Authoritarians, Algorithms & US - Part I
“If Donald Trump’s approach to power feels suspiciously familiar to some of you, that’s because he’s been studying under one of Europe’s star autocrats: Viktor Orbán, Hungary’s illiberal maestro. Think of Orbán as the Yoda of authoritarianism, dispensing sage advice to his eager apprentice. Except instead of “Do or do not,” it’s “Own the media, or the media owns you.”
The Prelude to Power
How Trump’s Strategies Challenge Democracy
Discuss this article in greater detail on “X” - https://x.com/ForumPlatforms/status/1880728705863156042
This article, developed collaboratively by a Forum Initiative contributor and Civic AI, examines Donald Trump’s strategies and their democratic implications, drawing on analyses of his legal battles and comparisons to Viktor Orbán’s Hungary. While the tone is engaging and conversational, we encourage readers to explore the sources and critically engage with the content. Our first article is about Donald Trump because we are focusing ahead into this new administration. Please keep in mind, we will apply this style of writing across the aisles.
Guided by the Constitution of Office Framework (COOF), we strive for transparency, inclusivity, and ethical discourse. The goal is to foster reflection and dialogue, not dictate conclusions. Feedback is welcome as we continue to build a platform for thoughtful, informed public engagement. Learn more at
The Prelude to Power
{How Trump’s Strategies Challenge Democracy}
Wait, hear me out. I know the word “authoritarian” comes with all the charm of a surprise root canal. But maybe it’s time we stop reflexively clutching our pearls every time the word pops up. Sure, history hasn’t exactly done the term any favors—Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, and now Viktor Orbán have all given “authoritarianism” a branding problem that even the best PR agency couldn’t fix.
Think of it like fire: dangerous in the wrong hands, but undeniably useful when handled responsibly. The truth is, a little authoritarian energy might not be the worst thing in the world—if it’s wielded with guardrails, accountability, and a strict expiration date. Let’s dig in. First, let’s clarify what we mean by “authoritarian.” We’re not talking about all-powerful regimes that squash dissent, jail journalists, and declare themselves rulers for life. That’s the dark side of the force. What we’re asking is whether certain features of strong, centralized leadership—when deployed in a democratic context—could be used to address systemic issues that democracy struggles to handle on its own.
Picture this: Congress is grid locked, public trust is circling the drain, and climate change is busy baking the planet. In these moments of crisis, you don’t need a committee to debate whether the fire alarm is too loud; you need someone to say, “We’re putting out the fire. Now.” Countries like Singapore or South Korea during key periods of development are often held up as examples of “benevolent authoritarianism.” Their governments made bold, centralized decisions—sometimes bypassing public debate—to create infrastructure, grow economies, and raise living standards. The results speak for themselves, even if the methods sometimes made civil liberties take a back seat.
Of course, this isn’t to say the U.S. should swap its Constitution for a one-man show. But it does raise the question: Are there moments when strong leadership with a touch of decisiveness can do what democracy, with all its glorious inefficiencies, cannot? It’s possible, but needs to be explored on a case-by-case basis. Let’s start with Donald Trump and Victor Orbán.
Donald Trump’s aversion to the free press has never been subtle—it’s less a dog whistle and more a bugle at full blast. From the day he coined “fake news” as a rallying cry, he’s been auditioning for the lead in the autocrat’s handbook, taking notes from Viktor Orbán’s greatest hits. But like any reality TV mogul, Trump has added his own flourish—because why simply copy when you can plagiarize braggadociously?
His opening act was textbook Trump: bombast, bravado, and a Twitter tirade. But the plot thickens. In courtrooms across America, Trump’s legal teams have been busy filing defamation lawsuits that read like Netflix pitches for Succession: MAGA Edition.
And let’s not forget New York Times v. Sullivan. This landmark case protects journalists from frivolous libel claims by public figures unless those figures can prove “actual malice.” For Trump, that’s like trying to win a beauty contest with a mugshot—tough but not impossible if you have the right judge.
Let’s talk about New York Times v. Sullivan for a moment, that decades-old legal precedent Trump would probably describe as a “total disaster”. Love it or hate it, this landmark case can be a guardian angel of modern journalism, making sure public figures can’t sue every reporter who dares to write something unflattering. But not everyone sees it that way. Critics—Trump included—think it’s time to revisit the rulebook.
Now, before you roll your eyes and shout “Fake news!”, let’s dig into the actual argument. Supporters of reform claim Sullivan lets media outlets get away with, well, anything. If a reporter botches a story about you, proving they acted with “actual malice” is about as easy as winning a claw machine on the first try. Trump’s legal team and some conservative allies argue this makes the press lazy, reckless, and immune to accountability.
Even libertarian folks at think tanks like the Cato Institute nod along to part of this critique. They’ll tell you that free speech is sacred, but hey, shouldn’t the press answer for genuinely damaging errors? “We’re not saying you slap a lawsuit on every headline you don’t like,” one analyst quipped. “But when the reporting crosses the line, there has to be some recourse.”
On the flip side, journalists and press advocates warn that tinkering with Sullivan would be like handing a sledgehammer to anyone with a grudge. Critics argue that it’s not about protecting bad journalism—it’s about protecting democracy itself. Investigative reporters need the breathing room to take risks without worrying that exposing the truth might also empty their bank accounts.
The Brookings Institution raises a solid point: what happens to the small-town newspapers, the local watchdogs, or those online outlets held together with duct tape and dreams? Lowering the threshold for lawsuits could wipe them out, leaving the public with fewer voices and a whole lot more PR fluff.
So, what’s the middle ground here? Is there a way to hold media accountable without gagging it? Maybe. Some folks suggest tweaks like clearer definitions for what counts as “reckless disregard” or rules that push for quicker, more visible corrections when stories go off the rails.
At the end of the day, this isn’t just about Trump and his Twitter feuds—it’s about what kind of press we want in a democracy. Should it be freewheeling and fearless, or cautious and careful? The answer probably lies somewhere in between. And as we debate it, let’s remember: the stakes aren’t just about headlines. They’re about who gets to hold the megaphone in the great public square of democracy.
And Trump knows he does not need a complete rewrite of American press laws to get what he wants. He just needs to nudge public opinion enough that calling him out feels risky. Trump does not need to win every case; he just needs journalists to think twice before publishing stories that make him look bad. It’s a play ripped straight from Hungaray’s Victor Orbán’s script, where independent outlets are driven into bankruptcy, their silence filled by sycophantic state-run media.
The parallels to Orbán’s Hungary are impossible to ignore. Like Trump, Orbán began his crusade against the media with a soft touch—a nudge here, a lawsuit there—until the press was reduced to a choir of yes-men harmonizing in his praise.
Unlike Orbán, who oozes bureaucratic precision, Trump wraps his authoritarianism in spectacle. He is expertly leveraging chaos as a brand. When he rails against the “failing” New York Times, it is not about correcting the record—it is about crafting a narrative where he’s David and the press is Goliath (except David is inexplicably wearing a MAGA hat).
This “prelude to power” is more than just the opening chords of Trump’s second term ambitions—it is the overture to an entire movement. By making the press the villain, he unites his base in a shared grievance. In Trump’s America, being fact-checked is tantamount to being attacked, and if you dare to criticize him, well, you are just another cog in the “lamestream media” machine.
But here’s the kicker: Trump isn’t subtle, and he doesn’t have to be. His genius lies in his ability to frame every critique as proof of his victimhood. Like the bad guy in a Bond movie, he doesn’t need to hide his plans—he just tweets them in all caps and watches his followers cheer.
In the grand theater of politics, Trump’s war on the press is both drama and comedy, a tragicomedy where the stakes are democracy itself. The stage is set, the actors are in place, and the curtain is rising. Let’s just hope the audience remembers: this isn’t a rehearsal.
The Game Plan: Agenda 2025
“Agenda 2025” sounds less like a policy blueprint and more like a dystopian Netflix series starring Donald Trump as the protagonist. The document lays out his second-term ambitions with all the subtlety of a WWE entrance: the music’s blaring, the pyrotechnics are going off, and Trump is strutting toward the Oval Office with a steel chair labeled “New York Times v. Sullivan.” This is not just a to-do list; it is a manifesto for a hostile corporate takeover of American democracy.
Trump’s ongoing interest with revising libel laws is the crown jewel of Agenda 2025.
Why? Because nothing says “strong leadership” like suing every critic into oblivion. For Trump, the ideal press isn’t free—it’s complimentary.
Revisiting New York Times v. Sullivan isn’t just a legal vendetta; it’s a tactical strike aimed at the foundations of the Fourth Estate. Trump’s gripe with the case is that it protects journalists from frivolous lawsuits unless public figures can prove “actual malice.” To him, that’s like giving reporters a license to lie. By gutting this precedent, Trump aims to flip the script: now, every journalist from The Washington Post to your cousin’s Substack is just one critical headline away from financial ruin.
This isn’t a theoretical exercise, either. Trump has been testing the waters with lawsuits that are as thinly veiled as his tax returns. From suing CNN for comparing him to Hitler to targeting ABC News for referencing the E. Jean Carroll case, he’s turning litigation into a blood sport. Though many would say he didn’t cast the first blow - it’s not hard to see where this is heading: reporters won’t need anonymous sources anymore; they will need attorneys on speed dial.
But Trump doesn’t just want to play defense; he wants to go on the offensive. Orbán’s advice to “have your own media” resonates with Trump, who already enjoys a symbiotic relationship with right-wing outlets and social media echo chambers. Agenda 2025 would likely formalize this alliance, creating a state-sponsored narrative machine where facts take a backseat to loyalty.
Agenda 2025 isn’t just about media control; it’s about reimagining governance itself. Trump’s vision leans heavily on executive power, bypassing the pesky checks and balances that tend to get in the way of autocratic ambitions. His promises to “streamline” government are less about efficiency and more about consolidating authority. Translation: less democracy, more dynasty.
In typical Trumpian fashion, Agenda 2025 isn’t just a political platform—it’s a reality show plotline. It’s designed to keep the cameras rolling, the headlines coming, and the base electrified. And like any good showman, Trump knows how to play to his audience. He’s casting himself as the underdog fighting the “deep state,” the “fake news,” and whatever other bogeymen he can conjure. In this narrative, he’s the everyman fighting for you (as long as “you” don’t write op-eds).
So buckle up, America. The stage is set, the agenda is printed, and the protagonist is ready for his close-up. Whether we’re heading for a reboot of democracy or the pilot episode of The Autocrat: The Series remains to be seen. But one thing’s for sure: it’ll be must-watch TV.
The Orbán Connection: Mentorship, Mar-a-Lago Style
If Donald Trump’s approach to power feels suspiciously familiar to some of you, that’s because he’s been studying under one of Europe’s star autocrats: Viktor Orbán, Hungary’s illiberal maestro. Think of Orbán as the Yoda of authoritarianism, dispensing sage advice to his eager apprentice. Except instead of “Do or do not,” it’s “Own the media, or the media owns you.” Trump, naturally, has chosen door number one.
Their bromance dates back to 2016 when Orbán became the first European leader to endorse Trump’s campaign. Since then, the two have maintained a relationship built on shared values—namely, an affinity for nationalistic rhetoric, disdain for the press, and a deep, mutual appreciation for a good photo-op. When Orbán swung by Mar-a-Lago after Trump’s 2024 win, you can almost imagine the two of them lounging by the pool, trading notes on how to turn democracies into personal fiefdomsThe European Leaders Co….
Orbán’s Hungary is what happens when a country’s government hits the autocracy fast-forward button. Over the past decade, he’s transformed Hungary into a model of “illiberal democracy,” a term he coined to put a shiny veneer on what’s essentially a one-man show. The media? Co-opted. The judiciary? Packed. The opposition? Marginalized. It’s a playbook so thorough, it might as well come with footnotes and an appendix.
Trump, ever the opportunist, sees Orbán’s success as proof that his own ambitions aren’t just feasible but downright achievable. Orbán has shown that you don’t need to storm parliament or declare martial law to dismantle democracy—you can do it with a few well-placed lawsuits, some pliable oligarchs, and a steady stream of nationalist propaganda. Trump’s admiration for this approach isn’t subtle; it’s practically a standing ovation.
His visit to Trump’s Florida stronghold was more than a social call—it was a strategy session. Orbán, fresh off his own controversial re-election, reportedly shared tips on navigating thorny topics like press freedom and judicial independence. For Trump, the timing couldn’t have been better. With his eyes set on reshaping the U.S. political landscape in his second term, Orbán’s insights were likely greeted like gospel.
The most valuable lesson for Trump? The art of turning media criticism into a badge of honor. In Hungary, Orbán used lawsuits and financial pressure to suffocate independent outlets while propping up state-friendly media. Trump’s attempts to replicate this include his ongoing defamation lawsuits and his war on New York Times v. Sullivan. The goal isn’t necessarily to win these cases but to create a cooling effect, where even the idea of criticizing Trump becomes fraught with legal and financial risk.
But it’s not all one-way traffic. Orbán has his reasons for cozying up to Trump, too. For a small country like Hungary, proximity to the leader of the free world—even one as polarizing as Trump—is a major prestige boost. Orbán’s alignment with Trump allows him to play the role of elder statesman on the global stage, a big fish in the little pond of right-wing populism. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship: Orbán gets clout, Trump gets a mentor.
Of course, it’s not just media tactics that Orbán has shared. His broader approach—rebranding democratic erosion as patriotic renewal—has become a central theme of Trump’s rhetoric. Where Orbán talks about preserving Hungarian traditions, Trump rails against “woke culture” and promises to make America great again, again. Both leaders wrap their agendas in the language of cultural preservation, masking power grabs as moral crusades.
The question isn’t whether Trump will follow Orbán’s lead—it’s how far he’ll go. Hungary’s transformation under Orbán serves as both a blueprint and a cautionary tale. While the U.S. has stronger democratic institutions than Hungary, Trump’s relentless pursuit of judicial appointments and legal precedents suggests he’s willing to push those boundaries to their breaking point.
The playbook works because it doesn’t rely on brute force; it’s about slow, systemic change. Trump seems to understand this better than anyone. With lawsuits to neutralize the press, court appointments to tilt the judiciary, and a base that treats every challenge to his authority as heresy, he’s building his own version of Orbán’s Hungary—except with more golf and cheeseburgers (that distraction sounds nice to me).
In the grand scheme of Trump’s second act, Orbán is less an inspiration and more a co-author. Their partnership represents a convergence of strategies, ideologies, and ambitions, all aimed at consolidating power and undermining dissent. Orbán has shown Trump that democracy doesn’t have to be dismantled with tanks and troops; it can be eroded quietly, efficiently, and with just enough plausible deniability to keep the critics guessing.
So, as the Orbán-Trump dynamic continues to unfold, one thing is clear: autocracy isn’t just back—it’s trending. And with mentors like Orbán, Trump’s second term might not just borrow from Hungary’s playbook—it might set the stage for its sequel. Stay tuned, America.
What Comes Next?
When Donald Trump promises that “the best is yet to come,” it’s hard not to wonder—best for whom? His posturing as the comeback king isn’t just about reclaiming the Oval Office; it’s about reshaping the American political landscape in his image. And if you think the first act was a shake up, wait until the sequel. Trump 2.0 isn’t just a continuation—it’s a full-blown expansion pack, complete with new shots on democracy, turbocharged by his loyal base and a judiciary increasingly aligned with his vision.
The Legal Takedown: Revenge of the Lawsuits
Expect Trump to double down on his war against the press, with libel laws serving as his weapon of choice. The lawsuits he’s filed so far, from suing CNN for comparing him to Hitler to targeting ABC News for merely quoting court findings, are just the beginning. Trump’s eyes are on overturning New York Times v. Sullivan, the legal backbone of press freedom in America. If the Supreme Court takes the bait—and with its current conservative majority, it might—Trump could rewrite the rules entirely. Imagine a world where every reporter, blogger, or podcaster who crosses him is one defamation suit away from bankruptcy. Again, for Trump, it’s not about winning every case; it’s about making the battlefield so dangerous that few dare to show up.
And while the press wrestles with existential dread, Trump will continue to stack the judiciary with loyalists. If there’s one thing he learned during his first term, it’s that having the courts on your side is like playing Monopoly with a loaded dice.
Beyond the courts, Trump’s second-term playbook includes an aggressive expansion of executive power. Executive orders will likely flow faster than Coconut Mojitos at Mar-a-Lago, bypassing Congress. Immigration restrictions? Check. Tax cuts for the super-rich? Check-check. Dissolving pesky environmental protections? Absolutely. Trump’s motto might as well be, “Why wait for Congress when you’ve got a pen?”
Even foreign policy will get the Trump treatment: big promises, bigger threats, and minimal follow-through. He’s already floated the idea of “quickly” ending the Ukraine war without specifying how—because who needs details when you have confidence? But don’t expect diplomacy to make a comeback; Trump’s approach will likely involve backroom deals and photo ops, leaving America’s allies scrambling to make sense of his next tweet.
What’s most concerning isn’t just the policies—it’s the precedent. Trump’s return to power would signal to aspiring autocrats everywhere that democracy is malleable, a concept to be bent and reshaped in the hands of a determined leader. His playbook isn’t just for America; it’s a global export, a masterclass in how to erode institutional checks while keeping the trappings of democracy intact. At home, the ripple effects would be profound. State governments, particularly in red states, would likely mirror Trump’s tactics, tightening voting restrictions, targeting critics, and dismantling progressive reforms. Meanwhile, his base, emboldened by his return, could push for even more extreme measures. Trump’s legacy wouldn’t just be his policies; it would be the normalization of a political culture where power is the only currency.
Can America Resist?
The question isn’t whether Trump will try to reshape the nation—it’s whether the nation can withstand the strain. America’s democratic institutions, while robust, aren’t invincible. The press, the courts, and the electorate have weathered his first term, but a second could push them to the breaking point. The challenge will be maintaining the delicate balance between resisting authoritarian overreach and preserving the norms that make democracy function.
Civil society will need to step up like never before, rallying around press freedoms, judicial independence, and the sanctity of free elections. Activists, journalists, and everyday citizens will have to work harder to hold leaders accountable and protect the democratic ideals that Trump is so eager to dismantle.
What comes next isn’t set in stone. Trump’s agenda is ambitious, but its success hinges on the choices of the American people. Will voters demand accountability, or will they double down on division? Will the press continue to shine a light in dark places, or will it be snuffed out by fear? Will democracy prove resilient, or will it succumb to the steady drumbeat of authoritarianism?
If there’s one thing Trump has proven, it’s that he thrives in chaos. The question is whether America will let him script the next chapter—or whether the country will reclaim the pen and write a different ending. Either way, it’s going to be a wild ride.
History doesn’t repeat—it remixes. The new drop, Hungary on the Potomac. Viktor Orbán’s Hungary is the cautionary tale that Americans didn’t know they needed, a grim reminder that democracy isn’t destroyed in one fell swoop—it’s eroded, chipped away piece by piece until what remains is a hollow shell labeled “freedom.”
The problem is, Trump isn’t just playing from the Viktator’s handbook; he’s trying to publish his own American edition. Orbán’s transformation of Hungary into a showcase of “illiberal democracy” is an example of the slow, subtle dismantling of democratic institutions. Trump, always one for spectacle, has adapted the model with a bit more flair, less parliamentary procedure, and a lot more all-caps tweets.
Orbán didn’t kill Hungarian democracy in a blaze of authoritarian glory. No tanks rolled through the streets, no constitutions were burned. Instead, he played the long game. First, he took aim at the media, weaponizing libel laws to silence critics and bankrupt independent outlets. Then, he consolidated power by stuffing courts with loyalists and redrawing electoral districts to guarantee his party’s dominance. The result? A system that still looks like a democracy on paper but functions like an autocrat’s playground.
This incremental approach is what makes Orbán’s playbook so dangerous—and so attractive to Trump. After all, why go full dictator when you can keep just enough democratic window dressing to placate critics? His success shows that it’s entirely possible to erode freedom while keeping the trains running on time (or at least giving the illusion that they are).
“But this is America!” you might say, clutching your Constitution like a life raft. And yes, America has advantages Hungary doesn’t: a broad civil society, a cultural tradition of free speech, and a decentralized political system. But let’s not kid ourselves—these safeguards aren’t impervious.
The danger lies in normalization. Orbán’s Hungary didn’t wake up one day to find itself an autocracy; it slid there, inch by inch, while its citizens were told that everything was fine. Trump’s antics—from attacking the media to undermining election integrity—might seem like business as usual now, but they’re the warning signs of a system in peril. And if Americans shrug off those signs because “it can’t happen here,” they’ll be handing Trump the exact complacency he needs.
The Hungarian experience offers a blueprint—not just for autocrats but for those who resist them. The key lesson is that democracy doesn’t defend itself. It requires vigilance, activism, and an unrelenting commitment to accountability. In Hungary, independent journalists, activists, and opposition leaders continue to fight against Orbán’s regime, often at great personal risk. Their struggle is a reminder that even when institutions fail, people can still push back.
For Americans, the path forward is clear: support independent journalism, hold elected officials accountable at every turn, and reject the normalization of undemocratic behavior—no matter how entertaining it might be.
Sources:
Dunlap, D. W. (2023, March 19). The ad in the First Amendment. The New York Times.
Furlong, R. (2025, January 18). The European leaders courting Trump's favor. Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty.
Hartmann, T. (2024, July 25). How authoritarians like Trump, Orbán, & Putin take down a free press. Hartmann Report.
Holloway, C. (2023, January 20). Trump takes aim at New York Times v. Sullivan. The American Spectator.
Cato Institute. (n.d.). Media and free speech policy. Retrieved from https://www.cato.org
Brookings Institution. (n.d.). Freedom of the press and democracy. Retrieved from https://www.brookings.edu
