When Bulgaria’s government collapsed on December 11, just three weeks before the country is due to adopt the euro, protestors in Sofia projected the word ‘MAFIA’ onto the country’s parliament building. Two days later, tens of thousands marched through Budapest carrying torches to Viktor Orbán’s offices, demanding accountability for child abuse in state institutions. In Bucharest, demonstrators filled Piața Victoriei nightly after a documentary exposed systematic judicial corruption. All three followed Serbia’s student-led uprising, which has been paralysing cities since the deadly collapse of a train station roof in Novi Sad in 2024.
Across the region, the pattern is almost wearily familiar. Citizens discover—again—that their institutions serve oligarchs rather than the public. They take to the streets. Politicians make promises. And nothing fundamental changes. Bulgaria has held seven elections since 2021; an eighth is now likely. Romania has witnessed protests over judicial corruption for decades. Hungary’s opposition has been mobilising against Orbán since 2010. Serbia’s current wave is merely the latest in a series stretching back to 2018.
The conventional narrative frames these events as democratic resurgence—brave citizens challenging authoritarianism. But the repetition suggests something else: these countries have developed stable systems for neutralising dissent through ritualistic protest cycles that change nothing essential.
The oligarch’s toolkit
What unites Sofia, Bucharest, Budapest and Belgrade is not nascent democracy but a sophisticated machinery of state capture. Each protest emerged from a specific trigger, yet revealed identical underlying pathologies. Bulgaria’s demonstrations began over tax rises but focused on Delyan Peevski, the sanctioned oligarch whose party props up the government. Romania’s Recorder documentary showed how High Court President Lia Savonea allegedly orchestrates a pyramid to protect corrupt politicians from prosecution. Hungary’s child abuse scandal exposed state institutions serving Orbán’s patronage networks rather than vulnerable minors. Serbia’s protests revealed that President Aleksandar Vučić’s government awarded contracts to Chinese Belt and Road contractors without proper oversight, leading to 15 deaths.
Everywhere, the mechanics are nearly universal. Control the prosecutor’s office, ensuring high-level corruption cases disappear through procedural manipulation. Pack courts with loyalists who prolong trials until statutes of limitations expire. Use state-aligned media to deflect blame. Deploy counter-protestors when necessary.
The genius of this system is its resilience. Elections provide the appearance of democratic choice without threatening power structures. Bulgaria’s corrupt elite simply rotate positions through different party labels; Transparency International ranks it amongst the EU’s most corrupt members alongside Hungary and Romania. Serbia dropped from 72nd to 105th on the Corruption Perceptions Index between 2013 and 2024 as Vučić consolidated control.
The protest paradox
The striking feature of these movements is how their very success at mobilisation confirms systemic failure. Romania’s documentary garnered nearly four million views within days. Over 170 magistrates publicly supported whistleblowers. Yet the Superior Council of Magistracy dismissed the allegations as a “well-planned strategy aimed at destroying trust in justice”. In Hungary, Péter Magyar’s Tisza party polls ahead of Orbán months before elections, yet few observers expect the electoral system to translate that support into power. Belgrade witnessed protests estimated at 200,000-300,000—larger than those that toppled Slobodan Milošević—but Vučić remains firmly entrenched.
The pattern indicates that street protests in captured states function less as democratic pressure and more as safety valves, allowing citizens to express outrage without threatening the fundamental architecture of power. Governments make tactical concessions—Serbia charged 13 people over the Novi Sad collapse, Bulgaria’s prime minister resigned—whilst preserving the corrupt systems that make disasters inevitable.
Even victory proves hollow. When Bulgaria’s government fell, political analysts predicted a new, eighth election would produce another fragmented parliament incapable of reform. The opposition leader called it “the first step in making Bulgaria a normal European state”, unconsciously acknowledging that no subsequent steps will follow. Romania’s President Nicușor Dan scheduled discussions for December 22—the anniversary of Nicolae Ceaușescu’s fall—a symbolic gesture that substitutes historical resonance for institutional change.
Brussels fiddles
The European Union bears considerable responsibility for this state of affairs. Having admitted Bulgaria and Romania in 2007 despite manifest rule-of-law deficiencies, Brussels deployed the Cooperation and Verification Mechanism (CVM) to monitor progress. It lifted the CVM for Romania just as judicial capture was reaching its apex. Hungary has received billions in EU funds whilst systematically dismantling checks and balances.
EU Commissioner for Enlargement Marta Kos recently stated that Serbia “cannot become a member of the European Union” without fighting corruption through independent institutions. But she immediately undercut this by adding that Vučić “is the only politician with whom we can currently discuss its European path.” This calculated realism—prioritising stability over standards—has enabled the very systems protestors now challenge.
The case of Serbia is particularly instructive. The EU signed a lithium deal with Vučić’s government in July 2024, securing resources for electric vehicle production. When protests erupted months later, Brussels remained largely silent, in stark contrast to its vocal support for demonstrators in Georgia. European trust in Serbia stands at just 37 per cent—the lowest among Western Balkan accession countries—yet the EU continues to treat authoritarian leaders as indispensable partners.
The democratic mirage
The ultimate irony is that these protests may accelerate rather than reverse democratic decline. Each cycle of mobilisation and disappointment deepens public cynicism. Most of Bulgaria’s seven recent elections came after protests secured resignations and reform promises, none of which materialised. Romanian activists have watched judicial corruption flourish despite decades of street demonstrations. Hungarian opposition unity fractured repeatedly after mass mobilisations failed to dislodge Orbán.
What emerges is not democracy but a post-democratic settlement: elections without accountability, protests without consequence, and institutions without independence. The Eastern Europe and Central Asia region averages 35 out of 100 on Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index—well below the global average. Fifteen of nineteen countries have stagnated or declined as governments failed to implement basic anti-corruption measures.
The protest wave sweeping from Sofia to Belgrade signals not democratic awakening but the opposite: a regional settlement where capture is so complete that dissent can be safely tolerated, even encouraged, because it poses no genuine threat. Citizens march, politicians sometimes resign, and the oligarchs adjust their portfolios. Until the next corruption scandal provides another trigger for another protest cycle that changes nothing.
In this light, projecting ‘MAFIA’ onto Bulgaria’s parliament was less an act of resistance than a statement of fact—one the mafia itself can comfortably ignore.
Photo: Dreamstime.
