||Prof. Liptak's '56 (mind)
|| 45 sor
||Racism, what is it? (mind)
|| 28 sor
||Honor the memory (October 23-24, 1956) (mind)
|| 343 sor
||Maintenance woes (mind)
|| 40 sor
||HUNGARY Q. to Eva Balogh (mind)
|| 6 sor
||HUNGARY A. to Eva Balogh (mind)
|| 29 sor
||HUNGARY Joe Pannon, may be right (mind)
|| 12 sor
||IMF controls (mind)
|| 21 sor
||Diacritics on the Internet (mind)
|| 6 sor
|| 43 sor
||Dayton Conference (mind)
|| 61 sor
||More on the "silly" subject (mind)
|| 24 sor
||Re: AMOSZ (mind)
|| 44 sor
||Re: AMOSZ (mind)
|| 32 sor
||Re: Giants Among Us (mind)
|| 2 sor
||Bela Tarr/ SATAN TANGO (mind)
|| 3 sor
|+ - ||Prof. Liptak's '56 (mind)
I enjoy tremendously Prof. Liptak's series of reminiscences.
The events of those fateful days are also inprinted in my memory and
remember them as most Americans remember the day Pres. Kennedy was shot.
As it turns out, Prof. Liptak is not much older than I am; only by about
four years. So at the time of the revolution I was a highschool student,
but later I followed his foot steps to the same university he so vividly
describes. He also took the words out of my mouth when in the
introduction to his series he expressed his gratitude of being fortunate
enough to be of to be part of the generation which personally experienced
those events. Indeed, I always felt that way myself and I would not
change it for an offer of being born later, thus being younger now.
The experience we all went through in those days happens perhaps once in
a century. Hungarians were probably never so united as in those days
and that showed on the faces on the street. How I miss those looks
The other reason I am writing this is that Prof. Liptak's writing, which
I consider very gifted, reads almost like a movie script. Why is it
that a big production Hungarian movie about the revolution has still not
been made? I mean real action movie, not some psychological drama with
the revolution as a background. OK, I know that the Hungarian movie
industry is virtually (or in reality) bankrupt, but finding money for
such a movie seems to me like a good investment. Not just financially,
but lifting the spirit of general malaise of recent years without which
the country cannot get out if her current mess. Hungary was in worse
shape after WW II, yet the optimism was there for the future to enable
them to recover in about three short years. With the right leadership
and improved spirit, they could do it this time, too. Because films
became such an influential force, I think they could play an important
role in confidence building for the task ahead. I think other nations
would jump on the film making opportunity if they had a "56" in their
history. Why not the Hungarians?
BTW, so far the only major film I've seen here in the US with the 56
revolution as a background was a Canadian production. Some of you may
recall it, even if it was about 20 some yars ago. "In praise of older
women" was the title. But it was not really about the '56 revolution.
Frankly, if George Soros is indeed so interested about helping Hungary
as it is assumed, his investment in such a movie could prove a better
one than some of his other projects.
Well, that's my opinion, anyway.
|+ - ||Racism, what is it? (mind)
Tama1s To1th writes to Paul Gelencse1r:
> you are asking for an honest discussion on race, racism. Well, don't
> keep your breath: it's not going to happen anytime soon. People on a certain
> side of this multi-faceted issue cannot afford it.
Just to disappont Tama1s, here follows a brief discussion. In this context
"race" really means a subdivision of humans based chiefly on skin color:
the black race, the white race, etc. The term also applies to subdivisions
based on narrower ethnic groupings: the German race, the Arab race, etc.
Racism (for the British, racialism) means any kind of social (in
particular, political) practice based on race. To require black people
to sit at the back of the bus and reserve the front part for white
people is racism. To require blacks to sit at the front and whites at
the back would also be racism. Since the term racism is generally used
to describe practices in which whites get the better deal, racist
practices going the other way are sometimes called "reverse racism",
but it's the same thing one way or the other.
The emphasis is on deeds not on words. To say that "blacks are more X
than whites" or "whites are less Y than orientals" is not, by itself,
racism, whatever is X or Y (pick your favorite adjectives).
Advocating racist practices "since blacks are heavier than whites they
should sit at the end of the bus for better steering" is just like
advocating any other bad thing: people shouldn't do it but they are
certainly at liberty to do so. They are not, as far as I'm concerned,
at liberty to perpetuate racist practices.
|+ - ||Honor the memory (October 23-24, 1956) (mind)
The night of the 23rd of October, 1956:
"Sotet szemet szemermesen lehunyta, (As her chastely dark eyes closed,
Mellen kinyilt egy csepp piros virag, (And a red flower open'd on her
Mellette gozolgott a szennycsatorna, (The sewer fumed next to her
De gyozelmerol dalolt a vilag." (Yet the world exulted at her
It is 8 PM. We are on Saint Stephen's Avenue, on the Pest side of the bridge.
People have placed their radios in the windows. We can hear the hated voice
of the Secretary of the Communist Party, Ern Ger : We condemn those who
strive to spread the poison of chauvinism among our youth and who carry out
nationalist demonstrations. - he says. Now our mood changes. Men turns to
me: The dirty, lying skunk! This quisling fears all patriots and with good
reasons too! Our march is no longer silent. I hear Laci Zsindely's voice
from far back: Down with Ger ! The slogan spreads like wildfire. In a
minute the walls of the avenue are echoing, the windows are shaking as we
switch to the rallying cry: Ruszkik Haza! (Russians Go Home) followed by:
Hungarians Come With Us!
On Alkotmany Street I see a pub. I have not eaten since the morning, so
I run in: Give me something to eat, a roll, anything. The mustachioed
bartender gives me a French roll. I pull out my still intact 140 Forints, two
20s and a 100 Forint bill. I hand him one of the 20s, he takes it, looks at
my tri-colored arm-band, hesitates for a second, returns the 20 and says: I
will close down and join you!
By the time we arrive in front of the Parliament, there must be a
quarter million people. We hear a lot of yelling, as people are demanding
that the red star on the dome be turned off. When the light finally goes out,
a thunderous ovation rises to the sky. A moment later all the lights in the
immense Kossuth square go off. Now it is total darkness. This is a less than
subtle hint by the Communists that it is time to go home!
Now, far far away, at the other end of the square, I see somebody
igniting his rolled up issue of the party paper, named: Szabad Nip (Free
People). Others follow the example and within a few minutes, thousands of
torches are lighting the plaza. It is a serene and unforgettable sight. As we
stand, hypnotized by the flickering of a hundred thousand flames, somewhere
in the crowd, a deep voice starts singing the National Anthem. The quarter,
perhaps half million people stand to attention, the hymn spreads, fills the
square and then rises up to the sky. As our voices blend in this prayer for
our homeland, our souls fill with a new unity and determination. The paper
torches are still burning when Kossuth's favorite song propagates, thunders
through the plaza:
Louis Kossuth sent the message,
That his army is a wreckage,
If he needs us, we are coming,
The enemy can start packing,
Long live Hungary!
Finally, Ferenc Erdei announces from the balcony of the Parliament,
that Imre Nagy, one of the few respected Commu nist leaders in Hungary, is
going to speak to us. There is no sound amplification, so we can not hear
what he is saying. The only thing we all hear is the word Comrades! (Later
it was reported that he said: My friends, there are no more com rades! In
any case, what matters is that we thought he said: Comrades! ) This is the
ultimate insult, the final turn off. We don't want to hear anymore. We don't
want to listen to any more speeches. Enough of listening, enough of talking,
it is time to make our own decisions. It is time for action.
It is around 9 PM, our class is still in one group, when Gyuszi Perr
arrives on his motorbike with his bride, the little blond athlete, Marika:
People are trying to topple Stalin's monument in the park. At the Radio, the
Director, Valiria Benke is holding our delegation captive. The AVH (the
Communist secret police) have been reenforced. It is very tense at the Radio!
The workers of Csepel are arriving in trucks. - he reports. We hold a brief
meeting. Some suggest that we go to the Radio, others would prefer to go to
Stalin's monument. Gyuri Egry says: We should do something that others are
not doing. Let us go to the Szikra publishing house and print a strike
proclamation. We agree on that. So, Gyuszi Perr goes back to the Radio and
we, the junior class of Mechanical Engineering, still in a disciplined,
orderly manner, march to the Szikra printery.
The workers at the printing house offer no resistance. They only ask
for a written statement that we have requisi tioned the print works, and from
that point on, their questions involve only the text, letter sizes, paper
quality and the like. It feels too easy: In about an hour the strike
proclamation is printed. We are about to leave with the still wet leaflets,
when Gyuszi Perr, with Marika on the back seat of his motorbike, arrives once
more. This is the first time that I see Gyuszi unnerved, shaken. His report
explains why: At the Radio, the AVH first used tear gas bombs, later started
shooting. People have been killed. There is chaos at the Radio. Also,
Stalin's 24 feet bronze statue has been knocked down in the park. The trucks
of Csepel are dragging it through the city.
It must be around 11 PM. We, the junior class of Mechanical Engineers
decide to break up. The majority, starving and tired, decides to go home. I
join those who go to the Radio. It is approaching midnight when I get there.
The Radio Building is on Brsdy Street, I am several blocks away when
the rattle of gunfire becomes audible. As I get closer, I can also smell the
gunpowder. I am frightened, my heart is pounding, but I can not turn back. As
I reach the corner of Museum Boulevard and Brsdy Street, I see three
Hungarian tanks. People are surrounding them, they are talking to the
officers. It is obvious that these soldiers are not going to shoot at other
As I turn into Brsdy Street, it seems empty. There is smoke in the
air, people nestle in the doorways. My corduroy jacket is rubbing against the
wall as I run toward the Radio Building. I pass some abandoned Red Cross
ambulances in the middle of the street. I stop at the next doorway. What are
these ambulances doing here? - I ask. The AVH, wearing doctor's white coats
over their uniforms, used them. They were bringing more ammunition to the AVH
thugs inside. The demonstrators overpowered them and took their arms. The
voice is familiar. I lean closer, it is Zsuzsa, the bride of my friend, Gabor
Illis. Don't tell Gabor! - she pleads, when she recognizes me: She has a
submachine-gun in her hand. (After the Revolution, Gabor, a bank executive,
settled with Zsuzsa, in California.)
Where did you get that? - I ask. From them - and she points to a
young soldier standing next to her. He is an enlisted man. I can tell, that
he is from the Great Plain region of Hungary, because, in the middle of this
madness, he hold out his hand for a handshake and introduces himself. How
did you get here? - I ask. Our unit was sent to reenforce the AVH, but our
commander refused the order, when he saw this. Some of my mates gave their
arms to the people like her, while I joined them. He talks slowly,
precisely, without a single unnecessary word, without overstatement, without
theatrics, he talks like all farmers do, anywhere in the world, he talks with
the local accent of the Szeged region.
Now I see a group of demonstrators marching toward the Radio Building.
They are not running, clutching against the wall, as I did, but are marching
in the middle of the street, behind a giant of a man, who carries a large
Hungarian flag. The man must be a blacksmith or something like that, because
he is able to hold the immense flag in one hand. They must be a hundred yards
from the building when the AVH start firing. The echo of the explosions is
amplified by the narrow street, the racket is almost unbearable, but I see no
bullets hitting the pavement. They must be shooting in the air. The demon
strators froze to a standstill, but do not run, and now, that the shooting is
over, they start again.
Suddenly, an other round of firing starts. This time the bullets strike
the pavement like lumps of ice in an ice storm. The sound is a high pitched
phing , when the bullet hits the pavement and a much deeper thud , when it
hits flesh. The wounded are screaming, the rest of the demonstrators are
running away, but the blacksmith just stands, then takes an other step
forward, and then slowly, like a giant oak tree, starts to sink and falls to
the ground, while still holding, lifting the flag.
Next to me, I hear the enlisted man talking to Zsuzsa: No, you first
release this. Yes. Now you look through that. and now a deafening burst. A
windows shatters on the Radio Building. Now the pavement is sparking in front
of our doorway. Only people with guns, please! - the enlisted man says. I
stroke Zsuzsa's back and start running. Again I run close to the wall, the
way I came, but now in the opposite direction.
As I get to the corner of Museum Avenue, I see a crowd around a
truck. What's happening? - I ask. The man next to me is well informed:
They are from the Soroksar Street arms factory. You know, the one named the
United Lamp Factory. They brought rifles and ammunition. I push my way to
the truck to get a rifle and some bullets. They are all slippery, must have
been stored in grease. My first reaction is: Oh God, they will mess up my
beautiful corduroy jacket. - so I move over to a garbage can and start
rubbing off the grease with old newspapers.
As I am rubbing away, I hear somebody call out: Vcsi! I look up. It
is my older brother, Piter. What are you doing here? I ask. Oh, a few of
us came in from the Agricultural University of Gvdvll . Well, perhaps a few
hundred. So you changed your mind? - I ask. No, not at all. This is
madness. The AVH will butcher you all. You don't stand a chance with that
ancient rifle. All it is good for is to mess up your jacket! Besides, if the
quislings of the AVH can not handle you, the Russians will. OK, OK. So, you
still feel that way. Fine. Do you know, that I just talked with Zsuzsi, Gabor
Illis's bride? She had a sub-machine gun. She is fighting at the Radio. I
never said she was smart! - Piter replies.
At this point a truck pulls up next to us and a young man yells out:
This truck is from Zjpest (New Pest) and we are on our way to the Karoly
Barracks in Budavrs to get more arms. If you want to help, get on. I start
climbing onto the truck. Piter practically orders me to stay. It feels good,
that he worries about me, but my mind is made up. It was made up when that
blacksmith fell down with the flag: See you soon! - I yell as the truck
There are two wooden benches on the truck. I wipe the seat with my
handkerchief to protect my favorite jacket. On my bench, there are three
other young men, on the opposite side of the truck, there are three boys and
three girls. I am the only student on this truck. From the way they dress,
the way they talk, I can tell that they are factory workers. We all have the
same grimy rifles. The second boy on my right is in the process of loading
his gun. This never occurred to me. I got my rifle only because that appeared
to be the ticket to taking part, to be here, but it never occurred to me,
that I could use it. As far as I'm concerned, my bullets are quite
comfortable in the pocket of my corduroy jacket!
The truck is heading for the Pet fi bridge. From Museum Boulevard, it
turns into \ll i Street. We must be doing 60-70 miles an hour, the street is
deserted. The boy on my bench has finished loading his gun. We are holding
our rifles in front of us, their butts resting on the truck's floor. Now I
feel a big bump: the truck must have run over a brick or something. Our
rifles all jump into the air and as they fall back, the loaded one goes off.
The boy next to me falls forward. Blood is streaming from his right ear.
I grab him while the truck comes to a screeching halt. Because I am a
student and because I am wearing the tri- colored arm-band, the others
automatically look to me for leadership. The Haynal Clinic is only a few
hundred yards from us. The night watchman opens the door and calls for emer
gency help. In a few minutes, the wounded boy is taken away on a stretcher
and we are back on the truck. The right side of my favorite jacket is soaked
We should turn right on Ferenc Boulevard to reach the Pet fi Bridge,
but there are tanks coming from that direction. So we stay on \ll i Street,
then turn left on Hungaria Boule vard. At the HIV railroad station, people
tell us that the director of the Ruggyanta rubber factory refused to shut
down the plant. We drive to the main gate. Where is the emergency
loudspeaker? - I ask the confused gate keeper. He looks at my arm-band and
without the slightest hesitation, flips a switch and hands me a microphone:
There is a general strike. This factory is to shut down immediately! I
repeat this twice and then we leave. We know and they know, that this plant
will shut down as fast as it can.
Our next stop is at the police station on Baross Square. We learn that
Sandor Kopacsi, the police chief of the capital has already instructed the
precinct chiefs, not to resist the requisition of arms. They even help us to
load their spare guns unto the truck. We distribute the guns to the young
people on Baross Square. Without any orders or discussion, as the young
people get their weapons, they automatically get onto the truck. The result
is, that by the time I hand out the last rifle, there are at least 50 people
on the truck and there is abso lutely no room left. So I continue on foot.
It must be around 2 AM on Wednesday, the 24th of October. Suddenly I
remember Agnes. It is an impossible hour, but I must go there immediately and
let her know that I am alright. It's a long walk. The apartment house is
dark, the door is locked, the mail boxes are on the inside. I do not dare to
call at this hour, so I slip a note under the front door and leave.
As I reach the corner of Raksczi Street and the Great Boulevard, I hear
intense gunfire at the main offices of the Communist party paper: The Free
People. The massive bulk of Stalin's bronze statue is resting in the middle
of the road. As the firing intensifies, I decide to seek protection behind
the 24 feet metal casting. As I hit the pavement, a voice says: This is the
first time that our beloved leader did something for me! The bold little
guy, with a blue beret and a massive hammer in his hand, continues: I was
trying to take home a piece of Stalin as a souvenir, when the fighting broke
out. There is a large AVH contingent inside, but the Hungarians have already
occupied the ground floor. This is the first time that I hear somebody
suggest that the AVH thugs are not Hungarians. I always thought of them as
traitors, as collabo rators with the enemy, but never as disowned outcasts.
On my way back to the Radio, I see Russian tanks approaching on Museum
Boulevard. They are not firing. In the open hatchway of the first tank, an
officer is standing. The boulevard is empty, the people are hiding in the
doorways. Don't show your gun! - I hear from one of the doorways and I jump
into the semi-darkness. The tanks roar by and I continue on my way, back to
the university. It must be about 5 AM when I cross the bridge back to Buda
and reach Saint Gellirt Square. The scene is unreal.
The square is full of people, some fully dressed, others in their
nightgowns or pajamas. They are in the process of building barricades. Some
are carrying old bedsprings, others bring chairs or bricks. A group is
digging up the cobblestones of the pavement, using crowbars and less likely
tools. They intend to block the bridge, so that the Russian tanks can not
come over from the Pest side. When they see my rifle, the arm-band and the
blood on my jacket, they respectfully give way. A policeman, twice my age,
asks: What do we do now? Without thinking and without hesitation I answer:
We push them out of the city!
At that point, three trucks arrive from the direction of Msricz
Square. Let us help the people on the Pest side! - shouts a young man from
the first truck. Unarmed people start climbing onto the trucks. I see two
elderly ladies in their dressing gowns, they are probably sisters, carrying a
heavy cobble stone. As they struggle to lift it onto the truck, I give them a
hand. Just in case you might need it - one says - just in case, you know!
I jump onto the second truck.
As we turn onto the bridge, I look back. The people on the square have
come to a standstill. They are watching our trucks. Some are crying, some
took off their hats, a nun is on her knees, praying. We are about halfway
across, when the Russian tanks, at the Pest bridge-head, start firing. They
hit the first truck. It is in flames. Our driver tries to make a U-turn and
crushes into a pole. The cobble stone flies forward, while people are
falling and jumping off. It is chaos. We are all running backwards, nobody
made it to the Pest side.
I get back to the university at around 9 AM. It is hard to believe that
24 hours ago I was checking identity cards at these gates. Ages have passed
during those hours. Now, everything is empty, not a soul is to be seen. As I
walk through the main Aula, I can hear the echo of my footsteps. Now, the
door of the DISZ (Communist Youth Organization) office opens. It is Jancsi
Danner with a submachine-gun on his shoulder. He is just as dirty and tired,
as I am. We must be the first ones. I just got back from the Corvin Theatre.
We beat back the Russians there. They lost five tanks. - he says. This
place looks abandoned. Let's check the Military Department. - I suggest.
As we are walking over, I notice that the sole of my sandal is coming
off. Jancsi's shoes are big and rugged, they will last longer than mine. He
is from Szeged, very tall, dark-blond with grayish blue eyes. He takes life
seriously. He is about to get married to a girl named Gabriella. I am
different, to me until a few days ago life was just a joke, just an occasion
to have fun, but now I don't know. Now I feel that these solemn people, like
Jancsi could, have a point.
As we look up at the windows of the Military Department, we see no
movement inside, no light, nothing. The main door is open, so we enter
anyway. As Jancsi opens the door of colonel Marian's office, there is some
movement in the background and a voice asks: Who is that? It's Janos
Danner and... - Jancsi looks at me and I finish his sentence: Vcsi. I
still don't dare to use my real name.
The colonel and two of his officers step out from the back room. They
are in the process of putting away their pistols. How come, we did not see
you from the outside? - I ask. We have been crawling under the windows on
all-fours - replies a lieutenant. Marian's eyes are bloodshot, the corner of
his mouth is twitching as he says: We came back here after the march and
been here ever since. I expect to be arrested any minute.
We try to cheer them up. We tell them, that the regular army and the
police is on our side. We tell them about the general strike, the heavy
fighting at the Radio and at the Kilian Barracks, but their gloom does not
lift. Did you eat? - asks Jancsi. They shake their heads, so we go to the
cafeteria and get a pitcher of stale coffee, apples and some bread. They
still look paralyzed. They still bend down before passing in front of the
window. Now I decide, that it is time to get in touch with my family, so I
My mother's younger sister, Duduke, lives at 1 Bila Bartsk Street.
Their apartment house used to belong to her mother's family, now of course it
belongs to the state. It was built when Budapest was an elegant capital of
the dual- monarchy. The marble stairway is wide enough to carry up a grand
piano. The mahogany banister is supported by richly decorated wrought iron.
The turns are so sweeping, so gentile, that one can slide from the 4th floor,
all the way down on it. The stone is carved, the ceilings are tall, the
building radiates the confidence, pride, and defiance of a thousand year old
This building will still be standing, when the Red Empire has already
faded into a bad memory. It will prove that a European city can not be pushed
into Asia. The buildings will not allow that. The spirit of this one building
is more powerful than all the secret police in this slave empire. The soul of
a city with such buildings can never be conquered.
After ringing the bell, Uncle Feri opens the door. He is dumbstruck at
my sight, even in the semi-darkness of the hallway. I like this vestibule
with uncle Feri's hunting memora bilia, the antlers and tusks, the hunting
knifes and hunting horns on the wall. In his time, he chased big game in the
Carpathians, hunted for fox in Transylvania and for partridge at the
Adriatic, without ever leaving Hungarian soil. Today, because the artificial
new states like Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia, he needs a visa to visit his
birthplace, Kassa. Fittingly to the changes, his main challenge today is to
find his dentures in the morning.
I leave my rifle and the bloodied corduroy jacket in the foyer as we
enter the living room. Duduke is in the process of changing the baby. She
would be her third, if one did not starve to death at the end of the war,
because she had no milk. Piter and I, we tried to help. I will never forget
how, when I was nine years old, I was trying to steal some milk for the baby,
by creeping on my belly, with a saucepan in hand, among a herd of kicking
cows, which were guarded by Russian soldiers.
The radio is on in the living room. It says that the deadline for
laying down our arms, has been extended until 2 PM. We can hear the
explosions through the window. They seem to come from the direction of the
Kilian Barracks. I don't know what to do. Now, Duduke leaves the room for no
obvious reason and a few minutes after her return, my Father's older sister
shows up. She does not explain, how she knew that I was here, just tells me
that she has brought some of my favorite sausage. The sausage tastes funny,
the more I eat, the sleepier I get. Later I learn, that her doctor husband,
Uncle Tivadar, has injected some barbiturates into the sausage.
It is mid-afternoon when I wake up. I feel woozy, have a splitting
headache. As I put on my jacket in the vestibule, I have a blurry sense that
I am missing something, but I do not remember what it is, and since I don't
see anything else, I leave as I am.
On the way home I see that the curfew is ineffective. Russian tanks are
stationed at the main intersections, but the rest of the city is controlled
by the freedom fighters. The AVH resistance has subsided, the general strike
is in full force, firing is sporadic. I again go by Agnes's house. They are
not home. The superintendent says, that they probably left for lake Balaton.
Kerepes is about 15 miles from Budapest. It is dark by the time I get
home. As I open the gate, Bukucs is all over me, he bounces in total ecstasy.
The family is in the kitchen. They are listening to Radio Free Europe. There
is a lot of crying and excitement followed by endless questions. Finally my
Father decides to call it a day. As we leave the kitchen, he turns to me:
Remember that we are all alone. We can only lose and I do not want to lose
|+ - ||Maintenance woes (mind)
There are now many ways of receiving the Hungary list discussions. Only
one of them is directly in my control, that is, the direct subscription to
the listserv at the GWU mainframe, so that you receive the list postings
directly from gwuvm.gwu.edu as e-mail in your mailbox, or, if you selected
the option, as a single mail with all the day's traffic in one.
I have taken the following action regarding recent requests for help with
subscription problems: unsubscribed Deborah Wilson and Robert Miner, and
attempted to do the same for Charles/Karoly Bako. Listserv tells me that
although he was recently subscribed, he is not now subscribed to this
list, at least through the address he gives.
It would be petty, perhaps, to mention that whenever anyone subscribes to
Hungary by requesting it from the listserv at GWU, that person automatically
receives an e-mail with detailed instructions on how to maintain the list's
options to the subscriber's preferences, with the suggestion that this
list be stored for future reference because, though it may not seem like
it now, it could come in handy in the future.
Among other valuable items of information in this mailing is the fact
that problems about specific subscribers' list options can be taken up
with me directly as listowner. My e-mail address is given at the beginning
of the list of subscribers you can receive with the "review hungary"
command, as well as at the bottom and in the header of any e-mail I
myself send to the list. :-) I realize that for various reasons subscribers
may have trouble with their relationship to listserv, and by writing me
directly we can sort it out without bringing the entire readership into
Finally, if there is a response lag, it is usually because of technical
reasons, such as that in this case I have been in the Czech Republic and
without access to e-mail for two weeks.
Thanks to everyone for your patience with this, and please note my address
for future subscription option request ;-)
|+ - ||HUNGARY Q. to Eva Balogh (mind)
A need to ask you something in email.
Can you give me your email address ?
>Felado : Eva S. Balogh [United States]
>E-mail : ...@...aol.com
just simply does not work.
|+ - ||HUNGARY A. to Eva Balogh (mind)
>I don't want to be bogged down in such trivial matter as what the
>translation of the word "buta," but, I am afraid,...
I do not either. But :
Consider the following sentence in Hungarian:
The husband/wife to his wife/husband in their very early marrige :
Dragam ne legyel olyan buta hogy ne ertsd meg hogy mar nem az
anyadhoz tartozol hanem hozzam.
In English :
1.: Darling, do not be so SILLY not to undersatnd you belong to me and
not to your mother.
2.: Darling, do not be so STUPID not to undersatnd you belong to me and
not to your mother.
What a different tone! The envirolment/situation is important.
(Further comments on this is a dead end I guess.)
*.: I will try to give the complete title of the histoty book you responded to
yesterday. Definitely not Benes and others were the persons.
But anyway, it would be interesting to know why Benes did this?
Also I asked Slovakians why Benes so hated the Hungarians. They could
As it is known - I red it in that history book also - Benes said
somethhing like this (to the Great Powers in Paris Treaty):
"I do not care what you do with the Hungarians, but please transported
them from Eorope to an other continent. They separate us from our south
slav relatives (Yogo-slavs)."
You may be able give us the correct citation, but the meaning was this.
Also it would be interesting to hear about the ban on Hungarian speach
on "slovakian", i.e. felvidek-i streets during the "heroic Benes era".
|+ - ||HUNGARY Joe Pannon, may be right (mind)
>Wasn't the title really "A nation without boundaries" from Istvan Sisa?
Very likely, but I had a Hungarian version in my hand, for 20 minitutes
when I stopped in Dallas a few month ago. The title
Nemzet (Magyarorszag?) hatarok nelkul.
I would translate this as
(A) Nation (Hungary) without BORDERLINES.
The "A nation without boundaries" may tell me some "unlimited capability".
(I do not want to compare the definitions/retorics of math Set Theory with
the Politological..., we should check if there is any English official
translation of/for this particular book.) However, the subject of that
book is based on the "enforced" borderlines of Hungary.
|+ - ||IMF controls (mind)
Andras Kornai poses a theoretical question:
>It is of course highly debatable whether the IMF's power over Hungary
>actually needs to be lessened.
Actually one could make a case that it should NOT lessen its power, but
increase it. Something historical comes to mind: the loan of the Leage of
Nations to Hungary in the 1920s. The League of Nations gave money but at the
same time had total control over Hungarian finances. There was, in fact, a
representative of the League of Nations residing in Budapest (first, Jeremiah
Smith, an American and later Royall Tyler, a Britisher), who simply had veto
power over the budget.
Not long ago I was reading Gyorgy Barcza's (last Hungarian ambassador in
London before the war) memoirs and he mentions these two men with great
affection. Also, says Barcza, these League of Nations watchdogs came handy:
the government simply could say, sorry fellows, but we can't build this or
that because Mr. Smith doesn't allow us. So to speak, they took the burden
off the government for unpopular financial decisions.
|+ - ||Diacritics on the Internet (mind)
It is not AOL softwear which eliminated diacritical marks. It is the Internet
which can't handle them.
|+ - ||AMOSZ (mind)
To continue the discussion between Barna and myself. Barna says the
>I do not know any of the AMOSZ leaders, but I know at least one
>highly educated, intelligent man who believes that Freemasons are
>responsible for certain undesirable events of Hungarian history. Don't
>ask me to explain his theories, I have no interest in the issue. What I
>would like to know is, how can we call someone stupid because he/she
>believes in a unproven theory? Would Eva call people who believe in God
Surely, Barna, you didn't think this analogy through. The effects of the
Freemasons on Hungarian history are easy enough to check. The existence of
God cannot be proven and believing in God has nothing to do with empirical
evidence--as the influence of Freemasons can be ascertained empirically--but
Then consider the following exchange:
>But what disturbed me most is her following statement (HUNGARY #462):
>>totally unfamiliar with Hungarian emigre organization, I have never heard
>>AMOSZ before. I have no idea whom they represent but they certainly don't
>>represent me. I can also imagine the intellectual caliber of the AMOSZ's
>If she is unfamiliar with emigre organizations, why is she passing
>judgement on them.
For me it is enough to know that they are giving a helping hand to Dr. Endrey
and his ilk.
And what disturbed me about as much as my statement disturbed Barna is the
>AMOSZ is an umbrella organization, hundreds of
>Hungarian communities, Churches support it.
I do hope that those hundreds of Hungarian communities and churches know whom
their umbrella organization support and if they do, what does it say about
Hungarian emigre organizations in general and AMOSZ in particular?
|+ - ||Dayton Conference (mind)
If you agree with the contents of the letter that follows, please send it, or
some revised version of it, to the President at: or
to other political or media leaders. Best regards: Bila Liptak
The Honorable Bill Clinton
President of the United States
RE: Dayton Conference
Dear Mr. President,
If we visualize the collapse of Communism as an earthquake, it should not
surprise us, that the whole building of Central Europe has been damaged.
Therefore, we should not be thinking in terms of temporarily reenforcing one
floor (Bosnia for a year), but we should restore the whole building and make
it self-supporting. We should not wait until cracks appear or fire breaks out
on the floor of Kosovo, the region of oppressed Albanians, or until the floor
of Vojvodina collapses, where the Serb refugees are cleansing the Hungarians,
but we should rebuild and reenforce the whole building.
Therefore, while the Dayton Conference dealing with Bosnia, is a
welcome beginning, it's participants should not be limited to three heads of
state and it's aim of peace-making should not be limited to Bosnia. Dayton
should aim at bringing stability to all of Central Europe and the
participants should include all heads of state of the region.
Restoration must always start at the foundations. The foundation of
the building of Central Europe is her history. We should learn from history,
that the Balkans became unstable whenever a power vacuum evolved in the
Carpathian Basin. Therefore, in order to gain stability, such local power
must be reestablished, because neither the UN, nor the EC or NATO can
permanently fill that power vacuum. The only people who have a vital interest
in that region, are the people who live there. Therefore, it is time to start
working on the foundations of an economically self-sufficient, politically
stable, militarily neutral and geographically large enough federation, which
can fill the present power vacuum. The Dayton Conference can be the first
step toward that goal: the establishment of a Danubian Confederation, which
can be crystallized around the nucleus of Austria, Hungary, Slovenia,
Croatia, Slovakia and Ruthenia, and which can later be expanded to also
include Poland, Romania, Serbia, Bulgaria and the Czech Republic.
The building of such a federation, originally proposed by President
Wilson in 1920, requires the leadership of the World's sole remaining
superpower and requires the realization, that history does not solve problems
accidentally, that in order to build a better future, one must have a plan, a
concept of that future.
The building of such a federation also requires an atmosphere of
reconciliation. Armies can not create such atmosphere, only justice can.
Therefore, just as the autonomy of Tyrol has eliminated the tensions between
Austria and Italy, the granting of cultural autonomy to all other indigenous
minorities of the region will do the same for Central Europe. Once all
minority groups have the right to maintain their heritage and to control
their cultural destiny, tensions between neighbors will diminish and the
atmosphere for federation will be ripe.
George Orwell said, that He who controls the past, controls the future
and he who controls the present, controls the past. Therefore, we should
learn from the past and have a clear goal for the desired future, in order to
correctly decide on our present course.
(Your name and title)
|+ - ||More on the "silly" subject (mind)
> Nemzet (Magyarorszag?) hatarok nelkul.
> I would translate this as
> (A) Nation (Hungary) without BORDERLINES.
> The "A nation without boundaries" may tell me some "unlimited capability".
No wonder we had the disagreement about the stupid = buta translation!
Kristyan has what I consider a unique understanding of the two
languages. For I don't think many people would share with him this
newer translation of his, equating "hatar" with borderline. I would say
"hatar" is "border" or "boundary". Hatarvonal is borderline.
But I know a real good translator amongst as, Gabor Fencsik. Let him be
the judge. Oh, BTW, after thinking more about what might also translate
the word "silly" into Hungarian, I was thinking about the word "ostoba",
though that sounds to me more like in between "silly" and "stupid" in
meaning. What do you think?
> we should check if there is any English official
> translation of/for this particular book.) However, the subject of that
> book is based on the "enforced" borderlines of Hungary.
Well, no need for it because the book IS out in English with the title I
|+ - ||Re: AMOSZ (mind)
Eva wrote to Barna:
>Surely, Barna, you didn't think this analogy through. The effects of the
>Freemasons on Hungarian history are easy enough to check. The existence of
>God cannot be proven and believing in God has nothing to do with empirical
>evidence--as the influence of Freemasons can be ascertained empirically--but
Well, I would agree with this except for one thing: I have a problem
ascertaining something that is secretive. Especially when people in
power join such organizations. I hope, Eva, you don't think that this
is just a bunch of grown men playing "Pal utcai fiuk", do you? Would
you be as unconcerned about such secret organizations if their members
were known right wingers? Frankly, I think the media would be all over
BTW, while at it, let me relate a little rumor that circulated in right
wing circles here in the West. Because I don't remember all the
details and the source, I am calling it a rumor, but it may actually
have been reported in mainstream Hungarian papers for all I know.
So, according to my recollection, Gabor Fodor, the rapidly rising young
"titan" of Hungarian politics, and the current minister of education,
was admitted at one of the important Mason lodges with a certain degree
on one of his visits in Strassbourg, way back in '92, I think. Since
this news was circulating here when he was still a FIDESZ big shot, his
current position has nothing to do with the rumor. At the time I didn't
think much of this, but as the events unfolded and saw his star rising
rapidly (without any tangible record to justify that rise), I couldn't
help but thinking of that old rumor. After all, isn't how "networking"
usually works in any career? Of course, his unusual career could also
be explained if he was just an SZDSZ plant in FIDESZ and his current
position is a reward for the good job he's done there.
>I do hope that those hundreds of Hungarian communities and churches know whom
>their umbrella organization support and if they do, what does it say about
>Hungarian emigre organizations in general and AMOSZ in particular?
Actually, to my knowledge AMOSZ was always pretty upfront with its
programs, so I am sure the member orgs knew about it. If Eva had joined
the HIX FORUM discussions just a bit earlier than she did, she could
have exchanged messages with one of the long time AMOSZ officers, Sandor
Balogh. For all I know, they may even be distant relatives. ;-)
|+ - ||Re: AMOSZ (mind)
My argument against an aggressive attitude against people and organization,
because they support a completely legal, but probably futile action is
turning into a discussion which has nothing to do with the basic question.
Eva is changing the subject, picking on weaknesses in my choice of words
and analogy without commenting on the basic issue. So let me try again,
without analogy, without reference to anyone's intelligence, just restating
1. Eva Balogh knows nothing about AMOSZ, except that they support an
individual who has right-wing connections, and plan a civil-suit against
the IMF. For her this is good enough to condemn the organization.
2. I know almost nothing about AMOSZ, except that it is an old umbrella
organization which did a lot of charitable work. I find it unfair if
someone, who is unfamiliar with an organization, attacks it on a basis
of a single action.
I never tried to change Eva's mind about AMOSZ or anything else, I read
most of her Internet writings so I know better. All I tried to do is to
suggest that she should not be so aggressive against an organization she
does not know. Why not just say: AMOSZ made a mistake supporting Erdey, or
participate in one of the emigre organization and help them to replace the
To my big surprise Andra1s Kornai also reacted to my comments on Eva'
words, he writes:
>It's not clear to me why AMOSZ (an organization I know nothing about)
>should help Dr. Endrey in borrowing more trouble, but perhaps Bozo1ki
>Barnaba1s knows the answer.
I think I don't have response to this.
|+ - ||Re: Giants Among Us (mind)
I saw SATANTANGO by Bella Tarr in Toronto at the Festival of Festivals.
HE IS A GIANT AMOUNG YOU. What an amazing film.
|+ - ||Bela Tarr/ SATAN TANGO (mind)
I was at the recent Toronto International film Festival and saw three
films by Bela Tarr. SATANTANGO is a masterpiece. What is the reaction to
his work in your country?