There it goes again — another election somewhere east of Vienna where the wrong person won.
Andréj Babiš, the man the European Commission would politely prefer to see anywhere but in charge, is back, smiling like someone who’s just watched every headline calling him “populist” turn into free campaign advertising.
For years, Brussels and its liberal commentator have performed the same theater. The curtain rises, the villain appears — usually a man with a suspicious fondness for national sovereignty — and a chorus of think-tankers begins the ancient chant: “Threat to European values!” Cue the press releases, the Parliament resolutions, and a few leaked “audit findings” about EU funds.
Babiš knows the script by heart. They accused him of conflicts of interest, misuse of subsidies, and all sorts of bureaucratic sins that make Eurocrats swoon with moral outrage. The Commission dutifully published audits, the European Parliament huffed, and Western capitals wrung their hands about “illiberal trends.”
And yet, somehow, in the mysterious algebra of democracy, voters didn’t faint at the sight of another Financial Times editorial. They voted for him — again.
In some capitals and some European bureaucrats still think they’re fighting Babiš. In truth, they’re fighting the mirror he’s holding up.
The familiar tragedy of the EU Commission:
The curtains rise, the orchestra sighs, and the villain of the month steps on stage.
A man from a small Central-European country, fluent in the dangerous dialect of “national interest,” has won again.
Cue the outrage: the European Commission frowns, Western think-tanks issue reports titled *Populism on the March*, and the liberal media rediscover the sacred phrase *conflict of interest*.
Babiš, accused for years of entangling his business and political worlds, once again found himself the subject of EU audits, Parliament resolutions, and newspaper sermons.
And yet — inconveniently — Czech voters read all this moral thunder as campaign advertising and still ticked the box next to his name.
Populism, also known as listening
In cafés from Prague to Ostrava, people weren’t reading the Commission’s audit PDFs.
They were reading their electricity bills.
While Brussels debates the future of “strategic autonomy,” many Czechs would settle for affordable groceries. Czech voters, like many of their neighbours, have developed an inconvenient habit of caring about bills, jobs, and migration more than about what Politico Europe calls “the European project.” They don’t wake up in the morning worrying about regulatory harmonisation. They worry about paying for gas.
Babiš’s forbidden magic is to talk about those things directly.
He promises to protect pensions, borders, and a little dignity from what he calls “Brussels nonsense.”
For this, commentators label him “populist.” In our new European political vocabulary, that means “a politician who remembers voters exist.”
The moral theatre of the elites
Each time a leader like Babiš, Orbán, or Meloni wins, Western capitals convene their emergency seminar: “Why do Europeans keep voting against Europe?”
They never ask the simpler question: maybe, just maybe, people don’t dislike Europe — they dislike you running it and not recognizing the reality.
While Brussels debates its next climate taxonomy and the number of straws or attached plastic bottle caps to save the planet, Central Europeans are wondering why their electricity bills look like ransom notes. When Babiš says “enough,” he’s not whispering Kremlin propaganda; he’s saying what half the continent mutters at dinner tables.
Brussels, meet the real world
The EU’s elite still thinks politics is a moral exam: vote correctly and you’re progressive; vote differently and you’ve failed civics.
Each new “audit,” each headline screaming *Threat to European Values!* only hardens the rebellion. Each “European value” sermon sounds, to ordinary voters, like an accusation:
“You peasants clearly don’t understand what’s good for you.”
People don’t enjoy being lectured by officials whose main worry is the carbon footprint of their conference badges when all the earlier known economies and political orders are changing alarmingly fast and nobody held peoples’ hands to help them to understand what is happening around them.
It’s no mystery why that tone backfires. People like being governed, lead, not lectured.
They want leaders who look at their lives, –
The Czech message to the continent
Babiš didn’t storm Brussels; he merely opened a window and let in the draught of public opinion.
He’s saying what many across Europe are now whispering:
> “Yes, we want Europe. But we’d like it to notice us occasionally.”
He talks about peace while others talk about “strategic frameworks.” He worries about food prices while Eurocrats debate the font size on energy labels.
His return isn’t an accident; it’s a message. Not the first one, but still no answer from the recipients.
When voters repeatedly pick the man the commentariat despises, maybe the problem isn’t the voter. Maybe it’s the echo chamber in Brussels where every “pro-European” meeting sounds like group therapy for people shocked that democracy still includes other people.
The more they shout “populism,” the more popular populists become.
And Brussels still hasn’t learned the oldest political lesson of all:
