The European Commission tried to downplay the US forays into the Hungarian parliamentary election campaign. On Wednesday, it took three spokespeople to attempt—and fail—to give the matter short shrift. Yet the Commission might use diplomatic channels to raise its concerns to Washington.
The European Commission’s midday press briefing on 8 April became a tug-of-war over a single American sound-bite. US Vice-President J. D. Vance, visiting Budapest five days before Hungary votes, had used MAGA’s trademark finesse to accuse “you bureaucrats” in Brussels of “one of the worst examples of foreign election interference”.
Reporters wanted fire-breathing rebuttal. What they received was an odd vaudeville in which three spokespeople vowed to “not comment” — and then commented at length.
No comment on comments
Arianna Podestà, the Commission’s lead spokeswoman for the day, tried first. “I don’t think as a general practice we really comment on comments,” she insisted. Yet she promptly did just that, praising the bloc’s “constant and staunch commitment to Ukraine, to obtaining a just and lasting peace”.
Nothing in that sentence addressed Mr Vance, but everyone knew why the Ukraine mantra had been wheeled out: the American’s charge forms part of a wider narrative, echoed by Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov, that Brussels wants Viktor Orbán ejected because the Hungarian premier stymies aid for Kyiv.
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Pressed on whether Mr Vance’s Budapest jaunt itself counted as meddling, Ms Podestà repeated her refusal—while sharpening the very point she claimed to avoid. “We are committed to ensuring that elections are the sole choice of the European citizens of the member states in which the elections are taking place,” she said.
The hall went silent. It was not clear why the Hungarians’ only choice should be the election. Ms Podestà, however, repeated the same wording twice, inadvertently highlighting the grammatical glitch. (What she meant to say was, in all likelihood, that nobody but Hungarians would decide the result of the election — not Brussels, not Moscow, and not even Mr Vance.)
The rule-book and the algorithm
Ms Podestà went on to say that she would “not be adding more to that”. The claim would soon prove obsolete. A few seats away sat Thomas Regnier, a policy wonk drafted from the Commission’s digital-services team. He amplified Ms Podestà’s non-reaction. “This is what the European bureaucrats have been doing, is to set out a strong framework to make sure that the elections remain in the hand of our citizens,” he said.
A short lecture followed. “Who is silencing political voices? It’s online platforms. Who is manipulating algorithms? Again, online platforms… And thanks to this, election interference is hardly possible by online platforms in Europe because we have this framework in place.”
We will be using this also to convey our concerns to our US counterparts. — Anitta Hipper, European Commission spokeswoman
The DSA, the Union’s sweeping content-moderation law, was suddenly centre-stage—proof, Mr Regnier implied, that Brussels polices Silicon Valley more fiercely than it bullies Budapest. Asked whether any inquiry had been opened against TikTok or X for boosting friendly politicians, he demurred. “We haven’t opened up any inquiries against TikTok, X, Facebook or whatever,” he acknowledged, though “we do have some elements at our disposal which would justify the opening of such investigations”.
The silent megaphone
Anitta Hipper, the migration and security spokeswoman, rounded out the trio. She too began with a coy disclaimer. “We will be using this also to convey our concerns to our US counterparts,” she said of undisclosed diplomatic channels. Moments later curiosity pricked a reporter: what concerns exactly? Ms Hipper retreated and advanced in the same breath. “We’re not in the business of disclosing what we talk about with our partners, but if we would want to do so, you’ll be one of the first to know.”
The spectacle mattered less for what it revealed about policy than about tone. Brussels plainly wishes to avoid a public slanging-match with Washington days before Hungary’s vote. Yet its spokespeople could not stop themselves answering the questions they refused to answer. Each non-statement fed the story. Kremlin officials had alleged that “many forces in Brussels” hoped Mr Orbán would lose. Mr Vance had travelled 7,000 km to repeat the charge. By noon three officials had confirmed—while denying—that the issue existed.
The Commission’s dilemma is real. Rule-of-law rows with Budapest have already frozen €19 bn in cohesion funds. Blocking unanimous decisions on Ukraine and on the EU budget has earned Mr Orbán few friends. But an open breach with an American vice-president would hand the Hungarian leader fresh talking points about foreign elites ganging up on him. The verbal contortions of Ms Podestà, Mr Regnier and Ms Hipper were thus a form of crisis management via linguistic yoga.
No formal response
Even that yoga risked over-stretching. Mr Regnier drew a clear red line: “In Europe, elections will not be the choice of big tech and their algorithms.” Fine. But Mr Vance had not accused Meta or TikTok of skewing Hungary’s ballot; he had pointed the finger at the Commission itself. To that the spokespeople offered, simultaneously, silence and sermons. The effect was closer to comic relief than to diplomatic rebuke.
In Europe, elections will not be the choice of big tech and their algorithms. — Thomas Regnier, European Commission spokesman
No formal démarche towards Washington appears imminent. Ms Hipper reminded journalists of “our joint statement with the United States” — diplomatic shorthand for keeping disagreements behind the curtain.
There goes a small lesson in media physics: announce that you will not speak, and the vacuum sucks words out of you. “We will not be commenting specifically on the remarks he made,” Ms Podestà pledged, before commenting six times on the very remarks. Trying to vanish, the Commission made itself impossible to miss.
