“Ugocsa non coronat” is a Latin phrase, meaning “Ugocsa does not crown” first recorded in 1505. It was used by representatives of Hungary’s smallest county, Ugocsa, when they refused to assent to the coronation of Ferdinand I.
The expression was later adopted by Hungary’s Kuruc faction, who opposed the westernisation of the country and championed the preservation of Hungarian particularities and sovereignty. It came to symbolise the idea that Hungary would not accept an Austrian king without unanimous national support.
I’m regularly impressed by how many Hungarians are aware of the historical ties between our two nationalist traditions, both in terms of parallels and direct connections.
Strategies employed by Irish nationalists, such as abstentionism, were inspired by the resistance methods of Hungarian statesman Ferenc Deák. Likewise, Prince Ferenc Rákóczi II likened his campaign for independence from Austria to the Jacobite cause in Ireland. Viktor Orbán is right when he speaks of the “love story between Irish and Hungarian patriots.”
What’s more questionable is whether Micheál Martin counts himself among those patriots. Recently, Martin claimed that Hungary was “exploiting” its use of its veto power in the European Union “unreasonably.” The Taoiseach further stated that he supports using all available instruments to prevent Hungary from exercising this veto.
Orbán responded by saying: “We Hungarians have always regarded Irish patriots as champions of freedom and national independence. For us, Ireland is a symbol of liberty and sovereignty. For this reason, it is always shocking when we see that an Irish patriot chooses to stand on the side of an empire instead of national sovereignty.”
Martin’s concern appears to stem from Ukraine’s potential EU accession. An Taoiseach has advocated for a fast-tracked path to EU membership for Ukraine—however, such accession has serious implications. The estimated cost of Ukraine joining the EU stands at €2.447 trillion, which is 12.7 times the Union’s entire 2025 budget. In addition, Ukraine’s debt amounts to 95% of its GDP, which would increase the EU’s overall debt-to-GDP ratio, weakening monetary cooperation.
Ireland’s agricultural sector would be especially vulnerable in the event of Ukraine joining the European Union. Not only would liberalised trade with Ukraine expose Irish farmers to competition from cheaper imports, but the redistribution of EU agricultural subsidies could see Ireland’s funding cut by up to 20%.
While the return of Ukrainian refugees currently in the EU seems increasingly unlikely, the liberalisation of border laws with Ukraine would significantly extend the EU’s external frontier and likely lead to an increase in Ukrainian migration to western Europe. Compounding this, Ukraine’s post-war reconstruction plans involve importing large numbers of migrant workers from Asia and Africa— weaker borders pose a serious risk of increased illegal migration into Europe.
Thankfully, however, the Taoiseach can afford to call for fast-tracked Ukrainian accession ad absurdum because he knows the adults in the room won’t let it happen. He knows that Hungary will veto the proposal. Ugocsa non coronat.
Hungarian foreign policy is unique—prioritising national interest and strategic connectivity over bloc-based alignment, and aiming to position Hungary as a middle power in an increasingly multipolar world. In contrast, Ireland’s foreign policy is largely directionless, often only discernible through its platitudes. As our geopolitical context becomes more coarse and multipolar, such banalities are rapidly losing currency.
In a recent piece in Politico, Irish officials described being in “despair” as Ireland was snubbed in European Commission appointments. This likely reflects a growing perception of Ireland as a “defence freeloader,” a tax haven, and economically unstable – further marred by its unorthodox foreign policy positions. We can see Ireland’s decline in political capital in cases such as Michael McGrath’s appointment to the relatively minor Democracy, Justice, and Rule of Law portfolio. But we’ve also seen acts of self-sabotage—for example, Phil Hogan’s resignation as EU Trade Commissioner in 2020 over the Golfgate controversy, despite this being a strategically vital portfolio for Ireland.
To compound such missteps, Ireland’s political class has consistently ceded sovereignty to Brussels. Micheál Martin was a TD when Ireland handed over monetary sovereignty to the European Central Bank. He was a minister when Ireland was pressured to “vote again” on the Nice and Lisbon Treaties. He was Tánaiste when Ireland ceded sovereignty over migration policy to the EU. Now, Sean Kelly MEP tells us that 70% of our laws are made in Brussels. But to quote Martin himself: “We want nothing to do with a backward-looking idea of sovereignty.”
Countries like Italy and Hungary demonstrate that smaller nations can exert outsized influence on the world stage and effectively advance their national interests through a dynamic foreign policy. This potential is especially true for Ireland, given the considerable goodwill the country enjoys internationally.
Unfortunately, Ireland’s political class remains among the last true believers in the liberal world order. They have tied the state to an ideology that is rapidly going out of vogue—and that actively undermines our ability to pursue a meaningful, independent foreign policy. If the Taoiseach lacks the capacity to speak up for what is in the best interests of the Irish people—even when that’s uncomfortable—then he should at least not bite the hand that shields him. Until then, Irish foreign policy will remain unambitious, and directionless: a mirror to a state that’s lost confidence in itself.
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Dean Céitinn