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The Hungarian transition is not only a Hungarian event. It is a European constitutional moment. The contributions to this symposium have shown, from different angles, how demanding the repair of constitutional democracy after a hybrid regime will be: a new government must restore constitutional supremacy, reconsider cardinal laws, guarantee judicial and prosecutorial independence, reopen markets, reestablish media pluralism, and counter corruption. Overall, it must strive for democratic accountability without turning into revenge. But there is more. Taken together, these contributions show that the Hungarian transition can play a crucial role in the development of European constitutionalism itself.

This transition comes at a decisive moment. Only a few weeks ago, in its plenary judgment of 21 April 2026 in Commission v Hungary, the Court of Justice qualified Hungary’s anti-LGBTIQ* law as a manifest and particularly serious breach of the values in Article 2 TEU. The Court held that the law was contrary to “the very identity of the Union as a common legal order of a society in which pluralism prevails” (para 551). This was not merely another infringement case. The Court confirmed that Article 2 TEU is not ceremonial language but a legally binding provision capable of setting enforceable red lines. And it did so by linking the Union’s legal order to a society: European society.

The Hungarian transition is the first major political and constitutional process after that judgment in which the practical meaning of this idea can be tested. What does it mean to restore constitutional democracy as a member of European society? What role can European constitutional law play when a society seeks to free itself from the legacy of a hybrid regime? And, vice-versa, does the Hungarian transition transform European constitutionalism itself?

Belonging to European Society

The first lesson of this symposium is that the Hungarian transition concerns belonging. This may sound surprising. The immediate problems seem institutional: the presidency, the Constitutional Court, the Kúria, the Prosecutor General, the media regulator, the competition authority, or the system of cardinal laws. Yet each of these institutional questions ultimately concerns the conditions under which persons, groups, and institutions belong to a democratic and pluralist society.

Belonging to European society does not mean that Hungarians must become “more European” in a cultural sense. Nor does it imply that European society replaces the Hungarian one. The Court itself speaks of Hungarian and European society side by side (para 554). To belong to European society rather means to participate in a common legal and institutional space in which human dignity, freedom, democracy, equality, the rule of law, and human rights – the values of Article 2 TEU – set the basic terms of public life.

The judgment of 21 April 2026 makes this visible in the most direct way. The Hungarian law at issue did not merely regulate education, media, or child protection. It constructed a part of society as a threat. The Court understood this. It saw that the law’s constitutional harm lay not only in specific interferences with rights or freedoms but in the symbolic and institutional exclusion of LGBTIQ* persons from equal membership in Hungarian and European society.

The Court’s reliance on Article 2 TEU therefore marks more than a doctrinal innovation. It gives legal expression to a basic idea: European society is a society in which pluralism prevails. This means that no person or group may be rendered invisible by law, but also that no government may monopolize public power and that no ruling party may convert markets, media, courts, or public resources into instruments of partisan domination.

Rebuilding Belonging

The symposium applies this insight to the Hungarian transition. A hybrid regime does not only capture the state. It shapes society. By deciding who has access to public resources, who may speak, who may compete, who may be investigated, who is protected, who is stigmatized, and who is silenced, it reorganizes social membership. It creates insiders and outsiders. It does so through constitutional law, ordinary legislation, administrative practice, public procurement, media regulation, criminal prosecution, tax policy, or market design.

This is why the contributions by Maciej Bernatt and Kati Cseres on markets are so important. They show that restoring constitutional democracy cannot be reduced to institutional issues. Fidesz did not only capture state institutions such as the presidency, courts, or regulators; it reshaped the economy. Monopolization, selective enforcement, and the creation of politically connected economic actors were part of the constitutional structure of the regime. Markets became a medium of exclusion and dependence. Their reconstruction is therefore not a technical task for competition lawyers alone. It is part of restoring the social conditions of democratic citizenship.

The same applies to the media, as discussed by Anna Wojcik and Bernát Török. A society in which pluralism prevails requires more than the absence of censorship. It requires institutional conditions under which different voices can reach the public, citizens can form opinions, and political alternatives can become visible. For this reason, institutional guarantees of pluralism are central for the operation of the media authority and the organization of public media.

Very similar observations can be made with regard to academia. Renata Uitz has shown how the prior government has created an epistemic infrastructure of illiberal democracy, which excludes many academic voices. Knowledge institutions, such as universities, research, libraries, museums, or think tanks, are not only a check on power but also central for the formation of opinions. The restoration of academic freedom, especially of university autonomy, must therefore be a top priority.

The exclusionary force of the prior regime is felt especially in the field of civil society. Measures taken by the previous government had a chilling effect on large parts of society – women, LGBTIQ* persons, or local communities – excluding their voice and visibility in public life. This deprived them of a crucial aspect of their democratic membership. Marta Pardavi, Edit Zgut-Przybylska, and Barbara Grabowska-Moroz and Katarzyna Łakomiec discussed different routes towards restoring their democratic membership, among others, through more substantive equality and more inclusive or decentralized political decision-making processes.

The Polish lessons point in a similar direction. Adam Bodnar reminds us that democratic restoration requires not only legal reforms but also regaining citizens’ trust. Voters expect accountability for corruption, abuse of power, and state capture. Yet accountability must not become victor’s justice, as Marcin Barański argues. The temptation to use inherited powers for new partisan purposes is real. It may be even stronger after an overwhelming electoral victory. Victory, therefore, demands constitutional self-restraint.

Institutional reforms, too, should be geared towards rebuilding belonging, as Beáta Bakó’s contribution on cardinal laws shows. The Hungarian two-thirds majority has long been presented as a guarantee of constitutional seriousness and compromise. Yet under conditions of a distorted electoral system, it became an instrument of domination. The supposed magic of the two-thirds majority concealed the absence of genuine pluralism. The lesson is sobering: supermajority rules do not necessarily create compromise. They may entrench hegemony. If Hungary is to return to a functioning constitutional democracy, it must not only undo Fidesz’s substantive choices. It must also rethink the institutional grammar through which majorities are produced, stabilized, and constrained – especially its electoral law.

In this spirit, Pál Sonnevend’s contribution insists on the distinction between constitutional repair and constitution-making. A democratic landslide may create an opportunity, even a mandate, for deep change. But it does not by itself justify a unilateral constitutional refoundation. That would risk repeating the ‘original sin’ of the 2011 Fundamental Law: the transformation of a parliamentary majority into a constituent monopoly. The transition must, therefore, repair what blocks constitutional democracy while opening an inclusive process for deeper renewal.

In sum, these contributions show what belonging to European society requires. It requires effective rights, but also open markets. It requires independent courts, but also pluralistic media. It requires accountability, but also restraint. It requires democratic majorities, but also institutional limits. It requires a state that belongs to its citizens, not to a party. And it requires a European legal order that does not stand above society, but helps articulate the basic terms of pluralist democratic life.

The Constitutional Role of EU Law: Orienting, Constraining, Facilitating

The second lesson concerns the role of EU constitutional law. The Hungarian transition shows that EU law is not merely an external standard applied to national constitutional orders. Nor is it only a disciplinary mechanism that punishes backsliding states. Its role is more complex. In the transition from hybrid regime to constitutional democracy, EU law can orient, constrain, and facilitate.

It orients, first, by providing direction for repair. The goal is not simply to reverse Orbánism. Nor is it to replace one partisan constitutional project with another. The goal is to repair a constitutional democracy capable of belonging fully to the Union’s common legal order. Article 2 TEU provides the vocabulary for that repair: human dignity, freedom, democracy, equality, the rule of law, human rights, pluralism, non-discrimination, tolerance, justice, solidarity, and equality between women and men. These values are abstract, contested, and often difficult to operationalize. But they are not empty. They identify the constitutional horizon of the transition.

This orienting function matters especially because hybrid regimes distort the meaning of legality. They often govern through law, invoke constitutional language, and use formal legality to entrench substantive domination. A transition from such a regime must therefore avoid the illusion that the mere repeal of bad laws suffices. It must rebuild the institutional and social conditions under which law can again perform its constitutional function. Article 2 TEU helps identify those conditions.

However, EU law also constrains. The enthusiasm for a transition can be dangerous. A new democratic majority may be tempted to treat electoral victory as a license to do whatever is politically necessary. It may wish to remove captured officials immediately, restructure courts overnight, disregard inconvenient procedures, or use criminal law as a means of political cleansing. Some of these measures may respond to obstruction by leftovers of the old regime. Yet constitutional democracy cannot be restored by methods that destroy the very standards it seeks to revive.

European law therefore sets limits for the transition. Judicial independence, fair trial, legality in criminal matters, protection of property, proportionality, and non-discrimination remain applicable. As László Detre demonstrates, this applies especially to repairing the courts. Innovative solutions, including court-packing, might be necessary and legitimate, as David Kosař and Marcin Szwed argue. Still, any premature removals from office would raise concerns under Articles 2 and 19 TEU. The ECHR is important here too, as András Jakab and Michal Bobek stress. Vetting, lustration, confiscation, dismissal, and institutional restructuring may all be necessary in some form. But they must be legal, proportionate, individually justified where required, and subject to review.

Limits apply even to the constituent power. A two-thirds majority may allow constitutional amendment under Hungarian law. But the exercise of constituent power in an EU Member State is not an event beyond the confines of European constitutionalism. A national constitutional majority may repair, but it may not place itself beyond the common legal order of European society.

This constraining function is not anti-democratic. On the contrary, it protects the democratic legitimacy of the Hungarian transition against its possible deformation. The electorate did not vote for a new monopoly of power. It voted to end one. European constitutional limits help ensure that democratic restoration does not become democratic self-harm.

Finally, EU law also facilitates. This is perhaps the least appreciated, but no less important, role. European constitutional law does not only say “no”. It can enable democratic actors to rebuild a society in which pluralism prevails. The contributions to this symposium identify many such instruments. EU competition law and state aid law can help address politically distorted markets and the unlawful allocation of economic advantage. The European Media Freedom Act, the Digital Services Act, the Audiovisual Media Services Directive, and European regulatory networks can assist in reconstructing media and regulatory pluralism. Joining the European Public Prosecutor’s Office can strengthen the fight against corruption and reassure European institutions that EU funds will be protected. Conditionality mechanisms and Recovery and Resilience Facility milestones can support judicial and anti-corruption reforms. Article 19 TEU and the case law on judicial independence provide standards for reforming the Kúria and the ordinary judiciary. And Article 2 TEU now sets red lines against measures that attack the Union’s constitutional identity as a legal order of pluralist society.

EU law is of special importance where domestic institutions remain captured, where veto players obstruct compliance with European obligations, or where the old regime’s legal architecture continues to block democratic self-correction. Kim Lane Scheppele’s provocative idea of EU law as an interim constitution captures this possibility in its strongest form. One need not accept every implication of that formulation to see the underlying point. In a captured constitutional order, European law may provide a lawful path through domestic obstruction. It may allow reformers to act not outside legality, but through a broader legality: the rule of law writ large, including the obligations of EU and ECHR membership.

Still, this facilitating function must be handled carefully. EU law is not a magic wand. On the one hand, a European umbrella may not become a cover for arbitrary removals, institutional revenge, or constitutional overreach. The balance is delicate: EU law must be strong enough to prevent the old regime from weaponizing legality against democracy, but restrained enough to prevent the new majority from weaponizing democracy against legality. On the other hand, EU law cannot substitute for Hungarian democratic politics. Nor should it be used as a technocratic shortcut for contested political choices. The legitimacy of the transition must remain rooted in Hungarian society, institutions, and public debate.

The Hungarian Role for European Constitutionalism: From Challenge to Renewal

The Hungarian transition will be difficult. It will produce conflicts, disappointments, and legal uncertainty. Some reforms will fail. The task is therefore to accompany the transition critically. European constitutionalism now faces one of its most demanding opportunities: to help a Member State return from hybrid rule without abandoning legality, pluralism, or democratic self-government. If Hungary succeeds, it will not merely come back to Europe but become a driver for the development of European constitutionalism.

For more than a decade, Hungary stood at the center of European constitutionalism because it challenged it. It forced scholars, courts, institutions, and political actors to confront questions many had preferred to avoid: Are Article 2 TEU values legally binding? Can the Union defend democracy within its Member States? What happens when a government uses constitutional law to dismantle constitutionalism? How should European law respond when formal legality becomes the language of autocratic capture?

The Hungarian transition shifts this configuration. Hungary may now stand at the center of European constitutionalism for another reason: not because it challenges it, but because it may contribute to its deeper entrenchment. If the transition succeeds, it will not simply restore a national constitutional democracy. It will show that hybrid regimes can be defeated in elections, that constitutional repair can be democratic and lawful, that accountability can be pursued without revenge, that markets and media are part of constitutional reconstruction, and that EU law can assist without dominating.

This would be a major development for the Union as a whole. European constitutionalism has often been written from the West and tested in the East. That geography is no longer adequate. The dynamic center of European constitutionalism has moved eastward because the most severe challenges emerged there. It may now remain there for a more hopeful reason: because this is where European constitutionalism is being endorsed, tested, and renewed.

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Am 17. Juni 2026 hat das Europäische Parlament mit den Stimmen der konservativen und rechtsextremen Fraktionen der neuen sogenannten Rückführungsverordnung zugestimmt. Nun steht nur noch die finale Annahme im Rat aus. Nach der Verordnung können Menschen gegen ihren Willen in ein Land verbracht werden, das sie weder kennen noch jemals betreten haben. Nach allgemeinem Verständnis hat das mit einer Rückführung nichts zu tun. Es passt eher zu dem, was man unter einer Entführung versteht.

Die Verordnung enthält mehrere Verschärfungen. Bernd Parusel hatte den Entwurf bereits im Februar hier diskutiert und kritisiert. Dass nach der Abstimmung im Europäischen Parlament ein hooliganhaftes Gegröle mit „send them back“-Gesängen ausbrach, spiegelt, wie sehr die Migrationspolitik inzwischen von Gewaltfantasien und Ressentiments beherrscht wird. Ich möchte mich hier auf einen Aspekt der Verordnung konzentrieren, der euphemistisch als „Abschaffung des Verbindungskriteriums“ bezeichnet wird.

Die Entleerung des Begriffs Rückkehr

Die Verordnung definiert in Art. 4 Abs. 3 das „Land der Rückkehr“ (country of return). Dieses kann demnach nicht nur das Land der Staatsangehörigkeit oder des früheren gewöhnlichen Aufenthalts eines Drittstaatsangehörigen sein, sondern auch ein Staat, durch den die Person durchgereist ist. Nach Art. 4 Abs. 3 lit. g kann es auch ein Land sein, mit dem ein Abkommen oder Arrangement besteht, auf dessen Grundlage der Drittstaatsangehörige dort aufgenommen wird. In diesem Fall muss also weder eine Verbindung irgendeiner Art zu dem Land bestehen noch eine freiwillige Entscheidung des Drittstaatsangehörigen vorliegen.

Niemand würde unter Rückkehr nach einem üblichen Gebrauch des Wortes die Verbringung in ein völlig neues, unbekanntes Land verstehen. Es widerspricht dem Wortlaut von „Rückkehr“, der eindeutig ein „zurück“, also ein „bereits gewesen sein“, voraussetzt. Auf diesen Widerspruch zur Bezeichnung hinzuweisen, ist keine Spitzfindigkeit. Erstens ist das Festhalten an der Bezeichnung „Rückkehr“ eine Camouflage der Menschenverachtung, die in dieser Regelung steckt. Es ist eine Verordnung zur Entfernung von Menschen. Zweitens ist es notwendig, die Regelung beim Namen zu nennen, um zu beschreiben, wie sie grundlegenden Freiheitsrechten widerspricht.

Es steckt darin eine erhebliche Veränderung gegenüber der bisherigen Regelung in Art. 3 der Rückführungsrichtlinie (2008), die unter Rückkehr die Rückreise oder erzwungene Rückführung entweder in das Herkunftsland, oder in ein Transitland, oder aber in einen Drittstaat, sofern dies freiwillig geschieht, versteht. Der EuGH hatte mit einer Entscheidung im Jahr 2020 festgehalten, dass die Durchreise allein noch keine Verbindung begründe, wie sie Art. 38 Abs. 2 der Asylverfahrensrichtlinie für das Konzept des sicheren Drittstaats vorsah.

Die neue gesetzliche Regelung verzichtet nicht nur auf diese anspruchsvollere Verbindungsanforderung, sondern geht deutlich weiter. Der Art. 4 Abs. 3 lit. g erweitert das Land der Rückkehr ins Unbestimmte, als einzige Bedingung wird auf Art. 17 der Verordnung verwiesen, der die Abkommen mit Drittstaaten über die Aufnahme von Personen betrifft. Dieser hält fest, dass solche Abkommen nur mit Staaten geschlossen werden dürfen, die internationale Menschenrechtsstandards und -prinzipien, einschließlich des Prinzips des Non-Refoulement, beachten.

Verbindungslose Verbringung

Tatsächlich wurde in Bezug auf die Verbringung von Personen in ihnen völlig unbekannte Staaten vor allem die unsichere Menschenrechtslage in solchen Staaten diskutiert. Das war Gegenstand des vorläufigen Rechtsschutzes durch den EGMR in Bezug auf die Vorhaben Großbritanniens, Menschen nach Ruanda zu verbringen. In einer ähnlichen Frage vor dem US Supreme Court lag der Fokus auch in der abweichenden Meinung von Justice Sotomayor ganz auf Verfahrensrechten und den drohenden Rechtsverletzungen bei Verbringung in den unbekannten Drittstaat.

Doch bevor über die mangelnde Bereitschaft von Drittstaaten, sich auf solche Abkommen einzulassen, oder unzureichende menschenrechtliche Standards gesprochen wird, muss nochmals grundsätzlich die Frage gestellt werden, ob es akzeptabel ist, Menschen gegen ihren Willen an einen Ort zu verbringen. Dass es kein ausdrückliches Verbot einer solchen Regelung gibt, ist als Rechtfertigung ziemlich dünn, denn es geht um eine wesentliche Freiheitsposition.

Eine der frühesten Errungenschaften in der Anerkennung von Grundrechten war die englische Habeas-Corpus-Akte von 1679. Das Prinzip des habeas corpus, also die Verfügungsgewalt über den eigenen Körper, richtete sich ursprünglich gegen willkürliche Inhaftierung; heute steht es vor allem für das Recht auf zügige Haftüberprüfung. Dass Menschen die Verfügungsgewalt über ihren eigenen Körper haben, ist eines der zentralen Freiheitsrechte. Es ist ein starker Eingriff in diese Verfügungsgewalt über den eigenen Körper, jemanden unfreiwillig an einen völlig unbekannten Ort zu verbringen, von dem er sich nicht ohne weiteres wieder entfernen kann. Der Eingriff, der damit einhergeht, ist mit der Ausweisung in einen Staat, aus dem die Person kommt oder durch den sie hindurchgereist ist, nicht vergleichbar. Gegen eine solche Ausweisung können gewichtige Gründe sprechen, aufgrund der drohenden Behandlung in dem Staat, in den zurückgewiesen wird, oder aufgrund der Verankerung einer Person in dem Staat, der sie ausweisen möchte. Aber in jedem Fall liegt dabei eine noch in gewissem Maße freie Entscheidung des Individuums zugrunde, weil die vorherige Bewegung umgekehrt wird. Man kann mit guten Gründen bestreiten – wie es der EuGH 2020 getan hat –, dass die frühere Durchreise genügt, um daran eine Rückkehr des Individuums zu knüpfen. Doch die Verbringung in einen Staat, in dem die betreffende Person niemals war, zu dem keine biografische oder sonstige Verbindung besteht, hat eine andere Dimension.

Habeas Corpus

Es ist eine Grundfreiheit, über den eigenen Körper auch bezüglich seines Aufenthaltsorts zu verfügen. Das bedeutet kein universelles Recht auf Bewegungsfreiheit in dem Sinne, dass es die Einreise überall erlauben würde. Aber es ist eine wesentliche Freiheit, sich im Rahmen der verfügbaren Wege zu bewegen, und dass nicht andere über den Aufenthaltsort entscheiden. Das spiegelt sich in den Garantien zu innerstaatlicher Freizügigkeit, im Recht der Ausreisefreiheit und in den strengen Anforderungen an Haft. Dass keine expliziten rechtlichen Garantien der Verschleppung von Personen in einen ihnen unbekannten Drittstaat entgegenstehen, macht diese nicht akzeptabel. Die Kodifikation von Menschenrechten reagiert auf Erfahrungen mit Unrecht; nicht ohne Grund unterliegen diese einer allmählichen Weiterentwicklung, weil manche Regelungsnotwendigkeiten sich erst mit der Zeit zeigen.

Dass zukünftig Menschen, die in Europa Schutz suchen und deren Asylantrag abgelehnt wird, in ein beliebiges Drittland verbracht werden könnten, ist ein Hohn. Die EU schafft die Grundlage, um staatliche Entführungen durchzuführen, mit dem erklärten Ziel, dadurch Angst unter Migrant:innen zu erzeugen und sie davon abzuhalten, überhaupt Schutz in Europa zu suchen („Abschreckung“). Es wurde unter Gegröle beschlossen, Menschen verschleppen zu können, um bei anderen Angst zu erzeugen. Sind das diese europäischen Werte?

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Time is short and the demands are enormous. Following the landslide victory of Péter Magyar and the TISZA Party in Hungary’s parliamentary elections on 12 April 2026, the new government must demonstrate that its commitment to reform extends beyond mere rhetoric and translates into tangible changes that improve the everyday lives of Hungarians. With a two-thirds majority in Parliament, the new governing party seems to have the power to implement all the policies on its political wish list. Nevertheless, it should be acknowledged that hard limits are set by EU law, particularly by Article 2 TEU (in the new and not uncontroversial interpretation by the ECJ), and soft limits are set by best practice in European constitutionalism. When theoretically unlimited possibilities meet with vaguely worded standards, it is helpful to have an Archimedean point outside the system from which to assess which reforms will be helpful and sustainable during the transition period, and which may exacerbate existing problems or unnecessarily weaken the system.

The Role of the Venice Commission in Hungary’s Re-Transition

During the long years of the Orbán regime, when Hungary drifted further and further away from common European perceptions and values, the Venice Commission was frequently asked to review new legislation. It was an “unwelcome friend”, “unwelcome” to the Orbán regime because of its critical stance, but at the same time a “friend” of Hungary as it sought to uphold its links to the European heritage of democracy and the rule of law.

There are good reasons to believe that the Venice Commission could play a significant, potentially even decisive, role in Hungary’s reform process in the coming years.

First, since 2011, the Venice Commission has adopted 27 opinions, critically assessing all major constitutional and legal reforms in Hungary. As a long-term observer, the Commission has developed special insight, expertise and a deep understanding of the reasons for the backlash in the country. Topics assessed include constitutional reforms, reforms to the court system (including changes to age limits and salaries in ordinary and administrative courts, as well as the Constitutional Court), election laws, laws on national education and the media, religious freedom, and the status of churches. Of particular importance are the opinions on ideological topics such as legislation on foreign influence, homophobic laws, a special immigration tax, and the “Stop Soros” legislative package.

Second, the Venice Commission has been and remains a major actor in the process of restoring the rule of law in Poland following the victory of the pro-European coalition led by Prime Minister Donald Tusk. The transfer of concepts and ideas from Poland to Hungary is possible, and experience is valuable. However, the differences and similarities between both the backlash and the restoration of the rule of law and democracy in the two countries must be taken into account. In both countries, key state positions are still occupied by individuals who are said to be loyal to the previous regime and therefore block reforms. Corruption and abuse of authority seem to be widespread, but difficult to grasp. Legal changes have been far-reaching, often touching fundamental elements of the state’s architecture. At the same time, the influence of the ECtHR and ECJ jurisprudence on judicial reform was much stronger in Poland than in Hungary. While the Orbán government adopted a new constitution, the P.I.S. in Poland left the constitution untouched but reinterpreted substantial provisions and implemented institutional changes below the constitutional surface. Last but not least, the Tusk coalition would dream of Hungary’s two-thirds majority; many of their reform initiatives are blocked by the President’s veto, which the governing coalition cannot overcome.

Third, the Venice Commission has a diplomatic-legal mission and does not threaten to interfere with national sovereignty. It is an arbitrator coming from outside, but engaging in dialogue with all relevant inside actors such as the constitutional court, the President, the Parliament (majority and opposition), the ombudsperson, the prosecution, the courts, and civil society. The Commission is flexible and can react quickly to demands, providing urgent opinions within a few weeks if necessary. While the Venice Commission’s authority and high reputation are widely recognised, its opinions are not legally binding, but form part of soft law. Nevertheless, the Venice Commission observes and comments on the follow up. If the opinions are integrated into the judgments of the ECtHR or taken to define progress in the accession process to the EU, Venice Commission standards can even be transformed into “hard law”. Although the Venice Commission cannot develop case law or jurisprudence, it emphasises consistency in its assessments and recommendations. With regard to questions concerning the rule of law, it has created a normative framework in the form of the Rule of Law Checklist, which was revised in 2025 adding reflections on the best practice in restoring the rule of law.

Preconditions and Forms of Support for the Reform Process

The Venice Commission never acts on its own motion; it needs a request from an authorised person, either from within the country (such as the Minister of Justice or the Speaker of Parliament) or from outside the country. The Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe is one of its best “customers”. During the Orbán regime it was almost exclusively the Parliamentary Assembly requesting the assessment of the new Hungarian laws.

In a situation where a constitutional system needs not only cosmetic, but surgical interventions after a rule of law backlash, there are undeniably dilemmas between legal certainty and constitutional guarantees on the one hand, and effective transformative measures on the other hand. For the Venice Commission, it is important that the measures aimed at restoring the rule of law are, as a rule, themselves compatible with the overall standards of the rule of law. However, exceptions are permitted when adherence to existing legislation would perpetuate an unacceptable status quo. The aim of preventing a relapse into illiberalism should always be kept in mind.

The following principles are relevant: The reforms should be built on a comprehensive diagnosis of the reasons and consequences of the rule of law regression; it is necessary to have both short-term and long-term plans for the restorative measures to be taken. Priority should be given to international obligations such as the obligation to implement judgments of the ECtHR under Article 46 ECHR or the obligation to follow up on judgments of the ECJ. The compatibility of the restorative measures with the Constitution must be verified; in case of discrepancies the long-term consequences of amendments should be carefully analysed. For example, terminating the mandates of sitting Constitutional Court judges could create the impression that judges’ mandates are not independent of politics. This would undermine the credibility of the institution of constitutional justice. If possible, broad public participation should be ensured in deciding how to restore the rule of law. At the same time, bureaucratic and delayed decision-making processes should be avoided. Whatever the measure, its proportionality must be carefully assessed. The restoration of the rule of law is a very important aim, but it does not necessarily justify the most radical measures, especially if less radical measures could also lead to good results. Thus, the Venice Commission – as well as the ECtHR – has held that the departure from the principle of irremovability of judges can exceptionally be justified by a pressing need; but it depends on the context and the concrete circumstances.

Recourse to Existing Venice Commission Opinions

As already stated, the relationship between the Venice Commission and Hungary does not begin on a clean slate. Therefore, especially in the first period of transition, the Hungarian authorities can build on the recommendations given by the Venice Commission on the reform laws adopted during the Orban regime. As already emphasized by Pál Sonnevend, the rule set out in Article XVI (1) of the Fundamental Law, which places the very broadly defined rights of children above all other fundamental rights with the exception of the right to life, can lead to absurd results. The Venice Commission recommended to repeal or modify this amendment “to avoid the risk of systemic violation of other fundamental rights on account of the failure to conduct a balancing exercise between competing fundamental rights, including the rights of LGBTI persons.” Other recommendations are less strongly worded, e.g. when a new constitutional provision is criticized, but is considered compatible with European standards only when interpreted in a certain way. This applies for example to another ideologically motivated amendment to the Constitution, the first paragraph of Article L of the Fundamental Law. According to this provision “human beings shall be male or female”. In the Venice Commission’s opinion this provision “should not serve as a legal basis for prohibiting the legal recognition of gender identity”. Another example for the Venice Commission’s balanced approach is the comment on the new definition of the criteria for becoming a judge of the Constitutional Court. The provision that legal experience must have been acquired in a position ”for which a law degree was required by law” was abolished. The Venice Commission stressed that such a provision was a “unique specification that does not seem to exist anywhere else”. Therefore, it held, the amendment did not go against international standards and practice, but warned against excessive discretion in interpreting the relevant criteria for becoming a constitutional court judge.

These examples show that the Venice Commission’s opinions subtly differentiate between norms that should be repealed, norms that can be interpreted in line with European standards, and norms that are acceptable, but can be misused in practice. These specifications make it possible to define priorities in the reform processes and can thus help to structure it.

Despite the pressure on the new government to repay the voters’ confidence, the reform process will take years. However, the most important thing is to get off to a good start. The Venice Commission may be a good companion and a critical advisor. More than that, it may also support the reform process in the long run.

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