24/05/2026
Fear and Loathing in Vienna: The Decline of the West
I feel like Eminem or 50 Cent in their own war. I came from the East to the West, searching for freedom, but it seems this "West Coast" isn't to everyone's taste.
The police report says "unemployed." A joke. The truth is: I have lived in Austria since 1990. I am a journalist, a trained chef – I have diplomas for both – and from November 1, 1998, to May 31, 2012, I was the program manager for TV2 in Budapest for 13 and a half years. I know how media works and how power works. I was also a VIP Butler: a countess refined my upbringing, replacing what my mother failed to do. I know what dignity is.
Now I am a prompt engineer, but I have been on sick leave since April 15: the world's best surgeons fought for 9.5 hours to save my right hand. And the Vienna police dragged this injured hand as if their bureaucratic frustration were more important than the work of the doctors.
For 12.5 hours, they wouldn't let me call my daughters. I drank tequila with a US Marine, accompanied by a few mojitos and about 10 beers. What the f**k? Even he knew where the line was – he pushed me away several times but never touched my injured hand because he respected the man in me. The police, however... Where the f**k do we live? Is this the rule of law?
And that I am dangerous? Maybe. In my bed lies a Russian refugee girl who stood up against Putin. I protect her. Is that why I am dangerous? Because I protect those the system wants to trample?
My family history – where my great-grandfather guarded Emperor Franz Joseph – taught me honor. I've seen Falco, Michael Jackson, Tina Turner live, the Rolling Stones five times. I held the hand of a great bank president when death took him. I've lived, I've drunk – I can take it like a man. I love women, ci**rs, but above all, my daughters. I live for them.
Yes, I was angry and I cursed. I acted like a man. My father said: "If they hit you, run away. But if you are right, stand your ground and strike back."
Now I am here. I am not going home, because this city is mine, too. I don't ask for help because I don't need it – I have paid for everything so far. I am going to Milan with my daughter, because a father is a father.
Vienna, wake up. Under the "order," there is only rot left. And I remain who I was: István Árpád Kopacz, who has seen everything and whom the walls of a cell cannot break.
Those who cannot accept who I am and how I live – they should go home. I won't.
