The European Union seeks to punish Hungary just as it admits it was right all along.
In a characteristic display of hypocrisy from Brussels, the very migration policies branded as xenophobic and “un-European” a decade ago are now reshaping the EU’s approach to border security. For over a decade, Hungary, under the leadership of Prime Minister Viktor Orbán, has faced relentless condemnation, legal battles, and staggering EU fines totaling hundreds of millions of dollars for its hardline stance against mass migration and forced migrant quotas.
Yet, as the bloc grapples with persistent pressures on its frontiers and with unassimilable masses at home, key elements of the “Hungarian way”—robust physical barriers, a broadened interpretation of safe third countries, and mechanisms enabling swift returns at the border—are being adopted wholesale. This exposes the Eurocrats’ massive policy failure: in Europe’s migration saga, realism eventually trumps rhetoric, but vindication comes at a steep, unjust price.
The blueprint of the Hungarian way was forged amid the chaos of the 2015 migration crisis, when hundreds of thousands of asylum-seekers, primarily from the Middle East, surged toward Europe via the Balkans. Hungary’s Viktor Orbán moved decisively, establishing a tripartite strategy that prioritized border security over open-door policies to defend the EU’s external borders. The Hungarian policy rests on three pillars: ironclad border fences, a broadened interpretation of the safe third country concept, and a zero-tolerance approach to asylum-seekers crossing irregularly.
During the summer of 2015, as hundreds of thousands of migrants from Syria, Afghanistan, and other Middle-Eastern countries poured through the Balkans en route mainly to Germany, the Hungarian government decided to erect a 108-mile-long razor-wire fence along its Southern border with Serbia, finishing it in the same year. The fence was subsequently extended to the Croatian-Hungarian border and reinforced by sensors, drones, thermal cameras, and a secondary fence during the following years. Orbán minced no words: “We don’t see these people as Muslim refugees. We see them as Muslim invaders,” warning that unchecked flows threaten Europe’s Christian roots.
The Hungarian blueprint succeeded in stopping the tidal wave of migrants, with crossings at the Hungarian Southern border plummeting from over 400,000 in 2015 to a trickle by 2016. While Orbán and his approach were labeled as racist and xenophobic, EU leaders also falsely claimed that it cannot work with then German chancellor Angela Merkel, claiming that “If we build a fence, people will find another way in,” adding that “there is no stopping the arrivals.”
As the EU was trying to impose a mandatory redistribution of asylum seekers among member states to address the crisis, the Hungarian model began to proliferate as other countries began to follow Orban’s lead. Already in 2015, Slovenia erected a fence along the Croatian border 2015, dismantling it later but reinstating enhanced controls amid surges. Bulgaria completed a 161-mile-long fence with Turkey by 2017, slashing arrivals by 99 percent. Greece, a frontline country of migration flows from Turkey, extended its Evros river fence to about 21.75 miles by 2021, also adding patrols and tech to block crossings—mirroring Orbán’s barrier strategy.
Construction of border walls and fences gained further momentum during the fall of 2021, when Belarus tried to artificially engineer a migration crisis by flying in asylum-seekers from the Middle East and directing them towards the Polish border. Facing a hybrid attack from its Eastern neighbor, Warsaw erected a 116-mile-long steel wall complete with surveillance equipment. Facing similar pressures, Latvia and Lithuania also erected physical border barriers. Finland, a bit later in 2023, announced the construction of a fence about 124.27 miles long. Between 2014 and 2022, the aggregate length of border barriers at the EU’s external borders and within the Schengen area grew from 196 miles to 1272 miles.
The perennial question—who foots the bill?—exposed further cracks in EU orthodoxy. In October 2021, amid the Belarus standoff, 12 member states petitioned the European Commission for legislation to fund physical barriers. This echoed Orbán’s 2017 demand for reimbursement of roughly $470 million—half the cost of Hungary’s southern fences—which was rebuffed. Commission President Ursula von der Leyen was unequivocal in 2021, stating that the EU would not fund ‘barbed wire and walls.’ Yet, by early 2025, the tide had turned. EU Commissioner for Home Affairs Magnus Brunner signaled openness to financing such infrastructure, acknowledging their role in border management. This reversal highlights Brussels’ growing pragmatism, driven by electoral pressures and security imperatives.
Another illustration of the current EU leadership’s hypocrisy and political bias on migration is the implementation of Hungary’s approach to the definition of the safe third country concept. A “safe third country” (STC) in EU asylum law is a non-EU country considered safe for asylum seekers, where EU member states can return applicants who could have applied for protection in that country instead. But only under the burden of proof of ties—such as family, work, etc.—between the asylum-seeker and the STC.