A Román

* **Geantă din piele de crocodil** (Rogán Barbara): 120 de milioane de forinți \approx **292.683 GBP**

* **Bijuterii**: 80 de milioane de forinți \approx **195.122 GBP**

* **Rochie**: 5,8 milioane de forinți \approx **14.146 GBP**

Viktor Orbán, voievodul maghiarilor, încă o dată, pentru ultima oară, a arătat lumii și lui JD Vance cine este stăpânul absolut în cea mai săracă țară din UE: a închis drumul spre aeroport pentru Vance, iar supușilor maghiari și țăranilor, precum și străinilor, le-a rămas doar o plimbare de 35 de minute pe drumuri de pământ.

After sixteen years of the Orbánist madhouse called Hungary, we get yet another perfect symptom of the system: has resigned from the leadership of the , the country’s flagship psychiatric institution.

The story would be grotesque anywhere, but in today’s Hungary it almost feels routine. The national institute of psychiatry was run by someone who is not a psychiatrist, yet previously had ties to an organization offering esoteric or “magical” training programs. In contemporary Hungary that is no longer an absurdity — it’s practically a career pathway.

This is the essence of the Orbánist state: competence is secondary; loyalty is everything. The system operates like a laboratory of negative selection. Those who actually know what they are doing become inconvenient. Those who are willing to sign anything, ask nothing, and stay politically reliable get promoted.

Unsurprisingly, psychiatrists were not thrilled about their top institution being led by a politically appointed outsider with little professional relevance. Doctors began leaving in waves, and the institute itself drifted toward the edge of operational collapse. The system’s reaction followed the familiar script of the last decade and a half: first denial, then damage control, and finally a quiet retreat.

But this story is not really about . He is merely a character inside a much larger structure built by —a state in which institutions are no longer professional bodies but clubs of political loyalty.

After sixteen years, the operating principle of the Hungarian state has become painfully simple:

universities are run by party loyalists,

cultural institutions by ideological appointees,

and hospitals sometimes by people who barely belong to the profession at all.

This is not a bug in the system. It is the system’s logic.

Negative selection provides stability for an authoritarian structure. When every important position is filled by someone whose career depends entirely on the person who appointed them, nobody argues. Nobody invokes professional standards. Nobody causes trouble.

The problem is that while this political machine hums along smoothly, the country itself slowly erodes.

Doctors leave the hospitals. Researchers leave the universities. Young people leave the country altogether. Yet the system keeps running, because in Orbánist political logic loyalty will always outweigh competence.

The Nyírő affair therefore isn’t really a scandal. It’s a diagnosis.

The real question isn’t how someone like this ended up leading the country’s national psychiatric institute. The real question is why people like this aren’t running everything already.

After sixteen years, Hungary’s public institutions increasingly resemble the metaphor they accidentally embody:

the specialists flee,

the patients remain,