As an emotion in the abstract, nostalgia can seem benign, even syrupy. Yet when paired with nationalist, conservative politics, it can be anything but sentimental or harmless. The Hungarian government’s response to the refugees that have been arriving within its borders over the past year has made clear just how ugly the marriage of nostalgia and far-right ideology can be. During the second half of 2015, Hungary’s nationalist, conservative Fidesz government effectively criminalized refugees seeking passage through the country and spent more than three times its annual budget for receiving asylum-seekers on militarizing its borders. The government has justified such extreme measures in the name of protecting and restoring an original “Hungarianess” that is being threatened by the arrival of outsiders. In a speech he made last July, Hungarian president Viktor Orban framed the so-called refugee “crisis” in stark, if not outright xenophobic, terms:
“What we have at stake today is Europe, the European way of life, the survival or disappearance of European values and nations, or their transformation beyond recognition … We would like Europe to be preserved for the Europeans…we want to preserve a Hungarian Hungary.” [i]
In times of uncertainty and perceived insecurity, the appeal of such a politics of preservation and restoration lies within the promise of returning to an imagined golden age of cultural purity and stability. Nostalgia for this past can easily seduce us into relinquishing critical thinking and compassion in favour of upholding the paranoid myths of national unity and security.
The role of nostalgia in the refugee crisis has been little discussed in the outpouring of commentary about the refugee situation in Europe. As problematic as nostalgia can be when employed by the far right, I believe there is something to be salvaged from the nostalgic impulse. In his analyses of fascism, Ernst Bloch thought it incorrect to characterize the essence of fascist ideology as the incorporation of only the morbid components of all past cultural phases.[ii] Rather, within the regressive leanings of reactionary politics, he discerned a subversive yearning for a mode of being less alienating than that of the present—a utopian desire for the attainment of a sense of community and belonging which had never quite been fulfilled; a utopian desire that, for Bloch, stood to be redeemed and set towards more progressive, revolutionary ends. I think something similar might be said of the nostalgia that underpins much of the conservative backlash against those currently seeking refuge in Europe. In neglecting to seriously analyse and redeem the role that nostalgia is playing in the so-called “refugee crisis”, we miss an opportunity to move beyond discussions of crisis to discussions of community building.
‘A Hungarian Hungary’?
It was a visit last summer to the Hungarian National Museum in Budapest that initiated my thinking about the intersection of nostalgia, nationalism, and what the mainstream media had then only recently started calling ‘the refugee crisis’. Were the narrative presented by the museum to have been my only contact with Hungarian history, Victor Orban’s exhortations to preserve “a Hungarian Hungary”, might not have struck me as particularly egregious. As I made my way through the lofty galleries of the museum’s permanent exhibit, I was presented a teleological tale of a timeless Magyar nation that had weathered the vicissitudes of an endless series of occupations from the dawn of time until it emerged as a proud nation-state of its own at the end of the twentieth century. The current permanent exhibit at the Hungarian National Museum was opened to the public in 1996 as part of the national celebrations of the 1100th anniversary of the Hungarian Conquest, a series of heavily mythologized battles that are taken to mark the original settlement of ‘the Hungarian people’ in central Europe. The timing of the inauguration of the permanent exhibit makes clear the museum’s continued commitment to the anachronistic project of establishing continuity between the contemporary Hungarian nation-state and its imagined, ancient origins.
The museum’s presentation of Hungary’s Ottoman period, for example, framed over 150 years of Ottoman rule as a monolithic period of invasion and occupation. Likewise, the eventual expulsion of the Ottomans at the end of the seventeenth century was implicitly framed as the restoration of an original, rightful Christian “Hungarianess” to the land. The museum’s implausible rendering of the multi-ethnic, multi-faith body politic that was Ottoman Hungary
suggests that the curators overlooked the past thirty odd years of historical scholarship on the Ottoman’s in Europe. Nowhere was there any discussion of the formative role that the Ottomans played in the birth of modern Europe.[iii] Neither was there any discussion of the ways in which the Ottoman conquest played a decisive role in shaking the confidence of the Hungarian political and cultural elites of the time and cementing the martyrological narratives that continue to animate conceptions of Hungarian identity to this day.[iv] Even the more superficial legacy of Ottoman influence on Hungarian culture—the enriching influence of Turkish carpet weaving and ornamental art on of Hungarian embroidery, for example, or the Ottoman’s introduction of coffee, egg-barley, pie, stuffed cabbage and apricots to the Hungarian diet—was overlooked. Instead, the incredibly fraught yet equally productive relationship between the Hungarians and the Ottomans over the course of the sixteenth and seventeenth century was presented as a sharp conflict between a mutually exclusive East and West.[v]
When it came to covering the nineteenth century, the exhibition was similarly biased. The nineteenth century is arguably the age in which the very idea of a Hungarian national community took hold as part of a more general rise of nationalism across Europe. Prior to the 1800s, Hungary had been a poly-lingual, multi-ethnic feudal society comprised of Magyars, Slovaks, Croats, Serbs and Transylvanians among others. In 1848, ethnic Magyars constituted only 40 per cent of the population of the Kingdom of Hungary and not all ethnic Magyars were, in fact, Hungarian-speaking.[vi] It was only through the very concerted efforts of nineteenth-century Hungarian nationalists that non-Magyar- and non-Hungarian-speaking groups came to be either forcibly assimilated into or excluded from a newly imagined, Hungarian-speaking, culturally-Magyar nation. The scale – and some might argue, “success” – of these campaigns of enforced Magyarization becomes evident when one considers that Budapest’s population went from being 80 per cent German-speaking to 80 per cent Hungarian-speaking over the course of roughly 50 years.
The museum was oddly silent about these remarkable transformations however. In general, the permanent exhibit avoided any serious engagement with Hungary’s culturally complex past, privileging instead a narrative of cultural homogeneity and continuity. Considering this, one begins to see, at least in part, where the nostalgic notion of an original “Hungarian Hungary” stems from. Projecting overly simplistic, homogenizing narratives upon the past makes possible the belief in the existence of an idealized original community that Hungarians have a right—if not a duty—to reclaim and restore. Framing this imagined original “Hungarian Hungary” as being under constant attack by outsiders facilitates the paranoid politics of xenophobia and exclusion that fuel Hungary’s right wing government and its callous response to refugees. Such nationalist narratives are the fertile ground from which nostalgic dreams of restoring national unity spring and around which razor wire fences come to be erected.
Imagining a Hungarian nation
The Hungarian National Museum was founded in 1802 by Count Ferenc Széchényi, a leader in the nascent Hungarian nationalist movement. The establishment of the institution was part of a larger initiative taken by a small group of liberal, elite Hungarians, inspired by the legacy of the Enlightenment and interested in effecting reforms to improve the economic, social and spiritual state of their region. Effecting such changes under the government of a stagnant and reactionary Habsburg court, however, proved difficult for these reformers. Accordingly, their project increasingly became one that sought distance and independence from Austrian rule. Limited in their opportunities to gain political power within the Habsburg court, these aristocrats set about carving out a power of their own by turning to the cultural sphere.[vii] Their program became one of establishing cultural and educational institutions, and patronizing artists and writers who could manifest the national particularities of a Hungarian identity as distinct from that of the Austrian court. Over the first half of the nineteenth century, the institutions and artists that they patronized played an important role in consolidating a sense of a distinct national, Hungarian community. The Hungarian National Museum played a critical role in this project by projecting the newly imagined sense of community back upon history and curating a material record of the Hungarian nation’s ancient claim to the land it inhabited. By midcentury, nationalist sentiments were high enough to mobilize a revolution that seriously threatened the Habsburg’s rule and lead to the creation of the first Hungarian parliament. In fact, it was from the front steps of the Hungarian National Museum that the poet Sándor Petőfi read out a list of revolutionary demands at a rally that is often upheld as the launching point for the Hungarian Revolution of 1848.
There were, of course, many complex factors that catapulted Hungary into revolt. My hasty reconstruction of the birth of Hungarian nationalism is meant only to shed light upon three interesting features of the movement. First, of course, is the paradoxical nature of the nostalgia underlying the nationalist project. It was by postulating the existence of an ancient, pure community with a rightful claim to the Kingdom of Hungary, that the nationalists managed to reorganize a number of quite disparate linguistic and ethnic groups into a new form of community. Second, is the fact that the creation of this new sense of community was in large part the result of a concerted cultural project. Third, is that while nostalgic nationalism is presently viewed as an expression of a reactionary conservatism, in its original form it was in some ways a politically progressive and subversive force that was mobilized against an oppressive monarchical regime.
Yet, whereas nationalism might have served as a rallying call for emancipation from a backwards monarchy some 200 years ago, the current refugee crisis demonstrates that nationalist narratives play a very different role in the twenty-first century. We cannot afford to allow the kind of history perpetuated by institutions like the Hungarian National Museum to remain exempt from critical questioning. Rather, we need to learn how to contextualize the narratives they present as historically situated attempts to foster a particular sense of community for particular political ends at a particular time in the past.
Confronted with the inhumane actions Hungary has taken against its refugees, it is tempting to reject wholesale, the nationalistic nostalgia underpinning much of this belligerent, xenophobic behaviour. Many critiques of nostalgia have sought to do just that, stressing its delusory, naive nature. According to historian Michael Kammen, nostalgia is “essentially history without guilt.” “Heritage,” he writes, “is something that suffuses us with pride rather than shame.” [viii] Nostalgia is to be rejected on the grounds that it entails a relinquishment of responsibility and a foolish desire for an all too innocent return to an imagined homeland. Such a rejection, however, is too easy and does little to curb the very real and powerful feelings of nostalgia in circulation today. Rather than simply rejecting nationalism and nostalgia on the pretence that they are false or disingenuous, perhaps there is something of these emotions that can be salvaged.
On my way out of the Hungarian National Museum, I paused under the magnificent, frescoed ceilings of the main staircase. A plaque explaining the significance of each of the allegorical figures pictured above me, noted that the most prominent and central amongst them was that of “Imagination”. I could think of no better crowning symbol for the museum. That nationalism is a product of the imagination is a cliché worth rehearsing yet again. In his canonical study of nationalism, Imagined Communities, Benedict Anderson uncovered both the material conditions and the great amount of imaginative labour that went into and continues to go into fostering a sense of community amidst people who have little in common other than living within the bounds of an arbitrarily drawn national border.[ix] In focusing on the imagined and constructed nature of nationalism, Anderson’s intent was not to show that nationalism is artificial and therefore false. Rather, he approached the invented nature of nationalism as a fundamentally creative project. ‘I must be the only one writing about nationalism who doesn’t think it ugly’, Anderson once said. ‘I actually think that nationalism can be an attractive ideology. I like its Utopian elements’.[x] Could something similar be said of the nostalgic nationalism that is currently bolstering the far-right in Europe and feeding much of the backlash against refugees in Hungary and across Europe more broadly?
Anything but a reversion
It is difficult to discern any trace of utopianism within Hungary’s treatment of its refugees over the past year. The images of the crisis are at once shocking and eerily familiar: long chains of refugees forced to march along the sides of roads; packed trains manned by armed guards leaving from crowded and frantic station platforms; desperate people hemmed in by barbed wire or having numbers written on their arms; the callous, impersonal bureaucratic handling of human suffering. Many commentators sympathetic to the plight of the refugees in Europe have been quick to liken the refugee crisis to the state of affairs in Europe during the Second World War.[xi] One wonders, though, if the readiness of progressive commentators to jump to such comparisons in their analyses belies a certain nostalgia of their own. Framing the current crisis as a regression to the past gives the reassuring impression that we have been here before, that we still belong to the more clearly delineated world-order of the past century, and that getting ourselves out of this predicament is then simply a matter of recalling the lessons of the past and restoring the status quo. While there are certainly important lessons to be learned from World War II with regard to the current refugee crisis,[xii] it is equally important to recognize the ways in which the situation is unprecedented and unique to the present. Too strong a reliance on the past to make sense of the present, too retrospective a search for the answers and lessons that Old Europe supposedly taught us, is arguably as naive as the nostalgia of the far-right.
Even the most cursory analysis of the crises that connect Europe, Syria, and the broader turmoil wracking the Middle East, makes clear that the influx of refugees seeking to enter Europe is anything but a reversion to a dark past. These are crises distinct to the twenty-first century that portend the future. The factors that have contributed to the civil war in Syria are multifaceted and complex. Three in particular, though, make it unique to the moment we are living in: global warming, concern about the unprecedented level of global income inequality, and the effects of Western foreign policy in the Middle East. Between 2006 and 2011, Syria suffered its worst drought on record, an occurrence, which scientists have attributed to global warming.[xiii] Nearly 85 per cent of Syrian livestock died, and nearly 1 million rural villagers lost their farms to the drought. Prior to the outbreak of civil war, some 1.5 million people were forced to move from rural areas into urban areas where they faced chronic unemployment and growing discontent. According to a 2011 report compiled by the International Crisis Group, a key source of discontent that contributed to the outbreak of war in Syria was the ‘widespread perception that the state had been hijacked by a small circle of individuals chiefly focused on self-enrichment’.[xiv] And finally, a recently leaked US Defense Intelligence Agency report, written in August of 2012, outlines the plans of the West, Gulf Countries, and Turkey to destabilize Syria by supporting the main insurgent groups, which include the Salafists, the Muslim brotherhood and al-Qaeda in Iraq (now ISIS).[xv] Global warming, unprecedented rates of global inequality, and foreign policy based on proxy warfare through volatile partnerships with rebel groups are all phenomena distinct from the world of the Second World War. It is therefore important to acknowledge the ways in which the crises we are witnessing today are different in important ways from 1940s Europe.
Barring an immediate and radical change to the present global order, we seem well on track to an intensification of global warming, income inequality, and foreign policy based on covert proxy warfare in the century to come. Already these forces are sparking and exacerbating conflicts around the world. Mass migrations of those fleeing conflict and environmental devastation are likely to become the norm rather than the exception. Stable, prosperous states can only expect an increased influx of newcomers seeking refuge and membership in communities where they hope to create new lives. More than one million refugees crossed into Europe in 2015.[xvi] This figure can sound alarming, but when considered on a per capita, the numbers of refugees claiming asylum in Europe fall into perspective. The average rate of asylum applications across the EU in 2015 was 255 per 100,000 of the local population—approximately 0.25% of Europe’s population.[xvii] Even in Hungary, the country in which the most asylum claims per capita were made, this figure climbs to 1.8% of its population.[xviii] If 1.8% sounds like a high number, it is worth remembering that in Lebanon, currently 1 in 4 people is a refugee.[xix] If the present numbers of refugees entering Europe is causing the moral panic that has been exhibited thus far, this does not bode well for a future in which far greater numbers will be on the move.
Reclaiming nostalgia, re-membering Europe
Mourning the loss and alienation caused by displacement is at the very core of the modern condition; nostalgia is inherent to living in the twenty-first century. The desire to recover some sense of grounding or belonging by looking backwards is difficult, if not impossible, for even the most progressive and cynical to resist. In her thought-provoking reflections on nostalgia, Svetlana Boym reminds us that nostalgia can be as prospective as it can be retrospective: ‘consideration of the future makes us take responsibility for our nostalgic tales’, she writes.[xx] To simply dismiss or discredit nostalgia as naive or illegitimate is to shirk the necessary task of taking responsibility for the nostalgia in circulation today. Moreover, it is to miss an opportunity to recapture what was creative and imaginative in the nationalist projects of the nineteenth century and to redirect these forces towards more progressive ends.
‘Modern nostalgia’, writes Boym, ‘is paradoxical in the sense that the universality of its longing can make us more empathetic towards fellow humans, and yet the moment we try to repair that longing with a particular belonging…we often part ways with others and put an end to mutual understanding’.[xxi] The optimistic, forward looking nationalistic dreams of the nineteenth century turned into the twentieth century’s nightmares. Given the horrors of the last century and the ugly xenophobic face of contemporary nationalist politics, we are right to be wary of nationalism and nostalgia. But in our wariness I believe that we may have lost sight of the utopian glimmer at the heart of both nostalgia and nationalism, of the commonality of loss and longing on the one hand, and of the creative impulse that seeks to imagine new forms of community and empowerment in the face of such displacement and disenfranchisement.
It is easy to point out what is problematic with institutions like the Hungarian National Museum and the nationalist narratives they propagate. With the popularity of far-right parties across Europe and the US on the rise, critiques that undermine the nationalist rhetoric of such parties are necessary and important.[xxii] Despite the many problems of the Hungarian National Museum, I think there are still important lessons to be learned and inspiration to be found in the audaciousness of such an institution. Its imposing facade, its frescoed ceilings and its lofty, sumptuous interiors evince the vast amount of creative and material investment that went into imagining the new communities and political orders that emerged during the nineteenth century. Rising to the challenges of the present century and imagining the communities that might permit us to face the future with dignity and humanity will require no less of an effort on our part.
The so-called European refugee ‘crisis’ is as much a crisis of bureaucracy and infrastructure as it is a crisis of the imagination. While the current situation certainly demands pragmatic shifts in policies that would make more EU countries more accommodating of those seeking refuge, so too does it demand a concerted cultural effort to prime and open the European imagination to the idea of expanding and updating its understanding of citizenship and community. If the forces that are driving millions of people in search of new homes cannot be immediately reigned in, those of us fortunate enough to live in more stable parts of the world can at least begin taking seriously the imaginative labour that will be required if we are to truly reconfigure our collective understandings of membership and belonging.
In suggesting that we find inspiration for this process by looking back at the creative roots of nineteenth-century nationalism, I plead guilty to the charge of nostalgia. But I’d like to think of it as responsible and prospective nostalgia, directed as much toward the past as it is toward the future. This is not a yearning for the restoration of a fictionalized past or for the replication of the narrow identitarian communities that grew out of the original nationalist movements. Neither is it a desire to romanticize or forget the violent and coercive methods that went into forging the nation-states we know today. Nor yet is it to ignore the important differences that separate the political and social realities of the 19th century from those of the present. It is simply a desire that we might retrieve and reclaim what was subversive, audacious and creative within the nationalist movements of the nineteenth century. If it was possible to unite disparate groups under the banners of newly imagined communities that came to challenge the ruling powers of their day in the past, it stands to reason that a similar rearrangement of imaginations, desires and borders could be possible today.
Looking backwards, mine is a yearning that we suspend cynicism and take seriously the possibility of engaging the public in imagining new forms of community just as our forebears once did. It is a yearning for the creation of new mythologies and institutions that might render intelligible and relevant the historical fluidity and contingency of the national communities whose stability and inevitability we take for granted at present. Looking forward, mine is a desire that we might allow our nostalgia to forge a politics of longing rather than belonging. With the number of migrants in the world at an unprecedented high, we are poised, now more than ever, to find solidarity and community through shared experiences of displacement, loss and yearning for a sense of home.[xxiii] Instead of merely criticizing those who support the far-right, we need to
find ways of recognizing within their paranoid, regressive narratives, the common ground that is the basic human longing for stability and community. In turn, we need to find ways to render intelligible to those on the right that, on some level, it is the same longing and sense of loss that is propelling refugees to seek better lives elsewhere. Mine is a longing that the continued influx of newcomers displaced by violence, environmental disaster and economic exploitation might serve as an opportunity to band together into new communities that might begin to challenge the geopolitical order that has led to their displacement in the first instance.
If there was anything in Victor Orban’s speech last July that I could possibly agree with, it was his admonition that, “in thinking about the future we are not competing to look far ahead of us, but rather competing to understand the past. The winners will be those who can better understand the past, and who can come to the right conclusions more swiftly and more courageously.”[xxiv]
No doubt, Orban’s understanding of the past is similar to that of the National Hungarian Museum’s. I believe we can, and must, arrive at a better understanding than this. It is time we move beyond viewing history as mere remembrance, or worse, as a template for regressive and restorative projects. Let’s think instead in terms of a prospective ‘re-membering’—an active and critical engagement with the past as a resource that can call into question the stability and exclusivity of nationalist narratives, and inspire new, more inclusive, more ambitious imaginings of community and membership. It is time to re-member Europe.
[i] Mudde, C. (2015) ‘The Hungary PM made a “rivers of blood” speech … and no one cares’, The Guardian, accessible: <http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/jul/30/viktor-orban-fidesz-hungary-prime-minister-europe-neo-nazi, accessed: 28/06/2016.
[ii] Bloch, E. (1977) Nonsynchronism and the Obligation to Its Dialectics, New German Critique, 11(Spring), 22-38.
[iii]see for example, Goffman, D. (2002) The Ottoman Empire and Early Modern Europe, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press; İnalcik, H. (2009) Mutual Political and Cultural Influences between Europe and the Ottomans, in: İnalcik, H., Renda, G. (eds.)(2002) Ottoman Civilization Volume 2, Ankara: Kultur Bakanligi, 1048–1089.
[iv] Fodor, P. (2013) Hungary Between East and West: The Ottoman Turkish Legacy, More Modoque. Die Wurzeln der europäischen Kultur und deren Rezeption im Orient und Okzident: Festschrift für Miklós Maróth zum siebzigsten Geburtstag, Forschungszentrum für Humanwissenschaften der Ungarischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 409, accessible: http://real.mtak.hu/9360/1/Maroth_kotet_FodorP_tanulmany_a.pdf, accessed: 28/06/2016.
[v]Fodor, P. (2013): 408.
[vi]Freifeld, A. (2001) Nationalism and the Problem of Inclusion in Hungary, Wilson Center, accessible: https://www.wilsoncenter.org/publication/238-nationalism-and-the-problem-inclusion-hungary, accessed: 28/06/2016.
[vii]Apor, A. (2011) National Museums in Hungary”, Building National Museums in Europe 1750-2010, in: Conference proceedings from EuNaMus, European National Museums: Identity Politics, the Uses of the Past and the European Citizen, Bologna 28-30 April 2011; Aronsson, P., Elgenius, G. (eds.) EuNaMus Report No 1, Linköping University Electronic Press, accessible: http://www.ep.liu.se/ecp_home/index.en.aspx?issue=064, accessed: 28/06/2016.
[viii] Kammen, M., (1991) Mystic Chords of Memory: The Transformation of Tradition in American Culture, New York: Knopf, 688.
[ix]Anderson, B. (2006) Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, New York: Verso.
[x] Khazaleh, L. (2005) Benedict Anderson: ‘I like nationalism’s utopian elements”I like, University of Oslo, accessible: https://www.uio.no/english/research/interfaculty-research-areas/culcom/news/2005/anderson.html, accessed: 27/06/2016.
[xi] Lyman, R. (2015) Treatment of Migrants Evokes Memories of Europe’s Darkest Hour, New York Times, accessible: http://www.nytimes.com/2015/09/05/world/treatment-of-migrants-evokes-memories-of-europes-darkest-hour.html?_r=1, accessed: 26/06/2016.
[xii] Snyder, S. (2015) Hitler’s world may not be so far away, The Guardian, accessible: http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/sep/16/hitlers-world-may-not-be-so-far-away. Accessed: 27/06/2016.
[xiii] (2015) Syria’s civil war ‘linked to global warming, Telegraph, accessible: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/middleeast/syria/11446093/Syrias-civil-war-linked-to-global-warming.html, accessed: 28/06/2016.
[xiv] International Crisis Group (2011) Popular Protest in North Africa and the Middle East VI – The Syrian Peoples Slow-motion Revolution, accessible: http://www.crisisgroup.org/~/media/Files/Middle East North Africa/Iraq Syria Lebanon/Syria/108- Popular Protest in North Africa and the Middle East VI – The Syrian Peoples Slow-motion Revolution.pdf, accessed: 27/06/2016.
[xv]Department of Defense (2015) Information Report, accessible: http://www.judicialwatch.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Pg.-291-Pgs.-287-293-JW-v-DOD-and-State-14-812-DOD-Release-2015-04-10-final-version11.pdf, accessed: 28/06/2016.
[xix] Sobelman, B. (2015) Which countries are taking in Syrian refugees?”, Los Angeles Times, accessible: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/germany/11911291/Germany-expects-up-to-1.5-million-migrants-in-2015.html, accessed: 28/06/2016.
[xx] Boym, B. (2008) The Future of Nostalgia, New York: Basic Books, xvi.
[xxi] Ibid, xv.
[xxii] Tharoor, I. (2015) Europe’s refugee crisis strengthens far-right parties,The Washington Post, accessible: https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/worldviews/wp/2015/10/13/europes-refugee-crisis-strengthens-far-right-parties/, accessed: 28/06/2016.
[xxiii] Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division (2013) Population Facts, accessible: http://esa.un.org/unmigration/documents/The_number_of_international_migrants.pdf, accessed: 28/06/2016.
[xxiv] Orban, V. (2015) Prime Minister Viktor Orbán’s presentation at the 26th Bálványos Summer Open University and Student Camp, July 27, 2015, accessible: <http://www.kormany.hu/en/the-prime-minister/the-prime-minister-s-speeches/prime-minister-viktor-orban-s-presentation-at-the-26th-balvanyos-summer-open-university-and-student-camp, accessed: 28/06/2016.