By Nick Thorpe, BBC Budapest Correspondent

On a sweltering summer Saturday, the streets of Budapest erupted in celebration as tens of thousands joined the annual Pride march—transforming the city into a vibrant display of defiance against Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orban and his increasingly restrictive policies.

From Pest to Buda, the route normally walked in 20 minutes stretched into a three-hour journey of music, dancing, and protest. Organizers estimate between 100,000 and 200,000 mostly young attendees filled the streets, a dramatic surge from last year’s 35,000.

Many marchers said they were spurred to attend because of the government’s attempt to ban the event. Their response was creative and peaceful, but undeniably political. Protest signs mocked Orban, with slogans like “I’m so bored of Fascism” and “In my history class, I learnt enough to recognize a dictatorship.” T-shirts bearing glammed-up caricatures of the prime minister—with lipstick and eyeshadow—were common.

While the LGBTQ+ community remained at the heart of the event, this year’s Pride became a broader symbol of solidarity and human rights advocacy.

“We don’t exactly look like we’ve been banned!” Budapest’s Mayor Gergely Karácsony told the crowd in a triumphant speech outside the Budapest Technical University. “We look like we’re peacefully and freely putting on a big, bold show for a puffed-up and hateful power. The message is clear: they have no power over us.”

For Karácsony, the event may mark a high point in his political career. Despite funding struggles and frequent conflict with the national government, his city hall hosted the very event Orban tried to outlaw—and succeeded, at least for now.

Among the international supporters was Finnish MEP Li Andersson, who accused Orban of misusing “family values” as a pretext for repression. “This is about more than just Pride—it’s about the fundamental rights of all of us,” she said.

The attempted ban stemmed from a controversial 2021 law, passed by Orban’s ruling Fidesz party, equating homosexuality with paedophilia under a so-called “Child Protection” framework. It restricts any public promotion or portrayal of homosexuality where children might be present.

Police cited this law to justify banning the march, claiming children might see it. But the mayor countered with a 2001 law stating that council-organized events don’t fall under general assembly restrictions.

Despite the looming threat of fines and surveillance, police kept a low profile during the event. Cameras mounted in advance recorded the procession, and a new law passed in March gave police expanded powers, including facial recognition. Fines ranging from £14 to £430 could still be levied.

Meanwhile, Prime Minister Orban spent the day at a graduation ceremony for new police and customs officers. He emphasized the importance of law and order, warning, “Order must be created—without it, civilised life will be lost.”

Government officials also tried to reclaim the word “pride” by posting family photos online. Alexandra Szentkirályi, head of Fidesz’s Budapest Council faction, posted a plain message: “Post a picture to show them what we’re proud of.”

State-aligned media condemned the parade. Magyar Nemzet labelled it “chaos” and criticized the appearance of climate activist Greta Thunberg, who posted about attending on Instagram. Some outlets went so far as to call the event a “celebration of perversity.”

The legal battle over the march may not be over. Political analyst Zoltán Kiszelly told the BBC that the courts could still decide whether the Pride organizers or the government were in the right.

“If the courts side with the organizers, Orban may change the law again. If they side with the government, he’ll take it as a victory.”

For now, though, Budapest Pride stands as a powerful show of unity and resistance—sending a message far louder than any ban.