance on Russian fossil fuels since 2022.

For this reason, the Gulf Coast area (which Trump renamed “Gulf of America”) – already home to one of the largest concentrations of oil, gas, and petrochemical infrastructure in the United States – is now being further industrialised with new LNG facilities. The LNG is then loaded onto giant ships that travel around the world.

The politics of extraction

Cameron Parish, on the south-western coast of Louisiana, is one of the places where the LNG expansion is most concentrated, both in industrial terms and in terms of impact. The fossil craze invades an area of wetlands, canals, and coastal communities already exposed to erosion, hurricanes, and decades of previous extraction. With a capacity of approximately 10 million tonnes per annum (MTPA) of LNG, the Calcasieu Pass terminal is operational, but a few hundred metres away, dozens of cranes testify that work has already begun on Calcasieu Pass 2 (CP2), a 28-billion-dollar mega-project.

Both terminals belong to Venture Global, a company with close ties to the current US president. It is the same company with which Italian energy giant Eni signed a contract in July 2025 to purchase 2 million tonnes of gas per year for the next 20 years. This has pleased both Donald Trump and Giorgia Meloni, the Italian prime minister.

Venture Global’s growth has been closely aligned with the expansion of LNG exports promoted under the Trump administration, and the company is among those that have benefited from accelerated approval processes and a more lenient regulatory framework. This political dimension came under scrutiny in a recent investigation by The Guardian, which raised serious questions about the relationship between company executives, politicians, and financial markets. According to the report, Venture Global co-founders Michael Sabel and Robert Pender purchased millions of shares in their own company a few days after meetings with senior Trump administration officials and immediately before the release of key authorisations for LNG expansion, including the Calcasieu Pass 2 project. The Democrats have also launched a Senate inquiry into the matter.

Construction timelines for CP2 are remarkably short: only 29 months. Construction is expected to employ up to around 7,500 workers at peak, before the workforce drops to just a few hundred once the plant becomes operational. “There are a lot of migrants, but we have never noticed a real ICE presence here,” says James Hiatt, founder and spokesperson for For a Better Bayou, a grassroots organisation that seeks to oppose the expansion of LNG terminals by any means, including legal action. In fact, the local group succeeded in stopping the project during the Biden administration, but everything changed with the new political priorities of the White House.

Cameron Parish has historically based its economy on fishing, aquaculture, and shellfish farming. During a field trip in the Gulf Coast area in February, I crossed the water basin next to the two Calcasieu terminals on a boat, with flocks of pelicans flying overhead. Our guide is Sky Leger, a fisherman who tells us that he is now one of the last active fishers in the area. When work began on the new terminal, he says, huge amounts of mud destroyed thousands of oysters, the pride of this region. The impact on the area’s many dolphins is still to be seen.

For residents, the expansion of the LNG plants means living with high-risk facilities where accidents are a regular occurrence. The latest one happened just a couple of days before my arrival. A natural gas pipeline linked to an LNG project exploded near Holly Beach, injuring a worker during what was described as routine maintenance operations. Holly Beach itself is a narrow strip of coastline dotted with stilt houses built to withstand flooding – a necessity in a region repeatedly hit by major hurricanes, including Rita and Ike in 2008, and Laura and Delta in 2020, as residents are reminded by markers still visible on trees.

For residents, the expansion of the LNG plants means living with high-risk facilities where accidents are a regular occurrence.

Gas slated for shipment to Europe and Asia arrives in Cameron Parish from the arid plains of the Permian Basin, about 1,000 kilometres further north. However, oil remains the undisputed king in this windswept area of Texas. According to the latest official data for 2024, six million barrels are produced here per day, more than any other field in the world. The more oil is extracted, the more associated gas is produced and must be sent away, with Europe being a key destination. But the reality suggests that Europe doesn’t really need all this gas. Instead, it is doing a favour to its fickle ally across the Atlantic, while promoting the interests of the “usual suspects”.

In Italy, for example, according to 2024 data, the annual gas demand was approximately 61.8 billion cubic metres – a significant decrease of around 20 per cent compared to 2021. In the same year, LNG imports into Italy amounted to 14.7 billion cubic metres, down from 16.5 billion in 2023. LNG therefore accounted for about a quarter of total gas imports. According to the Institute for Energy Economics and Financial Analysis, this share could grow significantly by 2030: between 75 and 80 per cent of LNG imported into Europe could come from the United States – meaning Europe may shift from dependence on Russian gas to reliance on American gas.

Travelling across the immense Permian Basin is disorienting. Wells and extraction-related infrastructure are everywhere, with some even located mere metres from residential areas.

A growing wasteland

It is no coincidence that when you land in Midland – which together with neighbouring Odessa forms the main conurbation of the Permian Basin – flares burning excess gas are visible on the horizon. “Paradoxically, it is less serious that there is flaring visible to the naked eye than hidden methane emissions,” explains Sharon Wilson of the local organisation Oilfield Witness. For decades, Wilson has been tirelessly mapping pollution levels in this area. She identifies the hidden emissions with an optical gas imaging camera, revealing massive discharge escaping from the energy infrastructure.

In reality, flaring is not legal either, but regulatory enforcement allows for certain thresholds that oil and gas companies – not closely monitored by local authorities – tend to exploit. Wilson notes that even in this area, ICE does not seem too interested in controlling the local workforce, most of whom are of Latin American origin.

Travelling across the immense Permian Basin is disorienting. Wells and extraction-related infrastructure are everywhere, with some – such as Pavilion Park in Midland – even located mere metres from residential areas. Across dozens of kilometres of land, there is little sign of the once-ample fertile farms, except for a few hectares of cotton fields stricken by the abnormal cold spell that hit the area a few days before my arrival. Like the emissions revealed by Wilson’s thermal camera, the tangle of underground pipes connecting the wells to the processing facilities is invisible to the naked eye. They form an immense web, marked here and there by signs: “Warning, this gas may be toxic.”

At times, the air is difficult to breathe, but nowhere more so than near Lake Boehmer, a reservoir formed by wastewater from oil processing located about an hour and a half’s drive from Midland. The area appears devoid of life, both within and around the basin. In some sections, the water bubbles unnaturally, giving the lake a disturbing, almost volatile appearance. Measurements indicate elevated levels of naturally occurring radioactive materials (NORM), a byproduct of oil and gas extraction that can accumulate in wastewater and residues.

A few kilometres from Lake Boehmer, there is an even more extensive tangle of pipes and facilities. This is the Waha Hub, the trading point for West Texas gas. In 2024, gas prices at Waha fell below zero for a significant portion of the year because production exceeded the capacity of the pipelines to carry gas out of the basin. At various times, producers faced negative pricing conditions, effectively paying to offload excess gas in order to continue oil extraction.

The final stop on my tour of this immense sacrifice zone is a deeply dystopian motorway service station: in front of the petrol station stands a 20-metre-high replica of a corn stalk. Inside, they sell caps with the words “Oil Field Mafia”, where the Italian term clearly has a positive connotation. Who knows if Trump has one in his own collection of caps?

Europe’s footprint

One European country that has been heavily involved with the US LNG industry is Italy. According to energy giant Snam, approximately 150 shipments arrived in Italy in 2024, with about one-third of the volume originating in the United States (another third came from Qatar, a quarter from Algeria, and the rest from other countries). In 2025, with the launch of the Ravenna floating storage and regasification unit (FSRU) – which brought Italy’s total regasification capacity to approximately 28 billion cubic metres per year – the pace of shipments remained high: a Snam press release dated 12 June 2025 states that 95 LNG shipments had already arrived in Italy since January 2025, “mainly” from the United States, Qatar, and Algeria.

But Italian involvement goes further than just purchasing gas. Large and expensive infrastructure, such as the terminals dotting the coasts of Texas and Louisiana, requires billions of dollars to build and maintain. It is no surprise that the bank Intesa Sanpaolo, whose financing for coal, oil and gas stood at 11 billion US dollars in 2024, has stepped in.

In 2024, the Turin-based credit institution financed the US gas company Cheniere with 158 million dollars. A year earlier, Intesa Sanpaolo’s gas investments had reached a record 1.3 billion dollars, most of which went to US-based company NextDecade for the development of the Rio Grande LNG terminal in Texas. Investments updated in January 2024 show 1.1 billion dollars allocated by Intesa to the development of LNG terminals. According to an analysis carried out by the French NGO Reclaim Finance, Intesa Sanpaolo contributed approximately 3.8 billion dollars to financing LNG expansion between 2021 and 2023, making it the leading Italian bank involved. In addition to Rio Grande, it supported the construction of five other terminals.

Energy company Edison is also playing a major role as one of the first European buyers of LNG from Venture Global LNG, with a 20-year contract to purchase approximately 1.4 billion cubic metres annually from the Calcasieu Pass facility. However, technical delays at the terminal and the prolonged commissioning phase – a transitional stage before full commercial operations – led Edison, along with other major international customers, to initiate international arbitration proceedings against the US company for failure to meet delivery obligations. It was not until May 2025 that Edison received its first LNG cargo under the contract, later unloaded at the regasification terminal at the port of Piombino, Tuscany. The disputes involving Edison are part of a broader legal conflict that also includes energy giants like the Spanish Repsol, the Dutch Shell, and the British BP, and centre on Venture Global’s decision to sell LNG on the spot market during the commissioning phase instead of supplying long-term contracted buyers.

As these companies pursue their lawsuits, the Permian Basin and the Gulf Coast continue to bear the social and environmental impacts of relentless extraction. Their suffering, however, is often drowned out by the noise of mega-deals and endless drilling.

This report draws on a field visit to the United States conducted by the Italian non-profit association ReCommon between January and February 2026. The author of this article, Luca Manes, is in charge of ReCommon’s media relations and communications.

Paradise Lost: Europe’s Green Hydrogen Fever Sparks Resistance in Tunisia

Four years after the shock of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the war in the Middle East has once again made the necessity of strengthening European energy autonomy painfully clear. The EU has doubled down on green hydrogen as a pillar of its energy transition, identifying Tunisia as a key partner in plans to secure future supplies. Yet in Gabès – a region already marked by decades of industrial pollution and environmental degradation – these ambitions are meeting growing resistance. Can Europe’s push for decarbonisation avoid reproducing extractive dynamics and deepening local inequalities?

In the corridors of power in Brussels, energy transition often rhymes with hydrogen. The European Green Deal identifies the “green” variant – produced with electricity from renewable sources and free of direct CO2 emissions – as one of the pillars of the decarbonisation of heavy industry, transport, and electricity production planned by 2050. With the REPowerEU plan, launched in March 2022 in response to the energy crisis and to reduce dependence on Russian fossil fuels, green hydrogen has been elevated as a strategic lever for energy security and the EU’s ecological transition.

Despite the emphasis on European autonomy, however, the plan looks well beyond the Schengen borders: Brussels aims to exploit production sites built along the Southern shore of the Mediterranean in North Africa. In this scenario, Tunisia emerges as a crucial partner. Already connected to Europe by the Transmed gas pipeline, which links Algeria and Italy, the country is now at the centre of European ambitions to create a hub for the production and export of green hydrogen. During the presidency of Kais Saied, which marks a return to authoritarianism and centralisation of power, closed-door meetings and industrial forums on green hydrogen have multiplied in Tunis.

In May 2024, a government appointed directly by Saied – without the inclusion of a parliament now emptied of its role – presented Tunisia’s green hydrogen strategy. The goal is to produce 8.3 million tonnes of green hydrogen by 2050, of which nearly 6 million will be exported and just over 2 million will be used for the domestic market and derivatives. To achieve this, Tunisia will need to develop around 100 GW of capacity from renewable sources, far exceeding its current installed capacity.

At the heart of the strategy is the SoutH2 Corridor, a 3300-kilometre-long mega gas pipeline promoted by Italy’s Snam, which has become a Project of Common Interest at the European level. The pipeline is planned to connect North Africa to Germany as well as the wider EU market. According to an agreement between Italy, Germany, and Austria, the corridor is expected to become one of the five main axes for importing 10 million tonnes of renewable hydrogen by 2030. However, Tunisia’s plans set the main targets for 2050.

Despite reassurances from Belhassen Chiboub, Director General of Electricity and Energy Transition at the Ministry of Industry, that the energy transition represents a “climate necessity and an economic opportunity” for Tunisia, most of the planned production will not contribute to domestic green energy needs. Tunisia’s national energy mix remains heavily dependent on fossil fuels: 88 per cent of primary energy and 97 per cent of electricity still originate largely from Algerian natural gas.

The EU’s strategy is fuelling concerns among civil society and environmental movements, which fear that European needs are being put before local ones. Despite Tunisia’s increasingly repressive climate, demands for energy sovereignty are multiplying. In Gabès, a port city in the south-east of the country destined to host the future “green hydrogen valley”, the population is mobilising against a project perceived as extractivist and unfair.

For more than half a century, the city has been suffocated by emissions from the Groupe Chimique Tunisien (GCT), a public group producing phosphate-based fertilisers. Last October, Gabès was the scene of some of the most impressive environmental protests ever recorded in the country, following a health crisis caused by toxic fumes from the company’s plants. Yet it is precisely the GCT that has been chosen by the government as the pilot site for the first production of green hydrogen in Tunisia.

The forefront of the hydrogen fever

Long stuck at the planning stage, Tunisia’s new green hydrogen strategy – often referred to as the future “H2 Valley” – gained momentum in 2024 with the signing of seven memoranda of understanding between the Tunisian government and several foreign companies. Signatories include HDF Energy (France), Savannah Energy (United Kingdom), DEME Hyport (Belgium), ABO Energy (Germany), a partnership between Amarenco (Franco-Irish) and H2 Global Energy (Zurich), a consortium formed by Verbund (Austria), Aker Horizons (Norway) and TuNur (Malta). There is also H2Noto, the largest of all the projects proposed in Tunisia, led by France’s Total Energies, together with Verbund (Austria) and EREN Groupe (Luxembourg).

“These agreements are not yet binding contracts: they serve primarily to position Tunisia and create a framework of trust. Companies can thus begin preliminary studies, knowing that the country supports the project and is preparing for its future implementation,” explains a member of the Green Hydrogen Steering Committee at the Ministry of Energy in Tunis. Following these announcements, several other companies have expressed interest in investing in the Tunisian supply chain, including Italy’s Eni and Enel, as well as CMMZE from Monaco, which has announced the launch of green hydrogen production projects in south-eastern Tunisia.

The development of green hydrogen projects is mentioned in the Report on the Implementation Status of the Mattei Plan for Africa, drawn up by the Italian presidency of the Council of Ministers. In July 2024, a delegation composed of Enel and Eni met with the Ministry of Energy in Tunis to discuss the creation of a green hydrogen pilot project in Cap Bon. A month later, the initiative took shape with the creation of a technical working group with Italian and Tunisian representatives. The potential site identified by the Rome-Tunis partnership would be located next to the SERGAZ compression station in El-Hawariya, where the Transmed gas pipeline enters the Mediterranean Sea in the direction of Sicily.

While proposals and meetings are multiplying, only one project seems to be progressing rapidly: the creation of a first commercial unit in Gabès for the production of ammonia from green hydrogen. The project is expected to be completed between 2025 and 2030. Ammonia is essential for transforming the phosphate rock extracted from the Gafsa mining basin into ammonium phosphate (DAP), di-calcium phosphate (DCP) and mono-ammonium phosphate (MAP), all fertilisers used in industrial agriculture and produced by the Tunisian Chemical Group in Gabès.

Currently, the “grey” ammonia produced in Tunisia is derived from nitrogen present in the air and hydrogen obtained from fossil fuels. In the Gabès pilot project, this hydrogen will be replaced by the “green” version, produced from renewable energy, and the process will be integrated directly into GCT’s public fertiliser plant, located in the industrial port of Ghannouch, West of Gabès. According to the government’s roadmap, the project will produce approximately 220 tonnes of green hydrogen and 630 tonnes of green ammonia annually.

To power the plant, GCT plans to build an 8-megawatt photovoltaic park connected to the national grid (STEG) in the countryside around Gabès, specifically in Oudhref, 18 km from the company. All other components will be installed in the Ghannouch industrial complex. The project also includes a desalination plant, an electrolyser, a Haber-Bosch synthesis unit, a hydrogen storage system, and a fuel cell that will use 30 per cent of the green hydrogen to ensure a continued power supply.

Although not yet intended for export, the site represents a first step towards commercial production. Gabès also plays a strategic role in Tunisia’s route options for a new hydrogen pipeline: the city is included in the route of the SoutH2 Corridor project, supported by Tunisia, Italy, Germany, Austria, and Algeria. The green hydrogen pipeline promoted by Snam has been identified as a key energy infrastructure in the Italian Government’s Mattei Plan and the EU Global Gateway infrastructure plan. It would connect North Africa to Germany, following the coast of Gabès to Cap Bon, and then continuing on to Italy and Austria.

In addition to the pipeline, the new electricity interconnection between Tunisia and Italy will also pass through Gabès via the “Eleni” or Italy-Tunisia Interconnector corridor, which will connect the city to Mazara del Vallo in Sicily, covering a distance of 200 km. The work will be carried out by the Italian group Prysmian, with a contract worth 460 million euros, and co-financed by the EU as a priority project for the integration of energy markets. The GCT’s pilot project for green hydrogen production has brought Gabès back to the forefront of energy and mining companies’ interests. For several years now, the city has hosted the Petrogaz-Ener exhibition, which brings together policymakers and energy companies from all over the world, active in sectors from oil and gas to renewables. But the identification of Gabès as a future green hydrogen hub is far from neutral: for many inhabitants, it reopens memories of an industrial past perceived as a form of internal occupation.

In the 1970s, under the presidency of Habib Bourguiba and at the height of the industrialisation policy launched after independence, Gabès was chosen as the headquarters of the Groupe Chimique Tunisien (GCT), a large public complex dedicated to the processing of phosphates extracted from the Gafsa mining basin. Over time, numerous other chemical and parachemical industries sprang up around the GCT – phosphoric acid, ammonia, and sulphuric acid production plants as well as cement factories – to form one of the most densely populated and polluted industrial areas in the Mediterranean. Today, the announced arrival of green hydrogen puts further stress on an area already facing environmental collapse.

A land desertified

Before being transformed into a chemical industry hub, Gabès was a town of just over 100,000 inhabitants characterised by a unique ecosystem: located between the desert and the sea, it is home to the only coastal oasis in the Mediterranean. Here, biodiversity coexisted with oasis agriculture – based on date palms and other fruit-bearing species – and thousand-year old traditions like community irrigation management. In the 1970s, the Ghannouch industrial hub, where the GCT is located, was welcomed with enthusiasm: “We thought it would bring us work,” many inhabitants recall today. But little by little, industry violated and transformed a fragile ecosystem.

“I am one of those who know the paradise that was Gabès before the 1970s,” says Mabrouk Jebri, a retired teacher and co-founder of the Association for the Preservation of the Chenini Oasis. “Water flowed everywhere in the oasis. You could bathe in all seasons, and we had fruit in abundance.‘” Today, the photos hanging on the walls of cafés or preserved in family albums are the only witnesses to that bygone era. “Gabès is experiencing a severe drought that is getting worse every year. For over forty years, water has been diverted to the GCT and cement factories,” Jebri continues.

In the Chenini oasis, behind Gabès, pomegranates fall to the ground and pile up in front of the plot belonging to Salah Béchir, a farmer and leading figure in the protection of the oasis: “Two-thirds of my fruit rots before it ripens because of the drought.” Organised into collective water management shifts, farmers used to receive water every two weeks. Today, on the dry and cracked soil, they wait up to three months. “I haven’t received a single drop in 33 days,” complains Béchir. While more and more farmers are abandoning their plots, those who remain often find themselves buying water at inflated prices in order to continue their agricultural activities.

According to the 2019 yearbook on the use of deep aquifers in Tunisia, industrial exploitation of groundwater in the governorate of Gabès amounted to 4.58 million m³ from the aquifer, about three and a half times the volume of drinking water declared by the public water company, SONEDE, estimated in 2020 at 1.346 million m³.

As freshwater runs out, the area is gradually suffering from saltwater intrusion due to the infiltration of the sea into the declining aquifers. “Tree species that were once common, such as peach and apple trees, are disappearing,” Jebri reports. The governorate already depends on the nearby Zarat desalination plant, but the plant is only operating at half capacity, with frequent interruptions due to peaks in demand that put pressure on the local water network.

The GCT plants in the Ghannouch industrial complex fuel anger among local residents for other reasons than just water scarcity. The first plant produces phosphoric acid, the second diammonium phosphate (DAP) and the third ammonium nitrate. Together, they form the industrial heart of the region, employing several thousands workers. Every day, these factories discharge 14,000 tonnes of phosphogypsum, a residue from the conversion of phosphate into phosphoric acid, into the sea. On nearby beaches, the material forms a black, toxic foam containing fluorine, zinc, and numerous heavy metals.

The cadmium concentrations in this sludge exceed the legal limits by almost 1,000 times, without taking into account other heavy metals . In four decades, almost 93 per cent of the marine biodiversity in the area has disappeared, transforming the seabed of the Gulf of Gabès, once a breeding sites for several Mediterranean species, into a desert. “Fish are smarter than us: they’ve all left,” comments Jebri.

The city’s air hasn’t been spared either. The last official measurement initiative dates back to 2010, but independent studies have found concentrations of sulphur dioxide, hydrofluoric acid, and nitrogen dioxide up to 26-36 times higher than the legal limits. Doctors and the population confirm an increase in respiratory diseases, cancer, and infertility among the inhabitants of Gabès.

The GCT’s highly polluting activities have been known and denounced for decades. In the city, the company is nicknamed El-Ghoul (“the monster”), an epithet that reflects the extent of its environmental and health impact. Mabrouk Jebri was one of the first activists to dare to denounce the situation during the Ben Ali dictatorship: in the early 1990s, he created the first spaces for discussion on environmental issues in the heart of the Chenini oasis, now a reference point for ecological debate and the venue for numerous cultural and awareness-raising activities.

With the opening of new spaces for discussion, mobilisation intensified after the 2011 revolution. The inhabitants of Gabès organised themselves into grassroots movements and collectives, including the well-known Stop Pollution. “We are a group of citizens who have been fighting against the GCT since the revolution,” explains activist Khayreddine Debaya. “We chose a horizontal structure, without formally setting up an association, in order to remain independent from external funding and free from any exploitation. We represent the citizens.” This choice allowed the movement to avoid being caught up in the wave of judicial investigations in 2025 into foreign funding of civil society associations.

In 2017, four years before Kais Saied’s coup, strong mobilisations prompted Tunisian authorities to promise to dismantle the most polluting plants and end the discharge of phosphogypsum into the sea. The ministerial decision of 29 June 2017 was aimed at ensuring compliance with international environmental standards and the relocation of the production site. However, these commitments remained unfulfilled, and the facilities deteriorated further. Since then, the GCT has continued to operate day and night, and incidents have multiplied. In January 2019, for example, several videos showed orange smoke and bicarbonates escaping from a chimney, followed by residents falling ill.

Mobilisation continues

Since the beginning of October 2025, a historic wave of protests has once again shaken Gabès. The cause: the hospitalisation of more than 310 people for GCT gas poisoning. On social networks, videos of children suffering from dizziness and illness in overcrowded hospitals have gone viral, prompting thousands of citizens to take to the streets. On 21 October, the regional branch of the Tunisian General Labour Union and local associations called a general strike. The entire city came to a standstill: more than 100,000 people took to the streets, according to Stop Pollution, in what could be the largest environmental mobilisation in Tunisia’s history.

The demonstrators chanted slogans like “The people want the factories dismantled” “Breathing is a right” and “We are not Chernobyl” while police suppressed the protest. On 20 October, the Tunisian League for the Defence of Human Rights (LTDH) denounced the “use of security repression to stifle protest movements,” recording 89 arrests, including 20 minors.

Local opposition to green hydrogen projects in Tunisia has increased in recent years. “Stop anyone on the street in Gabès and they will talk to you about green hydrogen,” says Khaireddine Debaya. “Installing the pilot project in Gabès has strong symbolic value and is a serious mistake. Here, we are already organised, trained, and aware of the consequences of new destructive projects.” From activists to ordinary residents, the issue of green hydrogen has even reached the stands of the football team Avenir Sportif de Gabès (ASG) ultras, who are now involved in environmental demonstrations.

In April 2024, a group of activists gathered in front of the German cooperation headquarters in Tunis on World Anti-Colonialism Day in response to a call from local associations, trade unions, parties and pro-Palestinian activists. The German Agency for International Cooperation (GIZ), the main foreign partner of the Ministry of Mines and Energy, was criticised for its programme, which was described as “neo-colonial”, and accused of driving the green hydrogen strategy in Tunisia.

A year later, in May 2025, a local demonstration brought together several hundred people in Gabès to protest against “neo-colonialism and energy plundering”. Various sections of the population – young people, pensioners, workers, ultras – expressed a concern that green hydrogen adds new problems to the local community.

In addition to primarily serving European needs, the hydrogen valley could have serious consequences for the environment, especially due to the large quantities of water required. Supporters assure that only desalinated water and treated wastewater will be used, thanks to a Japanese plant capable of processing 6,000 m³ of the latter per day. Still, the ecological impact raises doubts. International studies show that desalination is more polluting and expensive than expected: two litres of seawater are needed to produce one litre of desalinated water.

In a video released on 1 October 2025, after the first wave of hospitalisations, Kais Saied blamed the lack of maintenance of the GCT. A few days earlier, the president had denounced the “murder” of the environment in Gabès, calling half a century of industrial policy a “crime”, while defending the revival of phosphate production as an economic pillar of the country. Just a few months earlier, the government had announced its goal of increasing production fivefold by 2030.

Faced with the protests of October 2025, the government brought the GCT issue back to the table. According to Wan Li, Chinese ambassador in Tunis, Tunisia could rely on China to modernise the GCT units, filter emissions, and reduce pollution. However, the modernisation of outdated facilities does not respond to the environmental movement’s main demand, which is to dismantle the production units of the GCT.

After years of broken promises, the protesters now refuse to accept any compromise. Their demand for dismantling has a precedent in Tunisia: in 2019, the government permanently closed SIAPE, the Tunisian producer of TSP (a concentrated fertiliser), after 20 years of protests in the city of Sfax. The plant emitted acid fumes similar to those in Gabès and produced phosphogypsum.

Today, the green transition promoted by government and industry rhetoric appears increasingly distant from the expectations of the citizenry. In Gabès, even the issue of employment has been overshadowed by ecological demands: on the streets, there is only one goal: the preservation and habitability of a sacrificed territory.

This article is published under a pseudonym to protect the author’s safety. The editorial team has verified the facts reported in the investigation.

Viktor Orbán’s Battery Troubles

Over the past decade, the Hungarian government has staked the country’s economic future on the battery industry, providing generous subsidies for its expansion and the development of giga-factories. However, a major scandal involving systemic pollution at a Samsung plant near Budapest has raised questions about the industry’s practices. In response, the government has escalated the rhetoric of an already polarised election campaign.

The stakes of Hungary’s parliamentary elections on 12 April extend far beyond the country’s borders. If Viktor Orbán remains in power, he will continue to distance Hungary from Europe and deepen his increasingly autocratic political order. If he loses, Hungary might finally turn back towards its European allies, restoring the basic criteria of democratic governance, and breaking with its strategic alignment with Russia. The outcome could therefore have significant implications for the broader struggle between liberal and illiberal forces, both in Europe and globally.

Against this highly polarised background, it is particularly striking that an environmental conflict has emerged as a factor capable of influencing not only the dynamics of the campaign but potentially even the election result.

In February, the news portal Telex published an in-depth investigation presenting clear evidence of systemic problems at Samsung’s battery plant in the town of Göd, located just 15 kilometres from the administrative boundary of Budapest. Much like the election itself, the meaning of the investigation extends far beyond the immediate local context.

A state within the state

Samsung began producing batteries in Göd in 2017 at the site of a former TV-screen factory. After undergoing several phases of expansion, the plant has reached its current annual capacity of 40 GWh, making it one of the largest battery manufacturing facilities in Europe. In recent years, Samsung’s Hungarian subsidiary has consistently ranked among the country’s largest companies by revenue.

These developments were not financed solely through private investment. As part of its aggressive strategy to develop the battery sector, the Hungarian government has provided nearly 500 million euros in direct subsidies to Samsung’s Göd plant. These subsidies form part of a broader pattern. Since the early 2020s, the Orbán government has identified the battery industry, alongside automobile manufacturing, as a strategic pillar for Hungary’s economic future. To this end, it has taken extensive measures to attract battery manufacturers, primarily from East Asia, and especially from China, to invest in the country.

Direct state subsidies have been exceptionally generous: over the past seven to eight years, battery-related companies operating in Hungary have received nearly one billion euros in investment support. However, they are only one component of the government’s strategy.Even more important has been the extraordinarily favourable regulatory and administrative environment provided for the sector. Hungary has not maintained a dedicated Ministry of Environment since 2010; environmental authorities have been weakened and placed under political control; and meaningful oversight of the battery industry has effectively ceased at the national level.

As a result, the more than 50 battery-related plants currently operating in the country have repeatedly violated regulations without facing serious consequences. In most cases, these violations have either been concealed or resulted only in minimal fines that lack any deterrent effect. Samsung’s Göd factory, for example, operated for nearly seven years without the environmental permit clearly required under Hungarian law – an issue that environmental authorities never addressed.

The more than 50 battery-related plants currently operating in Hungary have repeatedly violated regulations without facing serious consequences.

Regulations have also been relaxed in several rounds. In response to pollution incidents associated with Samsung’s operations, the government introduced provisions allowing authorities to refrain from imposing penalties or suspending production – even in cases of confirmed legal violations and pollution, where Hungarian law would otherwise mandate such measures. Instead, authorities may conclude so-called “administrative agreements” with polluting companies, outlining future remedial steps while allowing production to continue uninterrupted in the meantime.

In effect, the battery industry has become something akin to a state within the state, whose interests override all other considerations. Civil society organisations and journalists who exposed pollution and regulatory violations have been subjected to administrative harassment and targeted by hate campaigns. Companies operating in this environment gradually adopted increasingly irresponsible practices, knowing they could count on the state’s protection.

Leaked internal documents revealed discussions among Samsung executives suggesting that a critical environmental NGO and the investigative outlet Atlatszo.hu, which had published reports documenting pollution, should be silenced using state instruments. Shortly thereafter, both organisations became the target of an investigation by the controversial Sovereignty Protection Office, whose report labelled them as foreign agents in language closely resembling government propaganda.

The establishment of battery plants across the country has triggered significant local protests, yet none have achieved lasting success. Government backing has consistently proved strong enough to push the planned investments through. As a result, Hungary has become one of Europe’s leading battery producers. Though this development has generated considerable social tensions, they have not been strong enough to influence national political dynamics. In the 2024 municipal elections, the ruling Fidesz party won comfortably in nearly all affected localities. Now, however, things might be starting to change.

A political earthquake

The revelations by Telex illustrated how  Samsung’s lax environmental and workplace safety practices led to a series of accidents at the plant, and to several instances in which workers were exposed to carcinogenic chemicals at levels 500 to 1,000 times higher than permitted limits. They also documented the plant’s close ties to the highest levels of government, and showed that the executive was fully aware of the conditions within the factory.

According to the investigation, Orbán’s close aide and “propaganda minister” Antal Rogán had even suggested at a government meeting that the factory should be shut down, fearing the political consequences of a possible scandal if its internal conditions became public.

The revelations triggered a political earthquake. For days, the Samsung affair dominated public discourse, pushing the ongoing election campaign into the background. Political parties were forced to respond and adapt their campaign strategies to the unfolding crisis.

The reaction of the Tisza Party – the largest opposition force and current poll leader – was predictable. On the one hand, Tisza’s leader and prime-ministerial candidate, Péter Magyar, presented the scandal as evidence that the government is corrupt and prioritises the interests of large corporations over those of Hungarian citizens and workers. On the other hand, he framed the affair as proof of the Hungarian state’s dysfunction: the authorities, he argued, are incapable of enforcing even the most basic environmental and workplace safety standards.

This framing proved fairly effective. It resonated not only with the Tisza Party’s broader campaign messages but also with the prevailing public mood. Consequently, the scandal likely strengthened the opposition’s criticism of the government, even if its precise electoral impact cannot be quantified. Although the scandal probably did not sway Fidesz’s core supporters, it may have intensified negative perceptions of the government among undecided voters.

The government’s initial response was characterised by confusion and denial. Péter Szijjártó, the minister of foreign affairs and trade, who had long been the government’s chief advocate for Samsung, dismissed the allegations as fake news, blatant lies, and the work of foreign agents. He also threatened legal action against anyone publishing or spreading the information.

However, the toothpaste could no longer be pushed back into the tube. The strategy of denial failed to contain the scandal; indeed, it only intensified it. The government’s reaction was widely interpreted as further evidence of cynicism and dishonesty, particularly since the original investigative article relied on numerous official and by then publicly available documents.

Firefighting and escalation

In the wake of the investigation, Fidesz withdrew from the campaign certain public figures who had been on the front line until that moment. Previously, the party had relied heavily not only on Viktor Orbán but also on the prominent presence of Péter Szijjártó and Transport Minister János Lázár. After the scandal broke, this arrangement abruptly changed. Szijjártó effectively disappeared from public view, as if he had never been part of the governing party’s campaign.

Another figure connected to the affair also modified his public presence. Bence Tuzson, the minister of justice and the incumbent member of parliament for the constituency that includes Göd, had any reference to Fidesz removed from his campaign materials – posters, public stands, and other promotional content. Now his messages depict a green and flourishing future for voters, while no link is visible between him and the government, despite the fact that he himself serves as minister. This strategy also conveniently circumvented Facebook’s restrictions on political advertising, allowing Tuzson to present his campaigning as quasi-“civic” activity.

Then Fidesz went on the offensive. The day after the publication of the article, a website suddenly appeared on platforms close to the party, registered under the name of the vice-president of the Tisza Party. The site displayed only a single image: an empty bed. Soon, it became apparent that the real target was Péter Magyar. Government-aligned propaganda outlets began suggesting that a compromising sexual video involving the opposition leader would soon be released.

For days, increasingly wild theories circulated, including allegations of a homosexual relationship and the involvement of a minor. Eventually, Magyar himself clarified that the video likely depicted a consensual sexual encounter with a former partner – someone whom Fidesz had previously used in attempts to discredit him. The video was ultimately never published.

It remains unclear why the material was withheld. Perhaps internal polling suggested that releasing it would harm Fidesz more than Magyar, raising concerns about violations of privacy and illegal surveillance. Or perhaps the website had already served its purpose: diverting attention from the Göd scandal. According to media analyses, Google search statistics initially showed intense interest in the Samsung revelations, but these searches were soon overtaken by queries related to the alleged sex tape.

As a first firefighting measure, the diversion proved effective. Yet public interest in the story gradually faded, Fidesz’s polling numbers did not improve, and the Samsung scandal remained on the public agenda, though at a lower intensity.

Fidesz therefore escalated its campaign tactics. On 19 February, the Budapest Fidesz released an AI-generated video on its Facebook page, depicting a young girl waiting for her father to come home. The imagery is rendered in bleak, grey tones. Meanwhile, in a muddy battlefield under pouring rain, the father, blindfolded, is executed with a gunshot to the head.  The perpetrators remain unidentified. The message, however, is clear: Brussels, Ukraine’s President  Volodymyr Zelenskyy, and the Hungarian opposition want to drag the country into war, while only Fidesz can protect Hungarian families.

In the final weeks of the campaign, the government has shed any remaining restraints. As Viktor Orbán fears for his hold on power, virtually any radical step now appears conceivable.

Although the mass distribution of AI-generated content – fabricated videos, images, and messages – had already been part of the Fidesz campaign, this video marked a new and troubling low point.

By March, as polling data continued to deteriorate, Fidesz adopted even more dramatic measures. The party replaced its earlier anti-war rhetoric with a narrative emphasising the immediate military threat allegedly posed by Ukraine, thereby laying the groundwork for potentially radical measures justified by a supposed state of emergency. In effect, the campaign shifted from calls to remain outside the war to the cultivation of a direct war psychosis.

This shift was accompanied by provocative actions that appear to violate both international and Hungarian law. One such incident involved the seizure of a Ukrainian cash-transport vehicle legally transiting through Hungary. Authorities confiscated 35 million euros and 40 million US dollars in cash, as well as nine kilograms of gold bars.

According to reports by the investigative outlet VSquare, three agents of Russia’s GRU intelligence service also arrived in Hungary to assist the government in influencing the elections, following tactics previously observed in Romania and Moldova. Such developments make Hungary appear increasingly similar to Russia rather than to other EU member states.

While these events cannot be attributed solely to the scandal surrounding Samsung’s Göd battery factory, they clearly indicate that, in the final weeks of the campaign, the government has shed any remaining restraints. As Viktor Orbán fears for his hold on power, virtually any radical step now appears conceivable.

Shaping public discourse

The emergence of an environmental conflict in the campaign does not mean green politics in Hungary is overcoming the deep crisis that followed its earlier success. It is highly likely that no Green representative will enter the Hungarian parliament after the elections in April. Environmental issues in general play only a marginal role in national politics. The government pursues a strongly anti-green agenda in both policy and political communication.

Moreover, the stakes of the 2026 election are exceptionally high. The campaign has not been dominated by policy debates but rather by propaganda in the style of Russian political communication: disinformation, smear campaigns, and intimidation. The opposition, for its part, has focused not on sectoral policy issues but on Hungary’s geopolitical orientation (EU versus Russia), corruption, and the collapse of public services.

Yet even in this environment, the pollution at Samsung’s battery plant managed to break through the overcrowded communication landscape and temporarily shape both the campaign and public discourse in Hungary, forcing both Fidesz and the opposition to respond.

The Tisza Party incorporated the issue skillfully into its campaign, but the scandal did not fundamentally alter its strategy. The Fidesz campaign, by contrast, was affected far more deeply, with the party launching diversionary actions to contain the damage. These may have been prepared in advance, but they were likely intended for a later stage of the campaign. Deploying the short-lived sex-video scandal so early in the campaign could hardly produce the same effect as it might have had one or two weeks before the election.

Finally, persistently unfavourable polling numbers – partly shaped by the Samsung scandal – pushed Fidesz to escalate its anti-war narrative to unprecedented levels. The party reframed its message from keeping Hungary out of the war to emphasising an immediate wartime threat and cultivating a broader atmosphere of war hysteria.

The Samsung affair demonstrates that even under conditions highly unfavourable to green politics, an environmental conflict can exert a significant influence on an ongoing election campaign – and may even affect its outcome.

Být tu pro lidi, ne pro auta: rekultivace evropských měst

Moudrost starosty z Pontevedry: „Už jen to, že si někdo zaparkuje svůj soukromý vůz na veřejném prostranství, je vlastně na hlavu postavené. Pokud nemáte místo pro mrazák, taky si ho přece nedáte na chodník.“

V galicijském městě Pontevedra na severozápadě Španělska je vlahý letní večer. Vzduch rozechvívá hluboký ženský hlas, doprovázející zpěvem jazzový koncert v rohu prostranného náměstí. O pár metrů dál si hlouček dospívajících kope s oranžovým fotbalovým míčem, který se marně pokoušejí chytit dvě mladší děti.

Rodina si fotí selfie a čtyři postarší dámy na nedaleké lavičce jsou pohroužené do živého hovoru. Přestávky mezi jednotlivými jazzovými skladbami vyplňuje cvrlikání ptáků, které sem přilákala zeleň kolem městské fontány.

Kdo by se podíval na fotografie Pontevedry z devadesátých let, kde se dlouhé šňůry aut v ulicích táhnou, kam až oko dohlédne, sotva by hádal, že město čeká takováto budoucnost. Ale od chvíle, kdy byl v roce 1999 zvolen starostou praktický lékař Miguel Anxo Fernández Lores, galicijské město zavádí politiku, která jde mnohem dál než k pouhému regulování automobilového provozu v ulicích. Cílem je podle jednasedmdesátiletého starosty ozdravit veřejný prostor a vrátit ho lidem.

„Když rekultivujeme veřejný prostor a zaručíme jeho všeobecnou přístupnost, vrátíme lidem autonomii,“ říká starosta. Lores, politik ze strany Galicijský národní blok (Bloque Nacionalista Galego, BNG), dnes slouží v úřadu starosty sedmé volební období a rád by znovu kandidoval do funkce i v roce 2027. V Galicii dlouhodobě vládne pravicová Lidová strana a pochází odsud řada jejích celostátních předáků, proto je místní nacionálně levicová vláda BNG v regionu spíše výjimkou.

V prosinci roku 2022 schválila španělská vláda královský dekret, který požaduje, aby všechny místní samosprávy s více než padesáti tisíci obyvateli zřídily takzvanou zónu nízkých emisí (LEZ, Low Emission Zone). Ke zlepšení kvality ovzduší a snížení emisí uhlíku dekret doporučuje zavést některá opatření, jako například omezení vjezdu vysokoemisních vozidel na základě ekologické certifikace či zavedení oblastí s omezenou dopravní dostupností, kde platí osobní auta mýtné.

Španělsko přikročilo k tomuto kroku proto, aby splnilo své právní závazky vyplývající Pařížské dohody — mezinárodní smlouvy o boji proti změně klimatu —, a to více než šest let poté, co v listopadu 2016 vstoupila v platnost. Přestože Pontevedra všechny parametry kvality ovzduší stanovené ve španělském zákoně o změně klimatu (7/2021) již splňovala, městské zastupitelstvo se rozhodlo přikročit k mnohem ambicióznějšímu opatření a vyhlásilo celou oblast městské zástavby o ploše asi 490 hektarů za „zónu s omezeným dopravním provozem“.

Během svěžího slunečného odpoledne na sklonku června vzpomíná Lores ve své kanceláři v centru města, jak Pontevedra vypadala, když poprvé nastoupil do úřadu: „Působilo to tu jako skladiště aut a lidé, zvláště invalidé nebo senioři, se nemohli pohybovat po ulicích, protože všude stála auta.“

Starosta se zmiňuje také o katalánském inženýrovi Ildefonsovi Cerdà i Sunyer, který je známý zejména svou urbánní reformou čtvrti Eixample v centru Barcelony, jež má charakteristický mřížový půdorys a symetrickou strukturu. Stejně jako Cerdà i on vnímá veřejný prostor jako rozšíření prostoru domova.

Auta jako celoevropský problém

Více než 75 procent obyvatel EU žije v městských oblastech a předpokládá se, že toto číslo naroste do roku 2050 na 83 procent. Vzhledem k tomu, že znečištění ovzduší je všeobecně považováno za nejzávažnější rizikový faktor pro zdraví lidí v Evropě, je omezení emisí ze silniční dopravy — která je původcem 37 procent znečištění oxidem dusíku — naprosto klíčové.

Evropská unie zahájila řadu iniciativ, aby motivovala města ke snaze o čistší a zdraví prospěšnější prostředí. Jednou z nejvýznamnějších je Dohoda pro zelená města, která vybízí města s dvaceti tisíci a více obyvateli, aby se zavázala ke zlepšením v oblastech, jako je čistota vzduchu a vody, redukce hluku, zachování biodiverzity a opatření zaměřená na přechod k cirkulární ekonomice. Iniciativa rovněž města vyzývá, aby se zapojila do širší evropské sítě, která by usnadnila sdílení zkušeností a poznatků.

Další iniciativou je mise EU Klimaticky neutrální chytrá města, která podporuje stovku měst v rámci Evropské unie a dalších dvanáct měst zapojených do programu Horizont Evropa. Cílem programu je vyvinout pilotní projekty k dosažení klimatické neutrality do roku 2030. Různá řešení a modely ozkoušené v těchto městech pak mohou sloužit jako příklad, který pomůže všem evropským městům vydat se podobnou cestou v následujících dvaceti letech — do roku 2050 se totiž Evropská unie zavázala dosáhnout nulových emisí skleníkových plynů.

Existují však také neformální iniciativy, jako je španělská síť Ciudades que caminan (Kráčející města), což je občanská organizace otevřená městům a dalším veřejným úřadům, které si daly závazek k podpoře chodců a pěší přepravy. Tato síť poskytuje účastnickým městům školení a fórum pro výměnu zkušeností a informací. Její součástí je také online škola zaměřená na problematiku veřejného prostoru a rovněž zajišťuje a propaguje takzvaná „Entornos escolares“ neboli „Školní prostředí“, což jsou nejvýznamnější španělské internetové stránky věnované podpoře samostatnosti dětí a městské mobility.

Navzdory množství iniciativ shora i zdola však počet aut na našem kontinentu stále roste: v roce 2024 překročil počet osobních vozidel v Evropské unii 259 milionů, což představuje ve srovnání s rokem 2019 nárůst o 5,9 procent. Zemí s největší mírou motorizace — tedy s nejvyšším počtem osobních aut na tisíc obyvatel — je Itálie (701), následovaná Lucemburskem (670) a Finskem (666). Se svými 544 auty na tisíc obyvatel, byť se jedná o číslo založené zčásti na odhadech, je Španělsko pod evropským průměrem, který činí 576 aut na tisíc obyvatel.

Vzepřít se normě

V Pontevedře ovšem počet aut v posledních letech soustavně klesá. Město také zavedlo regulace, které autodopravu omezují, a to jak s ohledem na důvod cesty autem, tak s ohledem na časy, kdy po městě smějí jezdit.

Když dostane současný starosta Pontevedry otázku, jaké jsou nejlepší příklady politických kroků, s jejichž pomocí se jeho vedení města podařilo upřednostnit chodce před vozidly, začne bez váhání mluvit o přeměně jednoho z hlavních náměstí v Pontevedře. V blízkosti pozůstatků gotického kláštera Santo Domingo ze čtrnáctého století se nachází Praza de España, pokládaná za „kilometr nula“, od něhož pomyslně začínají všechny zdejší hlavní historické cesty i dopravní tahy. Dnes náměstí kypí životem a za každého slunečného letního dne se tu setkávají chodci, které sem přilákal kulturní program ze široké nabídky akcí pořádaných ve městě, a poutníci, kteří tudy procházejí po Svatojakubské cestě mířící do Santiaga de Compostella.

Lores připomíná, že ještě koncem devadesátých let projelo přes toto náměstí denně v průměru šestadvacet tisíc aut. Za zmínku stojí, že mnohá z nich přitom mířila mimo město, například na pláže v Sanxenxo — asi třicet kilometrů vzdáleného turistického městečka, které je současně starostovým rodištěm —, přičemž jejich cesta vedla právě přes Praza de España.

Dnes ale není nikde ve městě povolena ani tranzitní doprava, ani kroužení po městě při hledání parkovacích míst a podle Lorese denně projede náměstím pouhých osm set aut. Rozhodnutí zakázat tranzitní dopravu a směřovat ji do silničních obchvatů vedlo k celkovému snížení počtu projíždějících aut o čtyřicet procent, vysvětluje Lores.

Po Pontevedře smí projíždět pouze „nezbytná doprava“: tedy sanitky a policejní auta, vozidla veřejné služby včetně například svozu odpadu či cisteren s vodou, dále je povolena přeprava lidí s omezenou možností pohybu a čtyřiadvacet hodin denně jsou dostupné soukromé garáže. Naopak zásobování obchodů, rozvážkové služby, přeprava objemných předmětů, stěhování a související činnosti jsou povolené jen ve stanovených denních hodinách.

Po městě jsou rozptýlená volná parkovací místa, kde mohou lidé zastavit a složit či naložit náklad. V případě porušení vyhlášky může policie uložit pokutu ve výši až několik stovek eur.

„V celém městě nenajdete místo, kam by se nedalo dojet autem — ale jen pro ty, kteří to skutečně potřebují, ne pro ty, kterým se prostě chce jet autem,“ vysvětluje Lores. A svým charakteristickým přímočarým, avšak zdvořilým tónem dodává: „Už jen to, že si někdo zaparkuje svůj soukromý vůz na veřejném prostranství, je vlastně na hlavu postavené. Pokud nemáte místo pro mrazák, taky si ho přece nedáte na chodník.“ Pokud jde o priority, osobní auta včetně elektrovozů jsou v Pontevedře až na posledním místě: „Celá pyramida preferencí se obrátila: na prvním místě jsou chodci, za nimi cyklisté, skútry, veřejná doprava — a osobní vozidla až na úplném konci.“

Lores se nechal inspirovat knihou Jane Jacobsové Život a smrt velkých amerických měst z roku 1961, a pokud jde o rozvoj městské zástavby, do centra své politiky postavil udržení „kompaktního města“: většinu aktivit soustřeďuje do centra, odrazuje investory od výstavby velkých obchodních center na předměstích, podporuje čtvrti se smíšenými funkcemi před zónami určenými jednomu účelu — jako je například Ciutat de la Justícia v Barceloně, kde se soustřeďují soudní budovy — a současně zkvalitňuje služby městské veřejné dopravy. Cílem je nejen omezení zbytečného ježdění autem, ale také oživení čtvrtí a posílení sociální koheze.

Kdo se vydá na cestu pěšky centrem za běžného pracovního dne, překvapí ho, kolik potká cestou nejrůznějších obchůdků, zvláště v takto malém provinčním městě. Bok po boku tu prosperují místní butiky, klenotnictví, květinářství nebo třeba knihkupectví.

Podobně jako tato galicijská obec se i jiná evropská města snaží podniknout kroky k větší udržitelnosti. Tak například Freiburg je známý svou udržitelnou politikou včetně regulace automobilové dopravy. V tomto pulzujícím univerzitním městě na jihozápadě Německa se do městského plánování zapojují místní občané, cyklistická doprava činí kolem třiceti procent veškeré přepravy po městě a celý jeden městský obvod — Vauban — je takřka úplně bez aut.

Podobně Oslo se v roce 2019 stalo prvním evropským hlavním městem, které zakázalo vjezd aut do veškerého centra. Norská metropole rozšířila svou síť hromadné dopravy a zrušila stovky parkovacích míst, které nahradila lavičkami, zelení a cyklostezkami.

V centru Pontevedry i v přibližně třetině celé plochy města mají chodci zřetelnou přednost před vším ostatním. Nedá se poznat, kde končí chodník a začíná vozovka. Nové návštěvníky možná vyvede z míry pohled na lidi, jak chodí bezstarostně středem ulice, zatímco auta trpělivě čekají, dokud chodci neprojdou a nepustí je, aby mohla projet. Nikdo netroubí, žádné semafory chodcům neurčují, kdy musí stát a kdy smějí vykročit. Od šesté hodiny večerní až do osmé ranní tu není nikomu dovoleno parkovat.

Ve zbytku města převažují jednosměrné ulice se širokými chodníky. Auta tu smějí zastavit pouze v pracovní době a na omezenou dobu — konkrétně tedy na patnáct minut v případě služeb a na třicet minut v případě vyložení či naložení nákladu — a parkování je povoleno pouze od devíti večer do devíti ráno. Semafory ve městě najdete jen na dvouproudých silnicích vnějšího městského okruhu, kde mají auta přikázáno zvolnit u přechodů pro chodce a kruhových objezdů.

Pouhých deset minut pěšky od centra města se nachází otevřené parkoviště, které nabízí alternativu k 4500 podzemním parkovacím místům ve městě. Celkem má Pontevedra více než deset volně přístupných městských parkovišť a zdarma zde poskytuje přibližně 3500 parkovacích míst, které se nacházejí ve vzdálenosti do patnácti minut chůze od centra. Ty mohou využívat hlavně lidé, kteří ve městě nebydlí, ale dojíždějí sem z okolních obcí za prací.

Bezpečnější, zdravější a dostupnější

V roce 2010 se Pontevedra stala prvním španělským městem, které zavedlo na celém území města nejvyšší povolenou rychlost 30 km/h. V současnosti je v centru nejvyšší povolená rychlost 10 km/h, ale to „pouze tehdy, když v okolí není žádný chodec“, vysvětluje Daniel Macenlle, dříve městský policista, dnes ředitel odboru pro ochranu občanů na zastupitelském úřadě. „Pokud se v blízkosti pohybují lidé, je rychlost omezena na šest kilometrů v hodině.“ Ve zbylých částech širšího městského centra je nejvyšší povolená rychlost 20 km/h a v ostatních čtvrtích pak auta smějí jezdit maximálně třicítkou.

Výsledkem je, že za posledních v Pontevedře nezaznamenali žádnou smrtelnou autonehodu. Dnes podle údajů zastupitelstva chodí 73 procent dětí do školy pěšky — 44 procent v doprovodu dospělého a 29 procent samostatně. Dánská studie z roku 2012, která zkoumala dvacet tisíc dětí v rámci širšího výzkumu zaměřeného na schopnost soustředění, životosprávu a pohyb, přitom ukázala, že děti, které se do školy dopravují pěšky nebo na kole, vykazují vyšší míru soustředění ještě i čtyři hodiny po cestě do školy.

V Pontevedře, stejně jako v dalších španělských městech, jako je Barcelona, jsou už mnoho let zavedené takzvané „školní ulice“. Ty mají své vlastní značení a objevují se v okolí škol, aby měli studenti možnost přicházet a odcházet pěšky, ať už sami, nebo po skupinkách.

Z podobných výhod v Pontevedře těží všichni obyvatelé: celkově se počet lidí, kteří dávají přednost pěší přepravě nebo cyklistice, v galicijské obci zvýšil z 66 procent v roce 2011 na 90 procent v roce 2021. Zastupitelstvo také odhaduje, že se emise oxidu uhličitého od devadesátých let snížily přibližně o 67 procent.

Chtějí-li lidé v Pontevedře zjistit nejen pěší vzdálenost z jednoho bodu ve městě do druhého, ale třeba také počet kroků či množství spálených kalorií, mohou k tomu využít aplikaci Metrominuto. Synoptická mapa nabízí také informaci o historických pamětihodnostech, zprávy — například nedávné mezinárodní studie o mobilitě — a servisní informace, třeba o státních dotacích pro elektroauta.

Totéž platí také pro obchodníky. „Město, které se chová vstřícně k lidem, vybízí k tomu, abyste ho objevovali a těšili se z něj. A když se po něm procházíte, také více konzumujete,“ říká osmačtyřicetiletý Andrés Martínez, majitel optiky v ulici Calle de la Oliva, která je jednou z mnoha obchodních tříd ve městě. Andrés bydlí ve stejném domě, kde optiku provozuje, a svůj osobní vůz má zaparkovaný na komunálním parkovišti.

Jiný zdejší obyvatel, sedmapadesátiletý Santi Cachadas, který prodává už třicet let na městském tržišti ryby, poukazuje na další výhodu tohoto modelu: „Lidé, kteří si přijedou nakoupit, vzápětí nasednou do auta a odjedou, čímž hned uvolní parkovací místo dalším zákazníkům — takže se jich tu může vystřídat opravdu hodně.“ Santi bydlí tři kilometry od místa, kde pracuje, a každé ráno zaparkuje na městském parkovišti s volným stáním zdarma, odkud pak dojde zbývajících 500 metrů ke svému stánku pěšky. Přesto je třeba podotknout, že dva z pěti majitelů obchodů, s nimiž byl pro tento článek pořízen rozhovor, zmínili, že si jejich zákazníci občas stěžují na nemožnost najít volné parkovací místo.

Za úspěchem této politiky stojí podle starosty Pontevedry několik faktorů: srozumitelná komunikace a vysvětlování záměrů a cílů, kontakt s „nejvíce činorodými a dynamickými lidmi ve městě“, využití participativních procesů a rozhodnutí nezakázat auta úplně. K tomu starosta dodává: „Realizovali jsme řadu projektů k rozšíření chodníků a pěších zón; vzápětí poté se uvolněný prostor zaplnil aktivitami. Také jsme povolili vjezd autům, kde to bylo skutečně nutné — a lidem, kteří měli zpočátku pochybnosti, se ulevilo.“

Jak zopakovat úspěch Pontevedry

Během posledních let získalo severozápadní španělské město celou řadu ocenění včetně Mezinárodní ceny města Dubaje za nejlepší příklady praxe udržitelného rozvoje, kterou získala Pontevedra v roce 2014 za svůj model města zaměřený na lidi, či v roce 2020 ceny Evropské komise EU za bezpečnost dopravy za „úctyhodný výsledek nulového počtu smrtelných dopravních nehod mezi roky 2011 a 2018“.

Na otázku, zda si myslí, že lze úspěchy Pontevedry přenést i jinam, Lores bez zaváhání odpoví, že každé město musí najít svůj vlastní model a strategii a příklad zvenčí je vždy nutno přizpůsobit lokálním podmínkám. A existuje tedy alespoň nějaké ponaučení, které by podle něj mohlo sloužit jako inspirace jiným městům? „Změnit paradigma tak, že si zkusíte představit město, které se nezaměřuje na auta, ale na lidi.“

Článek vznikl jako součást iniciativy PULSE pro žurnalistickou zahraniční spolupráci, koordinované organizacemi n-ost a OBCT, a napsán byl ve spolupráci s novinářkou Alice Facchiniovou.

Přeložila MAGDALÉNA JEHLIČKOVÁ.

Slovenia’s Choice Has High Stakes for Europe

Despite having a population of just two million, the outcome of Slovenia’s parliamentary election is likely to have ripple effects well beyond its borders. For the past four years, Slovenia has been governed by a centre-left coalition headed by prime minister Robert Golob. As he faces a formidable challenge from former premier Janez Janša, can Golob escape the incumbent curse, or will Slovenia – and Europe – swing further to the right?

Slovenian voters have never been very kind to incumbents. Except for liberal democrat Janez Drnovšek, who led the country from 1992 to 2002 (interrupted only by the six-month right-wing premiership of Andrej Bajuk in 2000), no other prime minister has received a second consecutive mandate. However, this Sunday’s parliamentary elections may change that.

Due to the proportionality of Slovenia’s electoral system, no political party has ever won a majority in the 90-seat parliament since the country’s independence in 1991. As such, it is not just important to know which party garners the most votes and is granted a mandate to form a coalition government, but also which smaller parties successfully cross the 4 per cent electoral threshold. Yet with just days remaining before the election, it is clear that the race mainly boils down to the rivalry between two political figures.

Leading the polls is former minister Janez Janša’s Slovenian Democratic Party (SDS), followed by incumbent premier Robert Golob’s Gibanje Svoboda (“Freedom Movement”). Still, with public opinion sharply divided and the candidates polling close, the outcome of the vote is far from certain.

Janša has served as Slovenia’s prime minister three times. He is still a leading figure in the right-wing political parties under the umbrella of SDS, as well as an ally of Viktor Orbán and an admirer of Donald Trump. Since 2013, Janša has lost every election to political newcomers. He last took office in 2020, when then-prime minister Marjan Šarec resigned to make way for new elections. This, however, backfired, as two political parties changed sides and helped Janša form a coalition that lasted until 2022. This government is remembered for its questionable Covid-19 measures and investments, police brutality against protesters and migrants, attacks on public media and independent culture, and the undermining of state and civil society institutions, among other things.  

Golob, on the other hand, is a relatively new face who entered Slovenian politics just before the 2022 elections. He was comfortably settled in his role as general director of the state-owned GEN I electricity company, which was targeted by Janša’s government for a political takeover. Taking advantage of public disapproval of the illiberal actions that were being taken so openly in Slovenia for the first time, Golob’s newly established Gibanje Svoboda party won a record 41 seats. Svoboda then formed one of the strongest governments in the country’s history in coalition with the Social Democrats, and leftist Levica, which was joining government for the first time.

Rivalry and campaign controversies

But what should have been a liberal, social-democratic, and progressive-left government has often given the impression of trying to sit on two chairs at once. Golob’s coalition raised the minimum wage and was friendly towards trade unions even as it accommodated capital representatives; It expressed opposition to wars but supported exporting arms and succumbed to US pressure to increase defence spending to 5 per cent of GDP; and although it recognised the state of Palestine, it refused to join South Africa’s genocide case against Israel at the International Court of Justice (ICJ).

Moreover, Slovenia reneged on a promise to remove razor wire and fences along the border with Croatia and refused to accept migrants from the most burdened EU member states, choosing instead to pay under the new European Pact on Migration and Asylum. Lastly, although Golob expressed support for the green transition and environmental protection, his government funded energy and sewage projects that destroy rivers and threaten the air quality and drinking water reserves in Ljubljana.   

Since taking office, Golob has faced a series of challenges, including changes in the cabinet, the loss of two parliamentary seats, and a failure to keep promises on improving the public health system and implementing tax reforms. Nevertheless, the first-time prime minister’s biggest challenge came from opposition leader Janša, who has spent the last four years relentlessly attacking him in a bid to take over executive and legislative power once again.

The two political heavyweights share a number of similarities, particularly in their approach to the media, anti-corruption measures, and the integrity of institutions. Moreover, Golob’s coalition has at times taken an explicitly right-wing populist stance. For instance, after 48-year-old Aleš Šutar was killed in Novo Mesto in a fight with a group of Roma people, the government granted new sweeping powers to the police. Intervention laws were enacted that discriminated against the Roma minority and enabled the police to designate a high-risk security area in the centre of Ljubljana, a move that even surprised Janša. This, in turn, led Janša to radicalise his political agenda further. 

Golob’s biggest challenge came from opposition leader Janša, who has spent the last four years relentlessly attacking him in a bid to take over executive and legislative power once again.

The ongoing heated election campaign has also featured unprecedented events and controversy. For instance, dead animals have been found hanging from Svoboda’s billboards, and a campaign bicycle of  Mi, socialisti! (“We, socialists!”) MP Miha Kordiš had its tyres knifed.

But even more importantly, there have been multiple instances of wiretapping. Audio tapes have been released of individuals connected to Golob’s government and party that contain compromising remarks about political interference in public institutions and private business affairs. Those incriminated claim that the tapes are edited and, in some cases, AI-generated. However, Janša has once again seized the opportunity to call for the resignation of the “corrupt” Golob government. The police, the Commission for the Prevention of Corruption, and the Intelligence and Security Agency are investigating the matter amid suspicions of foreign interference in the elections.

These suspicions of foreign intervention took on a more urgent shape on 16 March, when prominent civil society organiser Nika Kovač,  digital activist Filip Dobranić, and investigative journalist Borut Mekina organised a press conference to present a report titled “The Activities of a Foreign Intelligence Agency in Slovenia Prior to the Parliamentary Elections”. The report cites data from Flightradar24, which shows that a Hawker 800XP private jet owned by the Israeli company Arrow Aviation flew at least three times since November from Tel Aviv to Ljubljana Airport. The aircraft reportedly carried representatives of the Israeli private intelligence firm Black Cube. On 22 December, all four passengers allegedly went directly to the SDS headquarters, where they were personally greeted by Janez Janša.

Black Cube has a reputation for wiretapping and extortion. The company sets up fake companies and profiles, targets individuals, and then deletes all the fake data. The gathered materials are then anonymously distributed to the public. In 2016, some of the company’s representatives were convicted for gathering compromising materials against Laura Kövesi, who was the head of the anti-corruption office in Romania at the time. The firm was also hired by American former film producer and convicted sex offender Harvey Weinstein to control prosecutors and journalists and harass his victims. Non-governmental organisations and the media were also targeted by Black Cube in Viktor Orbán’s Hungary.

The revelations raise more questions than can be answered before the election. What was the cost of this operation, and who paid for it? Why did Janša invite an Israeli private intelligence firm to Ljubljana in the first place?

Janša’s politicking

While Janša has previously helped establish satellite parties, these have generally remained marginal, as they target the same pool of voters as SDS. In Golob’s term, however, a more significant split emerged. Former long-time SDS member, foreign minister, Anže Logar was forced to leave the party, with Janša demanding that he return his mandate.

Logar refused, and instead secured the support of two other MPs – Eva Irgl from SDS and Tine Novak from Svoboda – allowing him to form an independent parliamentary group. According to a poll conducted by Mediana for the public broadcaster RTV Slovenija, Anže Logar’s party, the Democrats, looks set to enter parliament. The quest for centre-oriented political voters who find Janša’s rhetoric too aggressive and radical was evidently successful. Notably, Logar has simply refused to clarify whether he is willing to form a government led by Janša, fuelling speculation that the Democrats is a satellite party.

It remains uncertain whether any additional smaller parties will cross the threshold to enter parliament. One potential entrant is the anti-vax populist party Resni.ca (“Truth”), which gained traction in the wake of the radicalisation of Janša’s last government. Meanwhile, the Pirate Party has also reached a new high in polling, just below the threshold. For now, both parties insist that they will not form a government led by Janša or by Golob. If they do enter parliament and stick to their word, forming a majority coalition could become complicated for both SDS and Svoboda.

A new Janša administration is likely to exert significant political influence on the police, state-owned media, and the judiciary, denying climate change and hindering the green transition.

Going into the election, Golob can count on the support of his two coalition partners, the Social Democrats and Levica, while Janša can only be sure of the support of fellow European People’s Party member Nova Slovenija and its joint list with two other right-wing non-parliamentary parties: the newcomer Fokus, and the Slovene People’s Party (SLS). Although the final composition of the parliament is in doubt, it is evident that there will be more than five, as was the case in the previous mandate.

The uncertainty in this election cycle is reminiscent of 2018, when Janša took first place but was unable to form a ruling majority. However, if he manages to clear the hurdles this time and become prime minister for the fourth time, we can expect a series of controversial decisions based on his campaign promises.

A new Janša administration is likely to exert significant political influence on the police, state-owned media, and the judiciary, denying climate change and hindering the green transition. He has also promised to establish a deportation office similar to ICE in the US, and to maintain fences on the southern border with Croatia. Moreover, SDS is expected to cut funding for independent artists and civil society organisations, putting an end to what it terms LGBTQIA+“ideology” in schools, treating climate change as a hoax, and attacking the independence of the judiciary.  Whether or not Viktor Orbán manages to retain power in Hungary, he would have in another Janša government a great friend and ally. This also explains why Slovenia’s election is watched so closely in Brussels.

A green-left experiment

Although Gibanje Svoboda will not come close to the record 41 seats won in the 2022 elections in this cycle, it could still serve a second consecutive term with its coalition partners, without the need to reach out to newcomers or the Right. However, such an outcome will only be possible provided that the Social Democrats and Levica gain more votes than they did four years ago.

This is unlikely to happen for the Social Democrats. Despite being entrusted with important portfolios, such as the Ministry of the Economy, Tourism and Sport, the party failed to implement social-democratic reforms.

Meanwhile, the more progressive Levica, taking part in government for the first time, became increasingly social-democratic. The party took over the Ministry of Labour, Family, Social Affairs and Equal Opportunities; the Ministry of Culture; and the newly founded Ministry of a Solidarity-Based Future. These proved to be challenging and under-resourced areas. Without efficient health and tax system reforms, the main achievements of the Golob government were changes to the pension system, long-term care contributions, and increased funding for culture, all of which were initiated by Levica.

Still, Levica’s first experience in government had significant ups and downs. The party’s parliamentary representation dropped from five to three. One of Levica’s founders, MP Miha Kordiš, was expelled due to internal disputes. In addition, the head of the party’s parliamentary group, Matej Tašner Vatovec, changed sides and defected to the Social Democrats. Despite these setbacks, Levica remains relatively cohesive. Moreover, Kordiš’s Mi, socialisti! party is projected not to enter parliament, and the Social Democrats will most likely not benefit much from Tašner Vatovec’s defection.

Although the Left is traditionally fractured in Slovenia, Levica has joined forces with Vesna, a Green party established in 2022 that has not yet been represented in parliament. It remains to be seen how this will affect the progressiveness of Levica’s policies in the future, but according to the latest polls, the joint list of Levica and Vesna is gaining momentum and has a chance of taking third place. That said, the competition is fierce, with the Social Democrats, Nova Slovenija, SLS, Anže Logar’s Democrats, and Fokus all polling closely. If Levica and Vesna do end up as the third-biggest political force after this election, it will be an impressive achievement, given that Levica lost some of its traditional left-wing voters when it was forced to make compromises as part of the Golob coalition.

Uncertain outcome   

Slovenia faces a critical election. While it seems unlikely that the country will become “Orbánised” under Janez Janša as prime minister, the possibility of his return cannot be ruled out. If Janša does secure a fourth term, it will likely be through election interference and support from new political parties – some of which are made up of his former party members. During the campaign, some of these parties have failed to clarify whether they will enter a coalition with Janša, while others claim they will not form a government with him or with Robert Golob as prime minister.

There’s Hope in Deliberation

Critics of democracy often point to its chronic inability to look beyond electoral cycles and to its failure to give citizens real influence over decisions that affect them. This inadequacy is particularly evident in the green transition, where the focus on measurable targets and technical goals comes at the expense of long-term thinking and questions of justice. Could spaces for collective deliberation, such as citizens’ councils formed in the wake of student protests in Serbia and citizens’ assemblies across Europe, mitigate these shortcomings?

Ivan Radisavljević: Citizens can easily see how political decisions concerning the environment affect the quality of their lives, whether positively or negatively. Taking this into account, how can deliberative democracy influence a just green transition?

Irena Fiket: Generally speaking, citizens can indeed best feel how political decisions affect their everyday lives. However, when we talk about environmental policies, things become more complex. In a system that rarely includes them in the dialogue and decision-making process, citizens most easily notice short-term, direct effects, whether positive or negative. For example, if a new green policy increases the economic costs of heating by switching to more sustainable energy sources, that effect is immediately visible, tangible, and, at first glance, negative. On the other hand, the long-term benefits of such policies, such as cleaner air, reduced pollution, and mitigation of the consequences of climate change, are generally not felt immediately by citizens. It is precisely in this temporal asymmetry between costs and benefits that lies one of the key challenges of adopting and implementing green policies within representative democracy.

For this reason, many of us who scientifically and practically deal with models of deliberative democracy emphasise that classical representative democracy is not the best framework for making decisions whose positive effects manifest only after a longer period of time.

The short-term logic of the electoral cycle and the pressure to achieve quick, visible results do not encourage politicians to think about long-term justice and sustainability, but rather to focus on what is politically profitable at a given moment. On the other hand, citizens in such a system are passivised and observe this dynamic from the sidelines, without real influence on decisions that directly concern them.

That is why it is important to view the effectiveness of green policies in a different way. If success is measured only through short-term economic indicators, the broader social and intergenerational context is missed. True effectiveness should mean: the ability of society to make decisions that protect the public good in the long term. And this is where the deliberative approach brings us a new perspective.

This implies a paradigm shift from a short-term, technical understanding of success to a long-term, inclusive approach that involves citizens in the decision-making process. When citizens are part of the discussion and formulation of policies, when they have the opportunity to learn, exchange arguments, and search for solutions together, decisions become both more democratic and more just. Such deliberative processes enable green policies not to be merely imposed from above, but to be jointly shaped, with the understanding that they are an investment in the future, both ecological and social.

In any transition, there are discussions about winners and losers. How can the principle of deliberative democracy lead to as many winners as possible in the green transition?

Yes, like all other transitions, the green transition implies big changes, better conditions and opportunities for some, but also uncertainty or losses for others. That is precisely why there is increasing talk today about the necessity of a just transition, which means that changes must not be implemented exclusively at the expense of certain groups or communities.

The deliberative approach can play an important role here, enabling all those affected by the transition to participate in the debate over priorities and possible solutions, creating space for different experiences and needs to be heard and exchanged, and for more inclusive policies to be formulated. Deliberative processes can help ensure that the transition is not viewed merely as a technical task but as a joint social project in which everyone gains something – if not in equal measure, then at least through the feeling that the changes have been fairly formulated and implemented.

When citizens from different social groups can express their concerns and needs and discuss them in an informed and structured deliberative process, there is a chance that compromises will be found that protect the vulnerable while simultaneously enabling progress. This does not mean everyone will get everything they want, but it does mean no one will be completely neglected.

Furthermore, deliberative processes help people understand the bigger picture: that green policies affect not only them, but also the common good and future generations. Deliberative processes, therefore, cannot completely eliminate the division into winners and losers, but they can mitigate its consequences by making tradeoffs visible, subject to negotiation, and more just. In a society that decides about its own future through deliberation, the number of real winners increases because gains are not measured only by economic interest, but also by the sense of inclusion, solidarity, and trust.

In a society that decides about its own future through deliberation, the number of real winners increases because gains are not measured only by economic interest, but also by the sense of inclusion, solidarity, and trust.

What does deliberative democracy look like in practice?

The mechanisms of deliberative democracy are implemented through various formats of deliberative mini-publics, in which citizens have the opportunity to thoughtfully and informedly discuss topics that directly affect them and, based on that process, provide recommendations for decision-makers.

Today, the most widespread form is citizens’ assemblies. Deliberative mini-publics bring together a heterogeneous group of citizens, provide them with access to relevant information, and give time and space for moderated discussion in which everyone has the opportunity to contribute. Decisions are not formulated in simple binary terms, but in a way that leaves room for new, argument-based options that appeal to the public interest.

Research on deliberative mini-publics shows several key effects of such processes. First, participants often change their views and preferences after deliberation, and in a direction that is more thoughtful, based on the exchange of arguments rather than voting down alternative ideas or reinforcing initial prejudices. Second, participants learn new information about the topic, and changes in views are largely driven by increased awareness. Third, these processes reduce polarisation within the group and enable balanced learning by bringing participants into contact with diverse opinions.

Perhaps most important is that, by participating in deliberation, citizens feel their political engagement makes sense. Thus, the sense of personal and group political efficacy increases.

Can you cite a positive example of the implementation and use of such mechanisms?

The most frequently mentioned positive example is probably the citizens’ assemblies conducted in Ireland, where the results of deliberation had a concrete impact on constitutional changes, including decisions on same-sex marriage and abortion. The citizens’ assembly there held five weekend sessions over about a year, bringing together 100 randomly selected citizens to deliberate on key constitutional and ethical issues.

What is especially important about this case is that the recommendations made by the citizens’ assembly were then submitted to a referendum, and citizens supported them, showing that when people have the opportunity for informed discussion, their decisions can be both progressive and democratic. The Irish example also showed that deliberation can address topics that politicians traditionally avoid due to their sensitivity, and that citizens, when given the opportunity, are capable of making difficult decisions in a mature and responsible way.

In France, the Citizens’ Convention on Climate was organised in 2019-2020, bringing together 150 randomly selected citizens who deliberated on measures to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. The assembly formulated 149 concrete proposals, many of which the French government accepted and incorporated into legislation. Although not all proposals were adopted, the process showed that citizens can formulate complex, technically informed, and politically realistic proposals when given space, information, and time.

Similar practices exist in Belgium, particularly in the German-speaking community of East Belgium, where a permanent citizens’ council has been established with authority to initiate discussion on topics that will then be deliberated in temporary citizens’ assemblies. This model shows that deliberative democracy can be institutionalised rather than limited to ad hoc initiatives.

The biggest problem in Serbia, and in neighbouring countries, is the lack of political will to systematically implement such processes and to respect the recommendations arising from them.

Were there any such experiments in Serbia?

The citizens’ assembly on air pollution in Belgrade in 2020 was the first such experiment in Serbia. It was part of a research project conducted by the Institute for Philosophy and Social Theory, aimed at understanding how citizens of Serbia would react if given the opportunity to participate in the deliberation and formulation of political decisions. Thus, the assembly itself did not have the direct goal of influencing decisions, although citizens’ recommendations were sent for review to all relevant political actors.

Participants were selected using a quota sample to ensure representativeness across different social groups: gender, age, education, and the part of the city where they live. Before the assembly began, all participants received carefully prepared informational materials designed to familiarise them with different social and political perspectives on the topic of air pollution. The first versions of these materials were prepared by researchers involved in the project, and to ensure inclusiveness of different viewpoints, the materials were sent for review and comments to all relevant and competent actors with different attitudes and opinions: civil society organisations, experts, and decision-makers. All received comments were accepted and incorporated into the final version of the materials, which was then distributed to participants.

During the first phase of work, citizens were divided into smaller groups where, with the help of neutral moderators, they exchanged opinions, experiences, and arguments and formulated initial proposals. This was followed by a plenary session with experts and representatives of civil society organisations, who provided citizens with additional information about the causes and possible solutions to the problem. Citizens, through their representatives, asked questions and deepened their understanding of the topic, which later helped them improve their own proposals.

In the final phase of work, citizens developed concrete policy proposals, and then had the opportunity in the second plenary session to directly ask questions of decision-makers. However, decision-makers did not show sufficient responsiveness to the process and citizens’ questions, confirming a distant and irresponsible attitude toward citizens and their initiatives. Nevertheless, data collected during the process shows that the assembly had a significant educational and transformative effect on participants.

About 80 per cent of citizens stated that participation in the assembly significantly deepened their understanding of the problem, while about 85 per cent emphasised that comments and presentations by experts helped them better understand the causes and possible approaches to solving pollution. Additionally, about 77 per cent of participants said that, after discussions, they better understood those with whom they disagreed, suggesting the potential of deliberative processes to develop empathy and social understanding. At the same time, comments and responses from decision-makers were of little or no use to about 50 per cent of participants, which is a consequence of the lack of adequate answers to citizens’ key questions.

The process essentially showed that citizens, when given the opportunity, can formulate thoughtful, constructive, and sustainable proposals for solving local problems and are willing to support solutions that require certain sacrifices from them.

Since the beginning of student protests, and then citizen protests in 2024, we have witnessed assemblies (or ZBORs, local citizens’ councils) spreading like mushrooms after rain in Serbia. They represent a form of direct democracy and, in recent months, have begun to address ecological problems in communities as much as possible. Can direct and deliberative democracy cooperate? What do they have in common, and where are the differences?

What deliberative and direct democracy have in common is that both models insist on active citizen participation and opening the decision-making process to all those affected by certain policies. Both believe in the transformative potential of civic engagement: only through participation do citizens develop civic capacities, awareness of the common good, and their own political power. Also, both models strive to strengthen citizens’ sense of political power and responsibility.

However, there are also some key theoretical differences. Direct democracy often relies on the aggregative principle, which means that citizens’ already existing preferences are added up, and the legitimacy of the decision comes from the number of votes or support. On the other hand, deliberative democracy does not treat political preferences as fixed or exogenous. They are subject to transformation through the process of joint discussion and reflection.

Citizens, when given the opportunity, can formulate thoughtful, constructive, and sustainable proposals for solving local problems and are willing to support solutions that require certain sacrifices from them.

During deliberation, citizens exchange arguments, confront different views, and become informed about the consequences of their decisions, which develops collective awareness and the quality of political preferences. Deliberative democracy also defines the very manner of participation, so it is not enough just to vote or passively attend discussions; active reflection, evaluation of arguments, and responsibility toward the common good are crucial. Voting can still be part of the process, but the legitimacy of the decision does not come only from the formal number of supporters, but from the knowledge that those affected by the decision had the opportunity to understand and justify it.

Therefore, when assemblies are organised to present different proposals, arguments, and information within a discussion that precedes voting, they represent a form of practising deliberative democracy.

As a former councillor in the Belgrade City Assembly, how much room do you see for legal implementation of deliberative democracy mechanisms? And what are the key problems in the city that could be better addressed by such mechanisms?

I believe that almost all existing problems at the city level can be the subject of deliberation. Of course, the agenda could be partially limited by budget considerations, existing laws, or technical capacities, but this does not mean that any topic would be completely excluded from the list of issues suitable for deliberation. Even restrictive legal regulations can be changed. The boundaries of deliberation are not rigid; they are defined by practical frameworks rather than by topics.

The greatest obstacle to legally introducing deliberative mechanisms, however, is not in the feasibility of the process itself, but in the lack of political will to expand the field of decision-making to citizens. Institutionalising deliberative formats requires authorities to be willing to allow citizens to actively participate and for their recommendations to be taken into account, which implies partially relinquishing control over the decision-making process. And with the people who currently have a majority in the city assembly, I don’t see any room for something like that.

This interview originally appeared in the first print edition of the Serbian political ecology magazine Omorika. It is republished here with permission.