https://stockcake.com/i/legal-documents-display_895449_301553
Edited by Asmi Kansagra, Emma Hartman, Amelia Cantwell, and Owen Andrews
What is autocratic legalism, and how does it relate to the global rise in right-wing extremism that political and philosophical scholars observe today? The key to answering these questions rests in the political trends currently consuming Central Europe and Asia—namely, the movements that followed th››e rise of Hungary's Viktor Orban and Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdogan. These twenty-first-century dictators did not reveal themselves through tanks and overt militarization like their twentieth-century predecessors. Instead, they used democratic mandates and well-established legal systems to restructure government with hardly any detection from their subjects. Through centralized authority and the absence of a forceful opposition party, they legally became long-term autocrats rather than temporary presidents. Digest this: their people didn’t know to stop them. They didn’t know.
A common misconception is that the rise of modern autocracies resembles the patterns that led to fascism in the 1930s, despite the current social and economic systems in place that prevent this from ever being so. For example, when Hitler rose to power and promised the Germans—who were suffering from the traumas of World War I—that Germany would be made whole again, largely by using the Jewish people as scapegoats, there was no United Nations or International Court to prevent what later became the genocide of six million Jewish people. Nor was there an International Monetary Fund that could help stabilize crumbling European economies or dissuade the broader German people from accepting political violence as a tool for short-term relief. Because the shadow of World War II lingers in the background of these institutions’ operations, the layperson is prepared to prevent a 20th-century fascist revival, and therefore, the modern-day autocrat is encouraged to accumulate power through unconventional, unsuspecting means. As the autocrat does so, subjects miss the opportunity to check his rule. By the time subjects make any attempts, the integrity of their governing systems is diminished, and constitutional legitimacy is severely impaired.
To demonstrate this, we can break down the last sixteen years of Hungary's political landscape, beginning with Viktor Orban’s ascension as prime minister and the advancement of the Alliance of Young Democrats (Fidesz) in 2010. Although he recently conceded power, having lost reelection in early April, this case is important for a few reasons, namely because Orban’s climb to leadership, technically beginning in 1998, was initiated when Hungary’s left-liberal coalition crumbled after having deceived the public: the then-Prime Minister admitted to having “lied [to Hungarians] about the economic situation, opening the door to Fidesz’s sweeping return to power.” These people, who felt genuinely cheated by the government, embraced Orban and his nationalist tendencies because it was reassuring and identity-confirming. The previous administration had led them astray, and they desired a leader who could bring them together. Orban did just that, maybe a little too well.
When Fidesz won ⅔ of parliament in April 2010, the first steps taken to redeem the government’s standing were redrafting and passing an entirely new constitution. However, opposition parties couldn’t play a role in this process. Critics weren’t heard. Decisions were made solely by Orban loyalists who sought to consolidate enough power to unilaterally address the national crises before them. By June 2011, they took this even further, packing the court from “11 to 15 members, enabling the government to add four new appointments” and ensuring future nominations all came through Fidesz. In this same year, seats in parliament were reduced from 386 to 199, and constituencies were gerrymandered. It wasn’t until a few years later in 2020 that critics were fundamentally censored when the government fired hundreds of journalists and editors and replaced them with loyal cadres after taking direct control of public service media.
The Hungarian people were paramount to aiding Orban’s rise to power, particularly because they wanted to elect a hero who could counter the corruptness of the previous administration. Orban’s appeal wasn’t just that he was the “better of two evils”: it was that he had a solid vision. When his people thought he was addressing their insecurities—specifically those related to economic stability and political scandals—for the betterment of their country, they allowed their optimism to overshadow and even minimize some of his controversies. This facilitated Orban’s road to leadership. The most bewildering part is that he foreshadowed what he’d do back in 2013. He said it himself: “In a crisis, you don’t need governance by institutions. What is needed is somebody who says to [the people] follow me.… Now strong national leaders are required.” Hungarians and the world should’ve paid closer attention to these fateful words.
When they didn’t, Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdogan adopted a similar mindset dating back to his time as mayor of Istanbul from 1994 to 1998. He positioned himself as an ambitious leader, seeking to completely modernize and renovate the city despite severe opposition from his constituents. Later, as prime minister from 2003 to 2014, Islam became central to his political identity. His claims were controversial. Turks picked up on his traditional marital values and use of faith to elevate national identity. These controversies were of such severity that Erdogan was banned from running for re-election as prime minister. Yet, such sanctions didn’t dissuade Erdogan from shifting his attention to the presidency, a seat he remained capable of holding. Despite widespread uncertainty surrounding his social beliefs, many Turks were nevertheless encouraged by how the Turkish “economy had tripled in size since the Erdogan administration came to power in 2002.” Similar to Orban, Erdogan was addressing his people’s economic burdens and producing promising results. He was even connecting the country through high-speed rail systems and stabilizing Turkish-Kurdish relations. It was his apparent dedication and passion that drove people to the polls in 2014.
Yet, many did not expect his radical views to be so pervasive or expect how they would be used to completely reconfigure the Turkish state. Within just three years of his presidency, Erdogan had passed a constitutional referendum that abolished the office of the prime minister and consolidated absolute authority within the executive branch. Soon after, driven by power-hungry motives, he moved to pack Turkey’s constitutional court with judges of his own choosing. Their jurisdiction was expanded, not to blatantly adhere to or conform with the values of their own party (the Justice and Development Party), but to handle more cases and address the vast concerns of Turkish citizens. This is what the government had articulated, at least, and it confused critics who didn’t know if their status was being politically compromised or judicially bolstered. By 2020, his intentions were made clear when an intense purge sacked thousands of judges and prosecutors and replaced them with inexperienced newcomers who were relevant and adherent to Erdogan’s cause.
The administration's overhaul of the judiciary to silence critics under a facade of expanding democracy destroyed Turkey’s potential to become a burgeoning state. Since 2016, the severe attacks faced by activists, academics, and politicians have impaired Turkey’s relationship with the Western world and humanitarian organizations. Erdogan was always controversial, but his actions were unprecedented, and it was the confusion that followed his decisions that cemented his power.
Of many things, Orban and Erdogan’s climbs to power should elucidate the fragility of our democratic systems but even further, should prompt questions about what autocrats think of human dignity and the intrinsic worth of people. Under the law or in politics, dignity is often upheld by recognizing individuals’ abilities to make reasonable and rational decisions for themselves. That is, independently of government interference or coercion. When autocratic legalists prevent their subjects from being heard in a court of law or from initiating changes in power, the layperson’s capacity for good judgment is undermined. As philosopher Jeremy Waldron recognized, when civil liberties are squandered, people are treated more as “animals to be leashed” rather than “bearers of reason and intelligence.” Once the personal agency required to live a life of mutual respect is taken away, subjects don’t just become incapable of creating change—they’re judged to be unworthy of it. This negativity is pervasive, and it fosters systemic injustice that keeps subjects silent.
The autocrat’s disinterest in promoting individuality should be a daunting reminder that constitutions and laws aren’t much more than concepts inked onto paper. That, in fact, these documents are essentially just ideas that gain importance when supported and adopted by citizens given the opportunity to act. If a citizenry can’t uphold its interests or speak freely in a court of law, then its position in society becomes severely limited, and rulers can run unchecked. We should notice these outcomes are the result of subjects being forced into submission as the administration in power systematically dismantles hope. By the time the layperson realizes their liberties have been diminished, it’s too late, and the autocratic legalist has already placed himself beyond accountability.
For those of us living in what’s left of our democracies, this should be a warning signal. Orban and Erdogan, just two of many autocratic legalists, have already exposed how intricacies in our legal systems can be exploited and reshaped to facilitate autocratic reigns. They used their peoples’ emotional instability, lack of understanding of constitutional procedures, and reliance on antiquated signs of fascism to dismantle the democratic institutions that prevent absolute rule. If we don’t initiate conversations about current events like these soon, those of us living in the precarious state of the Western world risk meeting the same fate as Hungary or Turkey.