In the 2010s, many of us still believed that the Hungarian political climate would eventually change. It was impossible to foresee the emergence of such a strong and long-lasting system. Since then, every sector has been radically tampered with. Although there is no open censorship (because it isn’t necessary), people simply know what’s tolerated and what isn’t. Self-censorship has deepened, institutions are “priced in,” and everyone learns what each can and can’t be done in particular spaces. A stable, system-compatible world has formed—full of internal nuance and struggle—but outside it, the fragmented, atomized realm of resistance fights to remain visible.
We’ve been living in a permanent culture war for over a decade, growing increasingly tired and disillusioned. Yet the earlier years of this regime provoked a form of artistic activism that hadn’t truly existed in Hungary before. Artists, theorists, and students, drifted together, united by outrage over the institutional changes. I was part of several activist groups—Free Artists, the Ludwig Staircase occupation, the Living Memorial. But over time, it became clear that we couldn’t stop the erosion, only express dissatisfaction. And eventually, constant reacting made it easy to become pawns in the system’s own game. “The future is here, and it will never end”—the regime has weathered every rebellion. Activist groups tire and dissolve. And we forget: the art world before 2010 wasn’t without problems, and the traumas of the pre-1989 period remain unresolved.
Now that resistance has quieted, the regime could declare victory by imposing its preferred cultural narrative—but this is faltering too. Though many power-centers have been established, the regime is not filling them with real alternative content. The promised new canon never materialized. State institutions shrank, innovation is scarce, and international cooperation is hindered.
Meanwhile, private galleries have grown stronger due to expanding neoliberal policies. Many now fulfill roles once held by public institutions. Collectors, too, have gained more influence. This rising power of capital is part of a broader global trend.
In this new landscape, many in the art world have become willing to work with the regime, perhaps recognizing the system’s permanence. With cultural resistance faded, people seek other ways to preserve values. And this points to a serious dilemma: is there still a free area in our lives where the overt or covert influence of power can be avoided? There probably isn’t. And if there isn’t, how to not unintentionally legitimize the regime’s power?
Artistic activism, as direct resistance, was once promising, but seems to have evaporated. It is becoming increasingly difficult to get anyone excited with bridge occupations in Budapest, or and other actions. In addition, when protestors don’t achieve success, they tend to radicalize or focus on ever loftier goals. As artistic activism has declined, many have moved on to other circles, new causes, or international work. These provided personal meaning, but increasingly left behind the institutions—and even the idea—of art. If you want to act, art often feels too slow, too complex. Eventually, activism may abandon art altogether, or art will simplify itself beyond recognition.
Many people say that the culture war is a natural state, but I don’t think so. I think it’s toxic. We need to find a way out that is not the same as giving up or false reconciliation, but rather points towards a strong, open, autonomous intellectual position.
-Csaba Nemes
In the background we see the usual Budapest empty yard (there are many such yards empty since World War II), with Tatlin’s famous, now metaphorically evoked memorial design in the captivity of a spider’s web. The inscription “Activism Is Not Dead” ,is not very convincing in the context of the picture. In the foreground is an artist figure (myself) resembling a homeless person, pushing his studio-craps in a stroller.
