5 Mar 2026 | Europe and Central Asia, Features, Hungary
This article first appeared in the Winter 2025 issue of Index on Censorship, Gen Z is revolting: Why the world’s youth will not be silenced, published on 18 December 2025.
The year 2025 was the “Dirty Fidesz” summer for Hungary. This was the chant that could be heard at events across the country, from small concerts to the international Sziget Festival. When the anti-government slogan first emerged in 2023, it was primarily heard at concerts by musicians openly criticising the government of Prime Minister Viktor Orbán.
By 2025, it had reached the mainstream media.
In January, Hungary’s most popular rapper and former reality TV star Majka released his music video Csurran, cseppen (Drip by Drip). The song tells the story of a corrupt dictator from an imaginary country called Bindzsisztán (literally translated as Kleptistan), who having been given a truth potion confesses in an interview about how he took over the country.
“I can survive anything; the laws are written on me,” sings the autocratic leader, as heaps of banknotes fly through the air.
The video went viral within a day, reaching 28 million views by October in a country of 9.5 million. Without any direct references, viewers quickly drew parallels between the fictional state and Orbán’s Hungary.
Other Hungarian musicians used even stronger language. The 23-year-old Hungarian superstar Azhariah, who sold out the 60,000-seat Puskás Stadium for three consecutive nights, angered government supporters when in an Instagram post, he called Fidesz voters “mentally and intellectually retarded creatures”, for which he later apologised.
However, it is not only musicians who are expressing deep anti-government sentiments in Hungary. Tension and frustration are particularly high among the young generation, who feel that they have not been able to express their views through elections for a very long time.
“We don’t like what we see,” explained Eszter, a 19-year-old university student from Budapest. She believes that the country’s problems are complex, but that Gen Z is particularly affected by the high cost of living, inflation, and social issues.
“The healthcare system is in ruins, the education system does more harm than good, wages are ridiculous, and it’s almost impossible to buy a flat unless you were born into wealth,” she told Index.
Eszter also believes that young people in Hungary lack a vision for the future. Her words are supported by demographic data. According to 2024 figures, 546,000 Hungarians are officially registered as living in other EU countries, or the United Kingdom, Switzerland and Norway. If we add the USA, Canada, South America and Israel, the estimates are around 700,000. This is around 7% of the population.
The figures are even more alarming when we consider the so-called active population, defined as people between the ages of 15-64. In 2023, there were already a total of 420,000 people in this age group living abroad, which is having an impact on the Hungarian economy.
According to researcher Ágnes Hárs, the exodus is primarily driven by the cost of living crisis, low wages and high inflation. Younger generations are also leaving for western Europe to study, as an increasing proportion of students in Hungary now have to pay for their higher education. The situation is made worse by the fact that 21 Hungarian universities have been banned from participating in EU-funded Erasmus exchange programmes because they were taken over by public trusts filled with people from Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz party.
According to a recent survey by Fay Andras Foundation, only six out of 100 Gen Z Hungarians are certain to stay in the country. A staggering 57% of young people envisage living abroad within ten years. Of those who leave, the majority are unlikely to return.
For an increasing number of people, the economy is only one of the problems. Since Viktor Orbán came to power in 2010, he has steadily undermined the rule of law and democratic norms. Corruption has become rampant, prompting the EU to suspend a significant portion of the funds allocated to the country. The government has also started a culture war to dismantle the independence of academic institutions, including universities. When teachers at several secondary schools began acts of civil disobedience in response to restrictions on strikes, the authorities fired more than a dozen of those who participated.
Fidesz has also become increasingly vocal in its opposition to the LGBTQ+ community, and the introduction of a new law banning Pride parades has sparked a backlash at universities. Pázmány Péter Catholic University initiated disciplinary proceedings against three psychology lecturers who, after the ban was announced, published a newspaper article supporting the view that a loving family is more important to children than the gender of their parents, using scientific evidence. Ultimately, all three resigned.
But Gen Z are fighting back. In June, over 200,000 people defied the Pride ban and marched in Budapest to celebrate freedom. Among them was 20-year-old Zsolt, who was attending a public demonstration for the first time.
“I don’t want to care about politics, but I have no choice. It has become part of my life, whether I like it or not. Fidesz’s politics and ideology are everywhere, including my school and among my friends. Half of my classmates went on to study at foreign universities, and although I stayed, I increasingly feel suffocated by the atmosphere around me,” he said.
With fewer and fewer spaces available for young people to express their political opinions, music festivals and the ballot box are all that remain.
Opinion polls currently show that the new opposition party Tisza, headed by Péter Magyar, has a steady lead ahead of general elections in Hungary in 2026. Magyar, who is the ex-husband of Orbán’s former Justice Minister, Judit Varga, was once a beneficiary of the system. Now he is hoping to topple the regime.
Unlike Orbán, a 62-year-old grandfather who reportedly still uses an 18-year-old Nokia phone, Magyar is dynamic, sporty and stylish, and is particularly popular with younger people. Opinion polls show that Fidesz has fewer and fewer voters the younger the age group, being especially unpopular among 18–29-year-olds. According to a Medián survey published in June this year, Gen Z have almost no personal memories of any other prime minister besides Viktor Orbán, yet 58% still support the Tisza Party.
Fidesz is well aware of this and has been searching for a way to win back young people. Initially, they tried to engage with young people on social media, particularly TikTok. They are now also offering economic incentives: such as exempting people under 25 from paying personal income tax and introducing extremely favourable loans to help them buy their first home.
Some high-profile government politicians have also dismissed criticism by saying that it is only natural for younger generations to rebel against the system. Meanwhile, Deputy Prime Minister Zsolt Semjén argued that young people in Hungary have never received more support than they do under the current government.
What they probably don’t realise is that Gen Z is not just after money. They also want a better quality of life and freedom.
“These loans aren’t free. We’re just getting into debt while our education and healthcare systems are failing. The government can’t find common ground with young people – they’re on a different wavelength – but that’s fine by us. Let’s keep it that way,” said Zsolt.
We can be the change
Hungarian pop star Marci Mehringer reflects on being a Gen Zer in Budapest today
Pop star Marci Mehringer, who rose to fame on X Factor in 2021
I often wonder how much my perception reflects reality from my somewhat privileged position. I can at least do what I love. This in itself is a luckier situation than most young people find themselves in. Nevertheless, I think our problems are exactly the same. We have always lived in democracy, and we never thought that we would have to fight for this freedom again.
As dystopian as it may sound, I think most young people feel this way. They feel that they have to raise their voices over and over again so that they can live their lives the way they want to. Even though – on paper – this is everyone’s right.
The biggest problem facing young people today – apart from the housing and livelihood crisis – is perhaps that politics has permeated everything in Hungary. Our politicians have forgotten that they are there for us and not the other way around. Young people have not. And as they have nothing to lose, they can be braver and more honest than anyone else. Even if it sometimes means making less considered decisions.
In Hungary, life has become overly politicised. This is why, even at such a young age, we are so deeply involved in certain issues and want to bring about change, primarily in people’s attitudes. But what young people really want goes beyond material goods and our livelihood. We want to live in a united society that is not filled with so much unnecessary hatred.
We do not want to live in a country where people condemn each other’s views, Hungarians turn against each other, and our corrupt politicians divide us in order to retain power. We want an accepting, European Hungary where everyone can live together in happiness and peace, regardless of their background. In short, young people want a slightly more collectivist and accepting society.
All this may sound utopian, but this is how we were raised. Therefore, I am not asking whether change will come, but when it will come and how long we will have to tolerate those responsible for this chaos.
I am also convinced that these principles are present not only in young people, but in the older generation too, they just find it more difficult to express them. Perhaps the younger a person is, the easier it is for them to want to effect change. After all, isn’t it customary to rebel when you’re young?
In any case, the future of our country is in our hands. We will live here for another 50 or 60 years and it is our duty to rebuild the country from the current ruins, creating a place where what has been said will be second nature to future generations.
I believe that we can be the change; that we can be the ones to put our hearts and minds in order for the greater good.
Marci Mehringer is a Hungarian musician who rose to fame on the 2021 series of X Factor. He regularly sells out concert halls in Budapest with his band, Mehringer. His songs often criticise the current Hungarian regime and highlight the issues facing younger generations
24 Feb 2026 | Afghanistan, Asia and Pacific, Campaigns, Features, Letters from Afghan Women
Farah, 25, based in Parwan province, supported her family as a civil servant and for UN agencies before the Taliban took over. Then, like so many other women, she lost her job. She did not take that sitting down and instead became involved in a centre to directly help women. But it was soon shut. Today she has no job and an increasingly unwell mother. She writes poignantly here about her life and how she continues to foster hope for herself, her family and all Afghan women despite the many challenges.
I am an Afghan woman, born in the spring of 2000 into a family where education was not merely a choice – it was the cornerstone of life itself. In our home, books were sacred, and the pen symbolised a future brighter than circumstance. My father was a doctor, a man who believed profoundly that knowledge could reshape not only an individual’s life but the destiny of an entire nation. My mother, patient, resilient, and steadfast, was a homemaker whose serene presence masked a boundless inner strength. We were eleven children, a large family with even larger dreams.
My childhood was still imbued with innocence and play when tragedy struck. I lost my father to a heart attack. The warmth and security of our home evaporated overnight. The man who had been our protector, guide, and provider was suddenly gone. From that moment, my mother assumed every role – mother, father, guardian, and pillar of strength. She began sewing clothes by hand late into the night under dim light, her hands moving tirelessly so that we could study by day. Poverty never deterred her. She would say, “Your true wealth is your knowledge. No one can ever take that from you.”
In the spring of 2019, a life-changing opportunity emerged. Dunya University, one of the most reputable institutions in central Afghanistan, announced 600 full scholarships. Its curriculum was entirely in English and aligned with international academic standards. Professors from its main branch in Switzerland taught both online and in person. For a girl from a large, resource-constrained family like mine, this was more than a chance – it was a beacon of hope.
My mother saw the announcement on television. Despite financial hardships, she borrowed money from my aunt to cover the registration fee and brought me to the entrance exam the very next day. Candidates from all 34 provinces of Afghanistan competed. When I received the call informing me that I had been accepted into the Faculty of Economics, it was as if a light had pierced through years of uncertainty. For the first time, I saw pride and relief illuminate my mother’s eyes.
University life was far from easy. In the first two years, I neither owned a smartphone nor had stable internet access. There were times when I walked long distances merely to find a spot with brief connectivity to submit my assignments. Simultaneously, I worked six hours a day at a private school as an administrative assistant. The salary was modest, yet it contributed to our household needs. Exhausted yet determined, I would return home each night to continue studying, convinced that education was the only path to secure both my future and my family’s well-being.
In late December 2020, I took the competitive examination for a governmental post at the National Statistics and Information Authority (NSIA) and was appointed to the civil service position responsible for ID distribution. My proficiency in computer skills and English enabled me to receive promotions relatively quickly. The salary I earned provided me with my first true taste of financial independence, and I remember handing the first paycheck to my mother with tears of joy in my eyes. It was a moment of triumph—proof that perseverance and education could transform one’s life.
Yet, following the political upheaval in Afghanistan, everything changed. Work conditions, regulations, and security were drastically altered. My office was relocated to the remote district of Estalf, two hours away from the city centre. New restrictions on women travelling without a male guardian rendered commuting nearly impossible. Hours were spent waiting for transportation that often refused to carry unaccompanied women. Many times, I walked long distances to reach my workplace. My feet would ache, yet the deepest pain was in my heart – knowing that I was penalised merely for being a woman.
For two months, I persisted despite immense pressure. One day, when my mother was ill, I had to traverse the two-hour journey alone on foot. Upon reaching the office, I received a message requesting that I nominate a male family member to assume my responsibilities. At that moment, my identity, competence, and hard work were dismissed. My father had passed years ago, and my brothers were still children. Reluctantly, I had to relinquish my post.
Refusing to succumb to despair, I dedicated myself to humanitarian projects. I became a community outreach officer in Parwan province, volunteering in remote villages where women had never had access to education. I encountered girls who had been forced into child marriages as early as thirteen or fourteen, and many had no basic knowledge of menstrual hygiene. I distributed sanitary pads to adolescent girls and women, often explaining proper usage, as some had never seen such resources. Witnessing their lack of awareness and vulnerability was profoundly heart-wrenching. These were lives that should have been nurtured with opportunities, not constrained by societal neglect.
During a visit to the village of Ustama, women looked at us in disbelief. They confessed that they had long been told that women should not speak, should not study, and should remain silent. Seeing us, providing education and guidance, was nearly incomprehensible for them. That moment underscored the reality that deprivation in Afghanistan is not solely economic; it is the denial of knowledge, awareness, and self-agency – a far more insidious form of oppression.
Later, I joined a project under UN Women as a Safe Space Officer. The centre became a sanctuary for women and girls. Hundreds attended daily, participating in digital literacy classes, life skills training, sewing, embroidery, painting, and small business workshops. We provided the necessary materials to enable participants to create products and link them to markets, thereby earning their own income. Witnessing the first earnings of these women – their proud smiles and newfound confidence – was profoundly inspiring. I documented their successes, recording the moments of triumph with my camera. Every snapshot was a testament to resilience and hope. The centre was not just a place of learning; it was a beacon of empowerment.
However, in late August 2024, the centre was abruptly closed by government authorities. We were expelled under accusations of teaching a “foreign language” and allegedly encouraging women to oppose the government. The office was sealed and locked. Once again, I found myself unemployed, silenced, and stripped of the opportunity to teach.
Days later, a young participant called me, eager to know when classes would resume. I had to convey the bitter truth: the programme had been terminated. I could hear her sobs through the phone. A few days later, her mother informed me that the girl had taken her own life. The news shattered me. I wrestled with guilt and depression for months, haunted by nightmares of those I could not protect.
Although I understood that systemic oppression, not personal failure, was the cause, the grief was almost unbearable.
Today, my mother lives with chronic heart disease and diabetes, with three stents in her heart. At times, being unable to procure her essential medication brings me to the brink of despair. Yet, despite all hardships, my hope persists.
I share this story not to elicit pity, but because the voices of Afghan women deserve to be heard. My goal is to reclaim the right to education, to work with dignity, and to empower other women to realize their potential. Wherever I am, I strive to contribute to a future in which no girl must bury her dreams because opportunities were denied to her.
Though doors may be closed today, hope remains alive. As long as hope endures, the struggle for dignity, justice, and equality will persist.
Farah
