On October 23, 1956, in Budapest, the largest demonstration occurred in front of the Parliament. In the large square in front of the monumental building there was room for tens of thousands of people. I went there by myself, not with an organized group, to demand with the other demonstrators the appearance of Imre Nagy. We wanted reassurance that he and not the hated and feared Stalinists would lead the coun-try.

While waiting for Nagy to appear, I engaged in conversation with my fellow demonstrators. What an exhilarating experience it was to discuss openly and frankly the country’s problems and future with strangers, without fear of the secret police.
“I hope Nagy will show,” I said.
“There he is,” yelled a young woman, pointing toward the Parliament building where Nagy ap-peared on a platform, accompanied by a number of people. The crowd cheered.
“I wonder whether his entourage consists of his aides, or if they are secret police, to keep him un-der control,” I remarked.
As the applause died down, Nagy started to speak. “Comrades!”
We booed so loudly that it convinced Nagy – or those with him – that the tone of the impromptu speech would have to be changed.
“My friends!”

We were overjoyed. The crowd went wild. After about eight years of communist rule, finally we were addressed properly.

I do not remember anything memorable about the speech, but it seemed that by allowing Nagy to address the demonstrators, the Stalinist leaders accepted him as the future leader of the country.

My jubilation turned into concern when the news spread on the square that fighting had broken out in the eighth district, near my home. While still listening to Imre Nagy, we learned that demonstrators at the radio station requested that their demands be announced over the airwaves. At first the Stalinists sent army troops to disperse the demonstrators. Instead, the soldiers sided with the people. Unable to control either the police or the armed forces, the Stalinists ordered the secret police to use force. Only they were willing to shoot at the unarmed demonstrators.

To me, the armed intervention of the secret police was a signal that the Hungarian Stalinists and the Russians would not give up Hungary. Standing in the square that was named after Lajos Kossúth, leader of the 1848 revolution against the Hapsburgs (a revolution which was defeated by the Russian army), I was concerned that now, just as then, Hungary might again be at the mercy of great powers, without help. On one of the sculptures on the square were carved the words of the poet Sándor Petõfi, who described the nation’s fight in that nineteenth-century revolution:
From the mountain to the lower Danube,
In the storm with painful cries and no friends,
Covered with wounds and cuts in the midst of fight,
All by himself, the Hungarian stands.
* * *

Yes, in 1956, we Hungarians were all alone in our fight for freedom. Since then, not only Hungary, but its neighbors as well attained democratic political systems. In general, the national minorities also enjoy more rights than before, although contrary to democratic ideals, in some of these countries the Hungarian populated areas lost their autonomy that they one time or another enjoyed under communist rule.

We can only hope that in time the three million Hungarians living in the neighboring democracies will also enjoy the freedom and right to self-determination their brethren fought for in 1956.

Excerpted from his book, BUDAPEST EXIT: A Memoir of Fascism, Communism, and Freedom (Texas A&M University Press). The book has received numerous excellent reviews throughout the United States, England, and Hungary. It is available from the publisher, Barnes and Noble, and on www.amazon.com.

Csaba Téglás
Born in 1930, he took part in the Revolution ,then fled Hungary and made his way to Toronto, Canada, and ultimately to the United States. He is a semi-retired city planning consultant. For nearly forty years he has been living in White Plains, near New York City, where locals know him as a champion tennis player. He is married to Rowena, a Scottish lady, who speaks Hungarian. They have two sons, Nicholas and Gordon. He is a member of the Coordinating Committee for the Commemoration of the Hungarian Revolution of 1956.

1956 was a very special year.

In the first few days of January, an early morning streetcar derailed and plunged from the Margit Bridge into the Danube.

A few days later, Budapest was shaken awake at daybreak by the earthquake at the suburb Soroksár.

In February, on leap-year-day, I married Dr. Denis Szokolay. Circumstances of the times did not make it possible for us to have an apartment of our own. We lived separately in rented rooms, either one of them too small for two people. As a budding architect I was already working on the plans for subdividing a nook of a studio we could call our own, hoping we could build it in a year or two.

We both worked. But by fall our circumstances hadn’t changed. We grabbed whatever time we could together. Sometimes it meant simply talking to each other from the office phones (we had none at home) or meeting and having dinner together at my parents’ apartment. This was not what you would consider typical married life.

On the 23rd of October the news spread like wildfire: there was going to be a demonstration in front of the Parliament where the 16 Point petition, drawn up by students, for human rights and against the Soviet occupation, would be presented. Denis and I agreed to go to the scene with our respective colleagues, and we’d see what would happen.

Along with all the others, (several hundreds of thousands, as it turned out) we went to the Parliament, listened to the reading of the Petition, partook in the cutting out the communist symbols from the middle of the red-white-green Hungarian flag and sang the National Anthem with torches improvised from rolled-up newspapers. From there we went with the crowds to the Bem Memorial – a symbol of events commemorated and sung about by innumerable bards and historians.

I got home, with the unforgettable memory etched in my head, of having participated in the most civilized Revolution of history. Denis came over since we had no phones. We discussed the events of the evening, then he went home.

The next day we showed up at our respective offices but, of course, nobody worked that day. We exchanged news, weighed the events of the evening before, and shared our hopes for the future, just learning that there were already some shootings citywide. That evening, we got together at my place again. We listened to the Voice of America and the BBC in the bathroom, the only room which did not have walls adjacent to neighboring apartments. In order to share information and hope with others who had no means of getting it elsewhere, Denis, reviving his stenographic skills, took notes from the radio reports, as I muffled the typewriter sounds with pillows and typed as many copies with carbon paper as would fit into the machine. I then typed another batch, and then some more until our paper supply ran out.

By the next morning nobody was going to work anymore. I stashed the freshly typed news under my coat, “hiding them into my bosom.” Every time I saw a child in the street, I pulled out a batch of the news for him to take home and distribute in his neighborhood. Strangers, who typically walked with heads down, now addressed me jubilantly on the Lánc híd: “Have you heard? The UN troops landed at the Dunántúl!”

Denis met with his friends at Pest. The Smallholders’ Party had already started to get organized. They wanted him to run in expected elections on several (city, county, nationwide) tickets. Amidst the shootings and bloodshed the planning of the future had already begun. A Jewish friend of ours started to work on the founding of a new Christian Democratic Party. By the time the Revolution claimed victory, the interim government reported receipt of 120 applications to start new political parties… The longtime one-party-system had boiled down to a festering head.

The Rebirth of the Smallholder’s Party
For the first time in my life, I felt I had a country. The irredentism during my childhood seemed affected, though the re-annexing of parts of historic Hungary, torn away by the post-WW I Trianon pact, brought some genuine hope. But soon that was followed by the German occupation and then, over the ruins, the Soviets took over. Now, in the last days of October, 1956, for the first time, was I a real Hungarian.

During one of the evenings of “victory” Denis brought the news that the Smallholders predicted three possible scenarios for the future:

1. The Soviets withdraw, we’ll hold free elections and establish a coalition government which, by geographic necessity, will be of pinkish hue.

2. The Soviet Union would not accept defeat and Hungary turns into a second Korea.

3. The West intervenes and a third world war starts over us.

At this point, the next step became crystal clear to me:

“There is only one conclusion from all this: we have to leave.”

The next day news of some withdrawal of Soviet troops started to circulate. Soon, however, the reported movement in the East turned out to be deployment of new troops.
Denis and I agreed: we must not stay in the country.

Yes, leave… But how? We had to find transportation.

That very evening, we visited our friend Tony who had a Jeep. It just so happened that his Austrian wife was on a visit in Vienna. We surmised that he would feel like trying to follow her and we might join him in the Jeep.

He certainly agreed, but only under the condition that both his little daughters could go with Austrian passports. One of the girls had a passport but Tony had to apply for the other daughter’s at the consulate the next morning.

At the crack of dawn we rode with him and the girls to the consulate at Rózsadomb.

Two Austrian vehicles were already lined up in front of the building, a pick-up truck and a VW mini-bus. They had delivered food and medications to Budapest and were now waiting for their return papers as well as some passengers. We expected to ride in the Jeep along with the other two vehicles but, considering the autumn chill and the fact that we were all heading to the same destination, I was allowed in the mini-bus along with the other women and children, while the men were directed to the pick-up truck. With the exception of one family and ourselves, all passengers had valid passports. The three-vehicle convoy was ready to leave, Tony’s two-year old little girl was sitting in my lap but back at the office, her six-year old sister was denied a passport by the consul! Tony accompanied us in the Jeep with his two little ones to the edge of the City, then, in tears, he turned back, not daring to take the risk.

His wife in Vienna cried hysterically hearing our account of the events. She returned to Hungary and it took the family several years to finally get to freedom together.

Encountering mixed fortune during our attempted escape, Denis and I only met up with each other in Vienna a few days later. Camouflaged as luggage in the mini-bus, I escaped safely over the border the same day we left. Denis was not so lucky. His feet were seen sticking out from under a tarp in the back of the truck. He was dragged out of the truck at the border, jailed overnight and released the next morning. No sooner had he been set loose than he took off for the fields running, never stopping until he reached safety in Austria.

On November 3rd, we thought we were among the last ones to cross the border. At the time we couldn’t possibly have dreamt that we were the beginning of the Hungarian mass migration of the twentieth century.

Postscript
Many years later, in the ‘90’s, the then commodore of our yacht club was trying to be friendly, and told me that he was born in Austria but had lived in Budapest in the ‘50’s.

His Father was the Austrian consul in Budapest… I never spoke to him again.


Olga Vallay Szokolay
Olga Vallay Szokolay is an architect and educator. She graduated from both the Polytechnical University of Budapest and the University of Bridgeport, Connecticut, and served as Professor emerita at the Norwalk Community College. Since her retirement in 2003, she has focused solely on her architectural practice. Szokolay escaped from Hungary in 1956 with her husband, Dr. Denis T. Szokolay, who died in 2000. She currently resides in Redding, Connecticut, and has two daughters and two grandchildren.

EXPECTATIONS
The summer and fall of 1956 were full of excitement and expectations in Hungary. Matyas Rakosi, “Stalin’s Best Disciple” resigned from the Central Committee of the Hungarian Communist Party, euphemistically named the “Hungarian Workers’ Party,” in July .The month of August was hot and sunny ,and it was relatively unproductive of significant news.
During September, on the other hand, we experienced the renewal of exciting political developments. The press began to expose the crimes and atrocities of the Rakosi-regime.
Gyula Hay , a well-known and popular writer, had written a widely circulated article and enumerated the “natural” rights of the literary creator, including the responsibility of telling the truth, the right of criticizing anybody or anything, to be sad or ecstatically in love., to believe in God or to deny God’s existence among others.
The Petõfi Kör (Petofi Circle) initiated a movement of establishing intellectual forums throughout Hungary; with increasing openness; these examined the problems the country and the nation had faced. On the 6th of October, the remains of Laszlo Rajk , Gyorgy Palffy, Tibor Szonyi and Andras Szalai were reinterred ,with military pomp and circumstance. In the middle of October, Imre Nagy’s membership in the Party (MDF) was restored. .On the 16th of October,the demands, voiced during a well-attended meeting of university students of Szeged, included the elimination of the compulsory teaching of the Russian language and significant reforms of university life .The students declared DISZ (Democratic Youth Society) to be irrelevant and re-established MEFESZ (Union of Hungarian University and Academy Students). Within days, the student bodies of Pecs, Miskolc and Sopron followed suit; finally, on October 22nd, the university students of Budapest joined in the movement and voiced their grave dissatisfaction with life in the universities. These were exciting, heady times, indeed, – only an incendiary spark was needed!

STUDENTS ON THE 23RD
23rd of October 1956 fell on a Tuesday, with warm, unusually pleasant and mild weather. The excitement was palpable throughout Budapest; students, workers, office employees openly discussed the developments in groups. The assembly at the Polytechnic Faculty (Muegyetem) produced the famous 14 points – these contained significant demands of reforms, related to the establishment a system of human rights, national independence and the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Hungary. The medical students of the Semmelweis University of Budapest (I was in my first year at that time) were definitely not in the forefront of activities and decision-making on that fateful day, but our enthusiasm and willingness to join in the demands for reforms was unquestionable.
A well-organized and enthusiastic demonstration started at the Statue of Petofi; from here the demonstrators marched to the statue of Bem on the Buda side of the capitol; here they listened to a speech by Peter Veres, writer and one-time Minister of Defense, sang the Hungarian anthem, the “Marseilles” and the “Kossuth Song.” One of the students read the “Fourteen Points.”
Imre Nagy spoke to the crowd at the Parliament – his address, recommending calm, restoration of the peace and return to home, was a source of disappointment. When he started to sing the Hungarian anthem, however, the crowd started to disperse. But many of those in the square did not return to their homes immediately. Instead, they walked to Dozsa Gyorgy ut in order to participate in or, at least, witness the toppling of the Statue of Stalin. Others proceeded to the building of the Hungarian Radio at Brody Sandor Street. The demonstrators demanded access to the airwaves, in order to broadcast their demands, including a reading of the “Fourteen Ponts.” A military force of 300-350, members of the ÁVO (the infamous State Security Authority) and soldiers had occupied the building in order to defend it. The standoff soon developed into a siege: the demonstrators hurled pieces of materials from a nearby construction site, while the defenders used teargas canisters or their bayonets. Finally after the use of preliminary warning shots, rounds of live volleys rang out repeatedly, and a number of demonstrators were wounded or died. The Revolution of October 23rd had become a historical fact.
Erno Gero, the newly and hastily appointed Secretary General of MDP, requested the military intervention of the Soviet Army, and the leadership in Moscow promptly complied. Contingents of the Soviet army reached Budapest in the early hours of October 24th – as a result, the Hungarian capitol had become a war zone.

GLORIOUS DAYS
Twelve glorious days followed: Hungarians, students, workers, children,-poorly armed and only occasionally reinforced- participated in a fierce combat in the streets of Budapest; they consistently exhibited remarkable heroism against overwhelming military odds, against a superior military force, and, at the end, miraculously, they were victorious.
In scenes reminiscent of the battle of Budapest during World War II the streets and squares of the capital were littered with derailed and disabled street cars, burned-out tanks and other military vehicles; while the victims of the combat- Hungarian fighters and Russian soldiers- were lying dead and, frequently, unattended for days. The stench at Nagykorut was overwhelming in those days. I saw when Stalin’s metallic head (previously part of the fallen statue in Varosliget) was hacked apart by angrily dedicated Hungarians at the corner of Rakoczi ut and Nagykorut. I also had the pleasure of warming my hands at the bonfire built from Soviet periodicals that had been heaved out of the Russian language bookstore, close to Oktogon.
As a medical student, I was called upon to work in a hospital, administering to the wounded; we were providing care to Hungarians and Russians alike. Using our rudimentary knowledge of Russian, we had repeatedly attempted to obtain information from the wounded soldiers regarding their conceived role in the fighting. The soldiers, most of them merely young boys, were frightened and confused. Some of them believed that they had been in battle at the Suez Canal.
The misery the military conflict had caused in human lives was frequently heart-rending. I shall never forget the sense of devastated horror of a beautiful sixteen-year old girl, upon learning that her left leg had to be amputated above her knee.

Political parties were organized within a few days. As the practical result of the newly instituted freedom of the press, newspapers were printed and widely circulated ; they presented a bewildering variety of opinions. We were overwhelmed,excited,almost intoxicated by the prospects of democratic change, independence and neutrality!
The Central Committee in Moscow appeared to have agreed to the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Hungarian soil – it appeared that the Revolution was victorious and our country was to become free and independent. A completely stunning historical development indeed!

NOVEMBER 4TH
In the early hours of November 4th, five Soviet divisions attacked the Hungarian fighting force, and the cruel reality of a tragically unavoidable defeat became much too apparent. Imre Nagy, Prime Minister of Hungary, informed the nation and the world: Hungary was being attacked by an overwhelming military force. The last message by Free Kossuth Radio was, unfortunately , quite futile in its tragic eloquence: “Help Hungary! Provide help for the Hungarian nation! Help the Hungarian writers, scientists, workers, peasants and intellectuals! Help! Help! Help!”

CONCLUSIONS
If attempting to evaluate the significance of the Revolution and Freedom Fight of 1956, my conclusions are unequivocal. The events and developments of October-November 1956 have proved to be the most significant defining experiences of my lifetime. I am truly grateful to my fate for the gift of witnessing a heroic nation, fighting for liberty and independence. I find it is inescapable to conclude that the Revolution and Freedom Fight of 1956 were triumphant historical events in their true context. They elevated Hungary’s image in the eyes of the civilized world, and the nation had truly “ascended” as the result of those glorious twelve days. The Hungarian Revolution did provide an early and significant impetus for the eventual break-up of the Soviet Empire and it had proved conclusively that the Soviet power was not invincible; as a matter of fact, it had become obvious that the Empire was highly vulnerable. I am convinced that those of us who lived in Hungary and had the opportunity to experience the miracle of 1956, had witnessed a remarkable historical moment during a most auspicious period in the life of 20th century Hungary.

Balázs B.Somogyi, MD
Currently an orthopedic surgeon, Somogyi left Hungary in December of 1956, settling in the United States in 1958. He was co-founder and director of the Hungarian Folk Ensemble of New York, is presently completing his second term as president of the Magyar Baráti Közösség (MBK), and is also president of the Hungarian Cultural Society of Connecticut (HCSC). He is the proud husband of Csilla and father of Zsuzsanna, Ilona and Judit, all three of whom are bilingual.

Remembrance of the Cold War given on Veterans Day, November 11, 2005 at Rutgers University

By the time the Radio had broadcast at two o’clock on October 23 the Government’s decree forbidding any demonstrations, the column of marching students from the Technical University had already passed the Freedom Bridge and Calvin Square. Groups of students from the Eötvös University also joined in. As the crowd reached the Museum Ring the rows of marchers were wide abreast.

Our office, the Design Institute for Residential and Urban Development, was at Madach Square, above the large brick arch that was intended to be the beginning of a never-completed major boulevard through the slums of the 7th district. The secretaries of the office were cranking out leaflets of the demands, the 16 points that was passed to us from the students. The secretaries worked tirelessly on the usually restricted copy machines without any interference from the authorities.

Naturally many of the office workers joined the march. The marchers chanted slogans for freedom, independence, and removal of the Soviet military from our land. People showed support for the marchers, waving to them both from the sidewalks and from the windows. One of the greatest moments came when we reached Bem Square and saw the first Hungarian flag without the hated emblem of the Communist regime.

16 POINTS AND BLOODY CONFLICT
Later on the evening, after having heard Imre Nagy at the Parliament, I was one of a delegation chosen to present the “16 Points of the students” at the “white house,” the Communist Party headquarters near the Margaret Bridge. The people there accepted the leaflet without comment and our crowd left satisfied, believing that they succeeded. As I returned home to be with my pregnant wife, I left with a sense of hope and jubilation, but my joy proved to be short-lived.

In the meantime others brought the 16 points to the radio station to be broadcast around the country, but the situation there did not succeed as peacefully as at the “white house.” The secret police received the people’s request with bullets, then the Russian troops were called in, and the peaceful demonstration turned into a bloody conflict. My wife and I were understandably shocked and confused when we woke up the next morning hearing the sound of gunfire from the radio.

It was past 11 o’clock in the morning by the time I crossed the river to Calvin Square. By that time the combat at the nearby radio station had subsided; however, occasional gunfire continued to burst through the air. Several people were injured and a few of us pulled them back into a nearby house entrance. For a moment the street appeared quiet and normal (except, of course, for the burned-out streetcars).

Then we saw a Russian armoured car with a young Russian soldier lumped forward in the driver seat. It appeared that he was hit through the car door and apparently died instantly. “Poor boy, you had to come here to die,” murmured an older man in the crowd.

THE REVOLUTIONARY COUNCIL
As I arrived at the office we were all so charged up excitedly talking about what was happening, so no one worked all day. Suddenly there was a call for assembly in the large dining hall that accommodated all 600 workers. Someone suggested that we form a “Revolutionary Council” to replace the office’s former “triumvirate” management: the principal, the Party secretary and the personnel director. Each section of the office elected a delegate to the Council, and then much to my surprise I was elected to be the chairman of the entire Council.

The Council’s first order of business was to distribute the hated “dossiers ” kept by the personnel office on each of us. This was symbolically significant because the Council wanted to express that the old regime no longer had power. Ours was not the only such council. Spontaneously and without any direction similar “Revolutionary Worker’s Councils” were formed throughout the City. We sent a delegation to the Greater Budapest Worker’s Assembly. In addition, since we had architects and engineers, we created an advisory group to assist reconstruction work once the fight and destruction subsided. Finally we also established a schedule for providing security to our building. All in all, we felt good about our progress and hoped that freedom and order would prevail.

The following day, however, turned out to be the notorious “bloody Thursday” when Soviet tanks and secret police were firing on the crowd at Parliament Square. Fortunately I was somewhat behind the crowd so the sortie hitting the nearby Ministry of Agriculture building area missed me. The entire plaza was covered with wounded and dead people. My best friend Ferenc Callmeyer, was right up front but he also got away without injury. Later he placed bronze balls in each of the bullet holes of the building as a memorial for the fallen heroes.

FEARS FROM THE PAST
Two days later hysteria took over the crowd that assembled by the central headquarters of the Communist Party at Köztársaság (Republic) Square. The Secret Police guard resisted demands to yield to the Revolutionary Council. This resulted in the bloody lynching of four AVO officers that received so much publicity in the world media. Even though many reporters noted with awe the absence of looting or violence, this is what was put on the spreads of LIFE Magazine.

The assembled crowd started to hallucinate. They heard sounds from buried prisoners in secret cellars of the Party Headquarters. Bulldozers were summoned and they started to dig up the square.

Not finding anything, a broadcast was sent through the radio, asking anyone who may have knowledge about the building to come forward. A former member of our firm called in, with the information that the building was designed by us. So, a soldier was sent to Madach Square asking for information. I was on watch in our office and responded to the request by reviewing the building plans. I found nothing, so I called the architect and structural engineer; they confirmed that there was no secret jail or cellar.

Actually, I myself had experience with secret construction which was directed by the Internal Ministry’s design division. While I did not work on the Party Headquarters, I was part of the team designing the three residences for the top Party officials at the Béla Király (King Bela) Road. There we did get the profiles connecting to the secret areas, as it was provided by the Ministry’s staff. No such connections were given at the Party building. The whole thing proved to be nothing but mass hysteria.

Interesting to note, that while I, as an “untrustworthy class alien” had an opportunity to work on one of the most sensitive secret projects for the Party leaders in Hungary, a few years later as a refugee architect working for the most prestigious architectural firm in New York, I had the assignment to design the office for the director of the CIA.

THE SEEDS OF THE REVOLUTION
Even though the revolution was spontaneous and surprising to the world, its seeds were planted a decade earlier. After the war, as the “old world” collapsed and the fascist dictatorship was defeated, there was an expectation of a free and democratic future for Hungary. This was not to be. While the first democratic election brought a ray of hope in 1946, the “year of the turn” in 1948 marshalled in the most brutal and oppressive communist dictatorship.

The youth of the country who believed in the promise of the “shining waves” found bitter disillusionment. Even those communists who idealistically hoped for a just socialism found only betrayal. Actually they became the most vocal critics of the Rákosi regime. However paradoxical this may seem, the communist-dominated Hungarian Writers’ Union became a state within a state. Their audience had been continually increasing, and the Literary Gazette reached 450,000 circulation in a country of only 10 million. The PetŒfi Circle’s debates, voicing critical opinion, pulled together most of the leading intelligentsia.

The truth of the matter is that the collapse of Stalinism had created a political vacuum in Hungary. When the ruling classes were no longer able to govern and the oppressed classes were unwilling to live as before, the recipe for the revolution was written. Within three days the dictatorial system collapsed; even most of the privileged Party members sided with the revolution.

THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE AND THE ATTACK
For four days – from October 31 to November 3, 1956 – Hungary was free. Although Soviet forces were still in the country, they had withdrawn from the cities and the fighting had stopped. A reformist politician, Imre Nagy, was called to form a new government. The entire nation immediately recognized the Imre Nagy Government, which, knowing it had no other alternative, was ready to carry out the will of the people. And the Hungarians showed clearly what they wanted.

In his address of November 1 Imre Nagy was only repeating the desire of the people: “The revolutionary struggle fought by the Hungarian people and its heroes has at last carried the cause of freedom and independence to victory,” he said. In the spontaneously formed Revolutionary Worker’s Councils and national committees people started to develop the process of democratic self-determination. When we in the American Hungarian Student Association (ÉMEFESZ) polled our members in 1958 about their aspirations during the revolution, seventy percent agreed: “Our aim was threefold – national independence, a Hungarian socialist structure instead of Communism, and democracy.”

The glorious days of victory ended in deceit and brutal attack by overwhelming Soviet forces. Imre Nagy’s call to arms was heard at the wee hours of November 4. The next day a few of us, mostly students from the nearby Technical University, kept vigil in a third floor apartment facing one of Budapest’s major thoroughfares, Moricz Zsigmond Plaza, in the building that now houses McDonald’s. It was a mild fall day; all windows were open. “Molotov cocktails” were lined up on the windowsills. And we waited….

We were waiting for the Russians and for the Americans. Russian tanks and American diplomats. While watching the streets, our ears were glued to the shortwave radio broadcast of the Voice of America transmitting directly from the U.N. headquarters in New York. The debate of the “Hungarian situation” was going on.

We were convinced that if we could delay the Soviet’s “final solution” for a few days, the international community would prevent the destruction of our newly gained freedom. Help did not come. The Russians did come, and our building, along with most of the city, was destroyed. I am still in awe when I think of those people who lived in that apartment. They let us set up our post there even though they must have known that their home could become a target of Russian shells. As it indeed did…

CONSEQUENCES
The defeat of the revolution had tragic long-term consequences. The “compromise” which was forced by the post-revolutionary Kádár regime upon a beaten society created the often quoted “Gulyás Communism”: we let you live a little if you behave and stop resistance. Instead of national solidarity, society began to show signs of alienation, disorientation, corruption and selfishness.

Failed revolutions can, however, become historically potent forces. The Hungarian revolution proved to be the first nail in the Soviet’s coffin. It took 35 years, but the decline of the Soviet Union, a deepening economic crisis and increasing pressure by reformist groups demanding freedom, democracy and national autonomy finally prevailed. The last occupying Soviet troops left Hungary on June 19, 1991.

“The blood of the Hungarians has re-emerged too precious to Europe and to freedom for us not to be jealous of it to the last drop,” wrote the French writer Albert Camus. The thirteen days that shook the Kremlin finally triumphed.


László Papp
Earning a degree in architectural engineering in 1955, László Papp worked at the Design Institute for Residential and Urban Development when he was elected president of its Revolutionary Workers’ Council in 1956. Upon emigrating to the United States, he earned first a Master’s, then a Doctor of Liberal Arts. He founded and was the first president of the United Federation of Hungarian Students, an international refugee organization. Upon retirement from his architectural firm, he beczme the executive director of the Urban Development Commission for Stamford, Connecticut. He has published in numerous professional journals, as well as writing for Hungarian-American publications.

Liberty, democracy, human rights are like health. Servitude, oppression, discrimination are like sickness. Totalitarian tyranny is death. A revolution that overthrows tyranny and achieves liberty is a resurrection. During the last week of October and the first few days of November, 1956, most of us in Hungary felt as if we were risen from the dead.

It was euphoria — we sang our long-forbidden national anthem, embraced each other on the streets, laughed and cried with joy, we felt redeemed. We were intoxicated by hearing and saying words of truth. And it was also serious and sober determination — we were feverishly drafting proclamations, drew up lists of demands, proposals and plans to eliminate all instruments and institutions of dictatorship and to construct a new, humane society. And we were organizing autonomous local, democratic self-governing bodies to realize those plans.

It was this resurrection, this hope, this truth, this creative planning and democratic organization that was crushed by the massive armed aggression of the Soviet Union. The joyful song of freedom was silenced again by the horrifying sounds of war, the terror of prison cells, torture chambers and the gallows.

What can be learned from the drama of those twelve days? What is the legacy of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution?

Its international significance cannot be overemphasized. From the contemporary perspective it is increasingly obvious that the 1956 Hungarian Revolution was the event that began the fall of the modern Soviet Empire. Milovan Djilas wrote in Belgrade: “The revololution in Hungary means the beginning of the end of Communism.” (Milovan Djilas: “The Storm in East Europe”, The New Leader, New York; XXXIX, 47; November 19, 1956, p. 6.) The French philosopher Albert Camus remarked: “With the first shout of insurrection in free Budapest, learned and shortsighted philosophies, miles of false reasoning and deceptively beautiful doctrines were scattered like dust. And the truth, the naked truth, so long outraged, burst upon the eyes of the world.” (Király, Béla. et al. ed.: ¨The First War Between Socialist States: The Hungarian Revolution of 1956 and Its Impact. Social Science Monographs, Brooklyn College Press, NY. 1984, p. 81.)

And once this truth— this naked truth —was revealed in all its powerful simplicity, no amount of subsequent propaganda— perpetrated by some to this day!— was able to reestablish the grotesque wall of Orwellian lies trying to define was a peace, oppression as freedom, defensive patriotism as belligerent nationalism, revolution as counterrevolution. We learned the truth and demonstrated it to the World, that what defines a country, what qualifies a society is not any ideology, but the presence or absence of freedom. All ideologies, all doctrines, whether they be called fascism or anti-fascism, communism, or anti-communism, racism, capitalism, socialism, ethnicism or religious fanaticism, can be used in attempts to justify violence and legitimize oppression.

Truth was an effect, just as the elemental need of truth was a cause, of the Revolution. As the United Nations’ Special Committee recorded it: “‘We wanted freedom and not a good comfortable life’, an eighteen year-old girl student told the Committee. Even though we might lack bread and other necessities of life, we wanted freedom. We, the young people were particularly hampered because we were brought up amidst lies. We continually had to lie. We could not have a healthy idea, because everything was choked in us. We wanted freedom of thought…’ It seemed to the Committee that this young student’s words expressed as concisely as any the ideal which made possible a great uprising. “(United Nations Report of the Special Committee on the Problem of Hungary, General Assembly, Official Records: Eleventh Session, Supplement No 18. A/3592; New York, 1957 p. 68.)

We wanted freedom and freedom means sovereignty, autonomy, self-determination. To realize these goals, instruments of self-governance had to be created. Spontaneously and yet almost simultaneously within a few days Revolutionary Councils, National Councils, Workers’ Councils were organized in the entire country. Many considered those Councils the singularly most remarkable, most significant achievement of the Revolution. As Hannah Arendt noted in her milestone book The Origins of Totalitarianism: “When we ponder the lesson of the Hungarian Revolution” we find that there was “no chaos, no looting, no trespassing of property. There were no crimes against life either, for the few instances of public hanging of AVH officers were conducted with remarkable restraint and discrimination. Instead of the mob rule which might have been expected, there appeared immediately, almost simultaneously with the uprising itself the Revolutionary and Workers’ Councils. The rise of the councils was the clear sign of a true upsurge of democracy against dictatorship, of freedom against tyranny. One of the most striking aspects of the Hungarian Revolution is not only that this principle of the council system reemerged, but that in twelve short days a good deal of its range of potentialities could emerge with it…” (in: Király, Op. Cit. pp. 151-156.)

The Hungarian people’s emphasis on the revolutionary councils also represented the fact that the overwhelming will of the nation was not only negation but affirmation, not only destruction but construction. The elimination of all inhuman structures was to be the prerequisite for the creation of humane structures and functions of a new society.

Twelve days are, of course, not enough to achieve democracy. But twelve days, indeed, the first few days of the Revolution proved to be enough to establish one of the most important preconditions for democracy: a state of self-confidence, a state of no longer having to be afraid. The state of paralyzing, constant and omnipresent fear was lifted from our hearts. And with that, the construction of democracy began. As one of the great Hungarian political theorists, István Bibó observed: “Being a democrat means, primarily, not to be afraid.” (Bibó, István: Democracy, Revolution, Self-Determination, Selected Writings, edited by Károly Nagy; Social Science Monographs, and Atlantic Research and Publications, NJ 1991, p. 42.)

It was this same István Bibó, whose personal courage became symbolic when the Soviet forces crushed the Revolution. As the sole member of the new revolutionary government of Imre Nagy present in the Parliament building on November 4th, Sunday morning, when Soviet artillery, tanks and airplanes unleashed their fire-power against Budapest, Bibó sat down at a desk to type a proclamation. A typewriter confronting tanks. Reason facing treacherous terror. Words and thoughts battling bullets…

Wrote Bibó that morning: “Hungary’s fullest intention is to live in the community of those free Eastern European nations which want to organize their societies on the principles of liberty, justice, and freedom from exploitation. The people of Hungary have sacrificed enough of their blood to show the world their devotion for freedom and truth. (Bibó, Op. Cit., pp. 325-326.)

Amidst the roar and rattle of guns he finished typing his proclamation with this foreboding sentence: “May God protect Hungary!”

So: what is the legacy of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution? Among other possible important elements, perhaps that legacy is the significance of the fundamental human need for truth, for self-determination, for freedom from fear, for democracy, for the achievement of which no sacrifice seems to be too great.

And this legacy, this message is certainly not just Hungarian and, of course, no mere museum-piece, relevant only to a frozen moment in the distant past. This legacy is not just there and then, but here and now, and let us hope: everywhere and tomorrow as well. As, again, István Bibó expressed it in 1957, just before his imprisonment: “It is the Hungarian people’s task to honor and safeguard— against slander, forgetting and fading —the banner of their Revolution, which is also the banner of a freer future for mankind.” (Bibó, Op. Cit., p. 352.)


Notes

* In Károly Nagy and Peter Pastor, eds., The Legacy of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution, Five Participants forty Years Later (New Brunswick, NJ 1996), pp. 31-36.

1. Milovan Djilas, “The Storm in East Europe” in The New Leader 39. (1956) 47:6.
2. Béla K. Király et al., ed., The First War between Socialist States: the Hungarian Revolution of 1956 and Its Impact (Highland Lakes, NJ 1984), p. 81.
3. United Nations, Report of the Special Committee on the Problem of Hungary, General Assembly, Official Records: Eleventh Session, Supplement no. 18 A/3592 (New York, 1957), p. 68.
4. Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (1958), pp. 151-156.
5. Károly Nagy, ed., István Bibó, Democracy, Revolution, Self-Determination, Selected Writings (Highland Lakes, NJ, 1991), p. 42.
6. Ibid., pp. 325-326.
7. Ibid., p. 352.

THE IDEAS OF THE HUNGARIAN REVOLUTION, SUPPRESSED AND VICTORIOUS 1956-1999

Edited by
Lee w. Congdon and Béla K. Király

Social Science Monographs, Boulder, Colorado
Atlantic Research and Publications, Inc.
Highland Lakes, New Jersey

________________________________________________________
Distributed by Columbia University Press, New York
2002


Károly Nagy
He was elected president of a revolutionary council in Erdõsmecske in 1956, and consequently fled to the United States. Trained as a sociologist at Rutgers and the New School, he currently teaches at the college level in New Jersey. He has published extensively in both English and Hungarian, and is extremely active both in the New Brunswick, NJ Hungarian community as well as in Hungarian linguistic circles.

Much of Hungary’s twentieth century history – both tragic and inspiring – is reflected in the complex story of the Maléter family.

Paul Maléter’s parents, Mária and Pál, came from families who knew each other well in the city of Kassa (Kosice), that was part of Hungary until 1920, then of Czechoslovakia, and today, is in Slovakia. They met in the terrible aftermath of World War II, when Mária’s family property was confiscated by communists, but she luckily managed to escape after being arrested. A friend recommended she turn for help to Pál Maléter, a young commander of the Hungarian Frontier Guards, located in Debrecen, Hungary. Upon her arrival, Pál Maléter found housing for Mária, offered her a job, and they soon fell in love. In August, 1945, they got married and started their life together in the largely destroyed city of Budapest, where inflation was rampant, food was in serious shortage, and people’s lives were in danger from marauding Soviet soldiers.

Pál was transferred to Vác, and since Mária was pregnant, he urged her to go to her Mother in the relative safety of Szeged, where she gave birth to Paul in June, 1946. They soon moved to Vác, so the family could be together. The next years were filled with happiness, as two daughters, Mária and Judit, joined the family. Pál proved to be an attentive and loving Father. With his professional advancement, however, came frequent transfers, and in 1950 the Maléter family moved back to Budapest.

Strong communist pressure
In the 1950’s the worst days of Stalinist Soviet rule descended on Hungary. The communists demanded total loyalty to the party line, and Pál Maléter’s military career and growing co-operation with the communists began to take a serious toll on the Maléters’ marriage. Mária’s Mother, who lived with the family, and who was the niece of Cardinal Lõrincz, was a special thorn in the communists’ side.

Pál’s initial attraction to communism began in 1942, when during a time of capture and injury on the Russian Front, to his great surprise, he found his Russian keepers to be unexpectedly kind. His Father, a law professor with Socialist beliefs, was strongly anti-German. Pál was subjected to propaganda lectures by Hungarian communists, and soon distinguished himself by volunteering for dangerous “partisan” missions working with the Russians to free Hungary of Nazi occupation. He believed that a better future awaited Hungary under Soviet rule than under the Nazis.

On the other hand, Mária, whose family members were conservative and deeply religious Catholics, was unable and unwilling to accept communist tenets. Consequently, in the eyes of the communist hierarchy, unless she could be “re-educated,” she was a liability for her husband’s fast-advancing career. The Maléters, as many others, were under constant surveillance, and Pál had to prove his loyalty to the party time and again.

At age five, young Paul was sent to Rábatamási, to stay on a farm for the summer. He recalls getting a series of short-lived “jobs” – with a gypsy merry-go-round operator for the price of an ice cream cone, and with the local farmer as a cow-herd and ox-cart driver.

In the spring of 1953, party pressure grew on Pál, and he left his family. After attempting a short reconciliation, Mária and Pál were divorced in 1954. The daughters stayed with their Mother, but as was customary in Hungary, Pál got custody of the first-born son, eight year-old Paul, for a short while. After a successful fight in the courts to get Paul back, Mária and the children were on their own, and they faced two years of severe hardships. Once her beloved Mother died, Mária was forced to deal with her children’s and her own serious bouts with illness, substandard living conditions, and systematic intimidation by the communist authorities, in the form of forced settlement of inappropriate strangers into the Maléter apartment.

Paul Maléter was only ten years old at the time, but he remembers October 23, 1956, quite vividly. Next door to the Maléters’ apartment, freedom fighters broke into the Marcibányi Square armory to obtain rifles and ammunition. He recalls seeing dead bodies of victims on the sidewalks, both Hungarian and Russian. He observed children first spreading jam on the window of a Russian tank, then throwing a Molotov cocktail down the hatch when the driver emerged. Because his Mother locked Paul into the apartment to keep him away from danger, he had to content himself with making leaflets with revolutionary slogans, “Drive Out the Russians,” “The Russians Are Bad, Don’t Believe Them,” and throwing them down to the street.

Pál Maléter’s true character revealed
When news spread all over Budapest of an extraordinarily brave Hungarian colonel, who refused to follow his superior’s order to fire on freedom fighters, and instead, chose to join them, Mária Maléter instinctively knew and told her children this brave colonel was surely their Father. She recalled what Pál Maléter had told her years before, when she questioned his patriotism: “Don’t worry, Mária, when the time comes, I will be where I belong.”

And Pál Maléter was a man of his words: he placed tanks inside and at the entrance of the Kilian Barracks, and repelled all Russian attempts to capture it. In the newly formed Imre Nagy government, Lt. General Pál Maléter was named the new Minister of Defense. He spoke on the radio, calling on citizens to return to work and a normal life: “We must ensure milk for our children, coal for our factories, regular transportation for our workers…” His children felt their Father was speaking directly to them. Paul wrote a letter telling his Father how proud he and his sisters were of him, “because you are a great hero and are fighting on our side.” But he also expressed the bewilderment of a child of a broken family when he wrote: “Where were you when we called you and you didn’t come?”

On November 3rd an old friend and colleague of Pál Maléter from Vác came to see Mária, with a message that Pál was well, and would come to see the family soon. But that same evening, he fell victim to an oft-used Soviet trap: invited to negotiate at Soviet military headquarters, instead, he was arrested and never returned from the meeting.

He never received his son’s letter, nor did he ever see his family again.

Escape from Hungary
After Soviet tanks re-entered Hungary on November 4th, the Maléter family was in grave danger, as their apartment was in the area of the worst fighting. The roof of the building had been destroyed by a tank. They spent days in the neighboring building’s basement to keep safe. Mária was urged by friends to leave Hungary as soon as possible, and on November 21, an opportunity for escape was offered to her. Since her daughter, Judit, was ill with the flu, she was forced to leave her with friends, and set off at dawn with Marika and Paul to reach the food truck that would take them to Yugoslavia. (Judit was able to join the family a month later).

Dressed in multiple sets of clothing, the three were hidden in the back of the truck and driven to Zalaegerszeg. Once, they came perilously close to being discovered and turned back by a road patrol, but a Hungarian soldier pretended not to see them under the tarpaulin, and they continued their journey. After taking a train to reach Sopron, at nightfall they embarked on the perilous journey crossing on foot into Austria.

Paul was first taken in by his Mother’s cousins in Germany, who wanted to adopt him.

His Mother and sisters were in a camp in Austria, and eventually Maria chose to keep the family together and settle them all in Canada. They flew to the far-away land, and Paul remembers his shock at seeing purple-haired ladies with rhinestone glasses at the airport. Once they arrived at a Canadian refugee camp, Paul saw cold cereal for the first time, and couldn’t understand why they were being fed breadcrumbs with milk on it. In Canada the Maléters lived with a French family on a lake. Paul remembers his Mother helping out with housekeeping, but also the good times with “fancy boats,” and costume parties held there.

In October 1957, Mária was invited by the International Rescue Committee to speak at the U.N. in New York on behalf of her husband and the other captured government officials. She worked tirelessly to try to get her former husband released from Soviet captivity, but to no avail.

The trip to the U.N., however, enabled her to take her children to the U.S. on a temporary visa. His sisters were put in a boarding school in Philadelphia run by Hungarian nuns, and Paul was soon enrolled in the Buffalo Hungarian Piarist School. After 1958, when his Father was executed, the school would not renew his scholarship, but, Maria had found close friends in James Finan and Walter Mahony, editors at the Reader’s Digest, which was interested in the family’s story, and who assisted them to settle in New York and arranged for the children to attend schools with their children. A special act of Congress gave the family green cards, backdated to June 16, 1958, the day of Pál Maléter’s execution. In January 1959, the Reader’s Digest published Mária’s feature story on Pál Maléter, “Hungary’s Proud Rebel.”

Paul leads an American life
The contact Paul previously had with Hungarians stopped. He attended exclusive American boarding schools, and lived a largely American life. He spent six years in the U.S. Marine Corps Reserves, and his studies at Columbia University led to a fine career in hospital architecture, including over 20 years with the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.

Paul first returned to Hungary in 1983, accompanying his wife who was a U.S. delegate to an international conference in Budapest. While it would have been embarrassing for the Hungarian government to deny them visas, Paul’s was only issued at the last minute before their departure, and was loosely paper clipped in his American passport – leaving open the possibility that it could be removed at any time. At official conference functions, with his name badge highly visible, Paul found government officials’ reactions to be cool at best, and the suite they were provided in the Hyatt Hotel had some very suspicious cabling running under the bed and into the wall. When returning six years later for the dramatic ceremonies around the re-burial of his Father and the other members of the Nagy government, Paul’s visa was still on a separate piece of paper, but this time the Hungarian Embassy staff in Washington apologized profusely, and the reception in Budapest was warm and welcoming.

Paul and his wife have subsequently made numerous visits to his many family members remaining in Hungary. His Mother and two sisters live in Florida, and have also returned to Hungary in the years since 1989. He has retained his knowledge of Hungarian remarkably well, and has established friendships with the Hungarian diplomatic corps in Washington. He is immensely proud of his Father’s historic role in the 1956 Hungarian Revolution, and looks forward with great anticipation to participating in the upcoming 50th anniversary commemorations.
As told by Paul Maléter to Edith Lauer


Paul Béla Maléter, AIA Emeritus
Paul Maléter is an architect, recently retired after a career designing, planning and building hospitals for the Department of Veteran’s Affairs and the Johns Hopkins Medical Institutions. Born in Szeged in 1946, raised in Budapest, he left Hungary at the age of 10 in the aftermath of the Hungarian Revolution and the arrest of his Father, the Minister of Defense. After living briefly in Austria, Germany and Canada, he emigrated to the U.S. where he attended The Harvey School, The Hotchkiss School and Columbia University, obtaining a Bachelors Degree in Fine Arts, a Masters Degree in Architecture, and a Master of Science in Health Services Planning and Design. Maléter served in the U.S. Marine Corps Reserves from 1965-1971. Paul is now retired, and lives with his wife in Central Virginia and Washington, D.C.

In January 2005, the Hungarian daily newspaper, Népszabadság, published an article by Katalin Jánosi, Imre Nagy’s granddaughter, who described her reaction to a recent film by Márta Mészáros, “The Unburied Dead.”

Katalin Jánosi was a small child when she witnessed the tragedies which befell her Grandfather and Father, and looks back onto those years which affected her greatly and which impelled her to follow an “inward oriented life.” In the article, she expresses her firm objections to the film, because it approaches the sufferings of Imre Nagy between 1956-58 not as a documentary, but as a feature film; also, because there is practically no mention of the sufferings endured by Imre Nagy’s associates who suffered a common fate. “I would have liked the bells to toll not just for my Grandfather, Imre Nagy, but for his companions too,” writes Katalin Jánosi.

In this writing, Béla Lipták reflects upon Katalin Jánosi’s thoughts and opinions.

On the statement by Imre Nagy’s granddaughter...
It’s hard to begin writing this, because for me it is still very strange to to consider Népszabadság as a forum for my writings. The last time I held an issue of this newspaper’s forerunner was on the night of October 23, 1956, while waiting for Imre Nagy to appear. Then, too, I needed the newspaper only to serve as a torch on the darkened square in front of the Parliament.

But the deeply affecting statement by Imre Nagy’s granddaughter, Katalin Jánosi, impels me to write. I could imagine, and it is a disturbing picture indeed, how a 4-year-old little girl must have felt as she learned about life – not playing with dolls, but rather having to see her Mother cry for days on end, and seeeing the snarling guard dogs of the Romanian soldiers. I can well understand that after such a childhood, she chose a life of internal exile, a solitary existence for a lifetime. I hope that every small Hungarian Katalin will learn to understand that their Fathers were told to remain silent about anything they cannot talk about without crying. Ferenc Jánosi, Katalin’s Father, was only obeying this rule when he remained silent about his own and his Father-in-law’s torture, and remained silent about the fact that the blackmailers could force a ”confession” from them only by threatening to murder their wives and children.

But I want to say something else, too, which little girls who were only 4 years old in 1956 could not have seen or understood: that people like Imre Nagy, Ferenc Jánosi, Mr. Szabó and István Angyal – with their heroic stance and at the cost of their lives – dealt a death blow to the communist behemoth, and it was they who launched the most important trend of the 20th century: humanity’s common fight for the freedom of each individual human being.

35 days
Like Katalin’s Father, I did not talk about certain things – not even to my children. For example, about Marika, who died of wounds from a Soviet tank in the Revolution’s defense of Móricz Zsigmond Square. Marika, just before she lost consciousness, whispered into my ear, which I had moved next to her mouth: “I have a little candy in my pocket, help yourself!” Or about Jancsi Danner, whose life I could have saved, if I had known how to shoot a gun, but I didn’t know how – I didn’t tell my children about that, either. The first time in my life that I really had an inkling of what death means was when Jancsi’s shoes had fallen off, and I tried to force them back onto his feet, which had already gone stiff, and of course I didn’t succeed. Both of them were my friends; I was next to them when they died; and they remain with me today – their memory is part of my every thought, but even today I cannot talk about them.

When your friend dies in your arms, you are changed for good. In my case, I have carried the memory of Jancsi and Marika since the age of 20. And with this memory I carry a feeling of guilt – after all, we all had the same dream, yet only they died for it. I survived the fighting, and fled. I mention this guilt not to complain – for me, it is sometimes a source of energy, which is often useful because it is combined with optimism. It is this optimism which I want to share with the Katalins of Hungary, who feel that our nation is living in an era of pessimism and self-destruction, a nation incapable of finding strength in the memory of the heroic days of 1956 – that we are incapable of finally coming to terms with our common past. But I do not believe this is the case.

During those dramatic days in 1956, I ate at the table of perfect strangers, slept as a guest in the homes of perfect strangers without ever having to spend the 20 forints in my pocket, because no one would accept any payment. I crossed the border into Austria with that 20-forint note in my pocket, because during the 35 days of the Revolution, no one would accept a penny! In every Hungarian house in the country, my tricolored armband was enough payment, and enough to make me a member of the family.

The memory of those 35 days made me an optimist for life. That experience showed me how brave, self-sacrificing and patriotic the average Hungarian person could be. In a healthy society, the average person is capable of serving as an excellent resource, an excellent building block if he believes in the country’s leaders and in the goal toward which the nation is striving. Even today – despite recent setbacks in Hungary’s political life – I am an optimist, because I know that the blood of Jancsi, of Marika, of those families who hosted me a half-century ago, could not have turned to water in their children and grandchildren! I know that the spiritual destruction that my homeland has undergone can be healed. I know that the communist system attempted to exterminate community spirit, self-confidence and patriotism from our children and grandchildren, but they attempted this in vain, because statements such as those by Katalin Jánosi do not allow, cannot allow them to succeed!

Yes, it is true that still missing from our textbooks are not just the spirit of 1956, but also the writings of such great philosophers and statesmen as István Bibó and Ferenc Deák. I know that Hungary has yet to come to terms with its past, has yet to complete a true change in the system. But I also know that Rome was not built in a day, either, and that the United States has not always followed John F. Kennedy’s wise advice: “Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country!” I believe that the Hungarian nation, as it stands today, will indeed be able to come to terms with its past, will be capable of healing the spiritual wounds inflicted by the communist past – after all, their forebearers were capable of much more.

Donations at the Writers’ Association
How many nations can say that boxes filled with donated money stood unguarded on the streets of their capital at the Writers’ Association headquarters? Is there any other city in the world where such a thing is imaginable? Is there any other city where the widow counted out the cost of a coffin and removed that amount, 600 or 800 forints, from the donation boxes without anyone to oversee the transaction, even as the donated banknotes continued to fall into the boxes like falling autumn leaves? No, only the people of Budapest can say this, only the Katalin Jánosis of this world can say this about the capital city of their Fathers!

At the same time, there is a genuine need for reconciliation! There is a real need for the grandchildren of prisoners sent to Romania and to the forced labor camp of Recsk, and for the grandchildren of their prison guards, for the descendents of those tortured and of those who tortured them, to finally leave the past behind and work together in peace to build a better Hungarian future. The Katalin Jánosis of this world have good reason for optimism, because this reconciliation is easily attained, but it does have some conditions. In order for society to forgive the prison guards and the Secret Police, we don’t need revenge; we need no Nuremberg trials or public hangings; we only need that the perpetrators ask pardon of the nation. That, however, is an absolute necessity.

When the Hungarian Green Party nominated me to run against Gyula Horn as a candidate, I ran into Mr. Horn in Somogy County. He reached out his hand, but I could not bring myself to shake it. I saw in his eyes that he was offended, but I saw no sign that he understood what he owes – not to me, but to his entire nation! Whoever does not ask forgiveness, who does not admit the wrong he has done, who defends the actions of the Secret Police and would sweep the murder of Jancsi Danner and others like him under the rug of history as mere “events” – cannot be forgiven.

The other necessary step, which has already been taken in several neighboring countries, is to make public the reports of the Secret Police from years past. A healthy society must be clear on its own past; only if it knows and accepts its past can a society turn its attention to the future. Everyone must know who the informant was in his apartment building; they must know what and to whom the informant submitted his reports; and they must know also that the informant himself is responsible for his crimes – not his party, nor his religious or ethnic background, nor his children or grandchildren, but he himself. Our society as a whole must realize that spying or treason are not the acts of a right-wing or left-wing person, they are neither conservative nor liberal acts – they are simply sins, for which individuals are responsible.

I believe that the soul of the Hungarian nation will be cured of the disease with which communism infected it; that the Hungarian nation will be able to close the past chapter of its history, put an end to the finger-pointing among its members and to the partisan bickering which paralyzes any possibility for national unity. When this – genuine – change of system has taken place, and when it has become evident that the former spies and secret police are to be found in every one of the current political parties, then society will also understand that a person is not a traitor because he is conservative or liberal, but because he is a despicable human being. Only then will Hungarian young people have new role models, such as Ferenc Jánosi.

Broken store windows
Let’s consider the stores whose windows were shattered as a result of the fighting during the Revolution, and the untouched inventory which no one thought to loot. Isn’t it incredible that, during those days, no one believed that looting and stealing was more important than preserving the nobility of the revolutionary cause? Isn’t it incredible that darkness fell upon the city streets, yet when the population got up the next morning, the items in the stores were still there, untouched? Is there any other nation in the world capable of such unity and self-control? Or let’s consider the horse-carts brought in to the city from the countryside, from which farmers passed out free food to those fighting on the streets of the capital. If our Fathers could behave like that, then why would it not be possible for today’s Hungarian society to join together and heal the spiritual wounds inflicted on them by the twentieth century?

Of course it is possible. After all, the spirit of the Hungarian Revolution was not quenched even after the heroic days of 1956 were over. This spirit prevailed on June 16, 1958, when we in New York learned that Kádár and his government murdered Katalin Jánosi’s Grandfather, as well as Pál Maléter, Miklós Gimes, Géza Losonczy, József Szilágyi and Mr. Szabó, and were soon to murder István Angyal and Péter Mansfeld. In response, a group of us in New York attempted to occupy the Permanent Mission of the Soviet Union to the United Nations on Park Avenue and to establish the Free Hungarian Government there. This representative body would have been headed by Anna Kéthly, the only member of Imre Nagy’s government at the time who was in the West. The New York Police foiled our plans, and I ended up in jail.

Katalin Jánosi and today’s Hungarian youth should know that in that jail cell, along with me and my brother Péter, was Gyurka Lovas who, upon hearing the news of the execution of Imre Nagy and his associates, climbed up the Soviet Union’s flagpole in front of the United Nations building, tore the Soviet flag down with his bare hands, then fell several stories onto the cement below. In the same jail cell with us was Csanád Tóth, whose journalist Father was executed for daring to research and report on how József Mindszenty’s interrogators were able to extract a statement from him – you see, Katalin, anyone(!) can be forced to give a statement! Later, Csanád Tóth became an official of the U.S. State Department; in 1978, together with Secretary of State Cyrus Vance, he brought the Crown of St. Stephen back to Hungary.

Katalin Jánosi ought also to know that not only István Angyal, executed at the same time as her Grandfather, was Jewish. Béla Fábián, who survived the labor camp at Recsk and later, as President of the Association of Hungarian Political Prisoners, posted bail for us in New York, was also Jewish. This is relevant, because the communists, though covertly, did fan the flames of anti-Semitism. One reason they let Mátyás Rákosi and Gábor Péter take power in the Hungarian Communist Party was so that the people would blame not the communists, but rather “the Jews” for the Party’s crimes. The Communists also did not fail to note that there were many “Jewish secret police” at the Recsk camp, but they did not mention that many of the Hungarian anti-communists at Recsk were also Jewish! The communist party papers were similarly silent about the fact that the Auschwitz survivor István Angyal, the heroic leader of the Tüzoltó Street freedom fighters in 1956 later executed by Kádár’s secret police, was also Jewish.

The future
I am optimistic about the future; after all, the country is now free, and today Katalin Jánosi’s generation, and their children, can read this article in the Népszabadság newspaper. Now we only need to vanquish our own selves to ensure that the Hungarian nation undergoes a healing process. For this, we must put a stop to our self-destruction and internecine fighting, and instead, use our talents the way we did for 1000 years: to be a leader in Central Europe.

I know that the Hungarian nation is capable of this – whose sons not only dealt a death blow to communism, but also brought atomic power and computers to the human race. I know that this nation will finally be capable of uniting and working for the national good. I know that the society of Katalin Jánosi is capable of this – after all, their Fathers and Grandfathers were capable of much more. I know, viewing Hungarian history in perspective, that the past 15 years represents the briefest of time periods. What are these 15 years compared to our crushing defeats at the hands of the Mongols, the Turks, and the Russian and Austrian forces in 1848? We not only survived the Mongols, Turks and Austrians, our defeats were followed by outstanding statesmen who could build upon the tremendous strength of the Hungarian nation.

I not only believe – I know – that when our consciousness has absorbed the tragedies of the twentieth century, when the spiritual wounds of communism and fascism have healed, and when the nation has reconciled with itself and again forged a unity among the spiritually and physically separated parts of the nation, then we too will follow the example of our greatest statesmen – we too can create great things. This is within reach: we ourselves need only believe that our grandchildren’s future depends upon us, and that this country really does belong to us! That is why we must take note of statements like that of Katalin Jánosi; that is why we must vote; and that is why we must, with wisdom and patience, elect as a national leader a great statesman in the best Hungarian tradition.


Béla Lipták
In 1956, Béla Lipták was one of the drafters of the Revolution’s “16 Points” (demands), and is now engaged in ensuring that a memorial to these 16 Points be erected for the Revolution’s 50th anniversary. In the U.S., he taught at Yale University and wrote 26 technical textbooks (three of the prefaces were written by Edward Teller). Today, Lipták is researching the technical requirements for an economy based on hydrogen-based energy.

Béla Lipták published his memories of the 1956 Revolution in a book whose Hungarian title is “35 Nap” (35 Days); the English edition is entitled “A Testament of Revolution.”

Precursor to history
For me the Revolution started in 1955, when the members of the choir and the orchestra of the Liszt Academy of Music wanted to perform for the first time Zrinyi’s “Szózat” on the birthday of its composer, Zoltán Kodály. Mr. Révai, the Minister of Culture, did not permit it at first, but at the end of the year permission was granted. Although the tickets were expensive and hard to get, as everybody wanted to hear the concert, Sándor managed to get two tickets from the Agricultural University in Gödöllõ, where Imre Nagy was teaching after being expelled from the party.

When we took our seats, we saw Imre Nagy and his son-in-law, Ferenc Jánosi, sitting in front of us. That night the Zrinyi “Szózat” was so incredibly moving. The choir singing “Don’t hurt the Hungarian!” was shocking! We saw Révai sitting above us in the right balcony, nervously turning the pages of the program. After the dramatic effect, the audience gave a standing ovation to Kodály who was sitting above us in the center balcony. I was deeply touched to see Imre Nagy look up to Kodály with tears in his eyes. Naturally, none of the men gave any sign of knowing each other. But when we were leaving, Jánosi got near Sándor and without looking at him, asked how Sándor was doing. Then, at the end of the concert someone started singing the banned Hungarian National Anthem. When I was talking to Sándor’s friends outside and heard someone say, “Yes, only Kodály could do this,” I immediately said: “YES, AND HE WAS BRAVE ENOUGH TO DO IT!” And I felt like kneeling down in front of him and thanking him for that. To me, that night was already the beginning of the Revolution.

My life in a police state
I was working for the No.1 Structural Engineering Company. We worked with secret war factories, underground construction, Rákosi’s basement, etc. I got there in April, 1952, because Sándor, who was an electrician trainee at the time, became drowsy, and fainted a number of times. He was taken to the hospital in Rosa Square. When his illness was diagnosed as general tuberculosis with only two months left to live, I decided I had to get a job. I was a good shorthand typist, and believed I could get a job somewhere. Through a friend I found out the No. 1 Structural Engineering Company was looking for a shorthand typist. I went there, and filled out an application that asked for the usual information. And then came the question: Have any of your relatives been arrested for conspiracy? I had still not recovered fully from my second delivery, and had difficulty walking. I had two young children – what could I have done? If I had written ‘yes’, then they would not have employed me. If I had written ‘no’, and they found out the truth about my husband and brother, it would have been over for me. This was an example of how all facets of life, including employment, was controlled by the ÁVO. So, I simply crossed out the question. They accepted it and said they would test my typing and shorthand skills.

Two nice colleagues dictated to me and asked me about my husband’s job. I told them he was an electrician. “Oh, then he must be earning a nice sum…” And I was so silly to tell them ‘no’, because he was a re-trainee. Then they asked: “What was his job before?” In complete despair, I told them that I could not tell them. And I knew I would not be employed. But there were two colleagues, a nice old Jewish man, a party leader whose large apartment house had been nationalized, and the other one, a lawyer who was kept in a low position because of his past. They both went to the head of the Personnel Department and said that there was no one as gifted as I as a shorthand typist at the company, and therefore, I should be employed.

Several days after I started working there, I had to go to a Trade Union Seminar. And we had to learn the following lesson from our book: “Sándor Kiss, a ‘narodnik,’ was endangering the workers’ power and the Soviet Union.” Well, I was worried for quite a long time whether they would find out who my husband was. But they did not, and I was working there till I emigrated.

In the meanwhile, after long examinations Sándor was found to have an inflamed liver, probably the result of an infection from his days in prison. There was only one very expensive intravenous Swiss medication for his illness, which the doctor gave him on condition Sándor would replace it for him. A close friend of Sándor, the famous mathematician from Debrecen, Tibor Szele, was able to obtain it from his Swiss mathematician friends. But I stayed on in my job.

October 1956
From our office we had to give explosives to several companies, but a month before October 23 the explosives were restricted. Péter Halász, a good friend of the engineer who was sitting next to me, had already written in the paper that it was easier for Hungarians to go to the moon than to Vienna, a hundred kilometers away. The journalists were becoming braver day by day.

On Sunday night, October 22, we went to a club in Buda with Árpád Göncz and his wife Zsuzsa. (He later became the President of Hungary from 1990-2000). The Budapest Madrigal Choir was giving a concert in honor of the composer Bárdos. It was magnificent! As the four of us were walking home on the riverbank of the Danube, at Margit Bridge a news vendor appeared with the evening papers. The people swamped him. Sándor bought the paper there, and we were so happy to read the courageously outspoken articles in the light of the street lamps!

The next day, István Szabó (Paramus) came to see us, brought us some lemons, and told us that the students had a meeting in Szeged (Sándor had graduated from there), and they formulated their demands in points. (I immediately sent the lemon to one of Sándor’s relatives who asked for it for his son who was very ill that time. Lemons were extremely scarce in the 1950’s Hungary).

October 23rd
The next day at work my colleague, Vendel Borhi, told me excitedly that as an evening student, the previous evening he was there at the Technical University when the 16 points were formulated. And he brought the text of the points.

Immediately I typed it, and we hung it on the wall across from the door of our director who was a colonel in the ÁVÓ. I was really getting very excited! Our office was at 19 Lenin Boulevard, and through the open windows we heard the shouting from the young people on trucks, “We want free elections!” And they were waving their flags. My colleague, Aurél Papp, went into the director’s office, and asked: “Comrade Maczinger, what do you think of this?” In his typical style, he stood up and closed the windows.

In the afternoon we were told that the new party secretary, a nice person, would allow everybody, who asked to go to the demonstration at the Bem statue. Márta Füzesi phoned and told me to tell Sándor about it. I called Sándor and told him, but I certainly did not want or dare ask any favors from the communist party secretary. As we finished work at 4 p.m., we left together with a colleague, Pali Stasznyi, At the Kossuth Bridge we met Zoltán Nyeste, Piros and another Jewish friend from Recsk (who later became the editor of the Menora magazine in Canada), and we marched together arm in arm. I, who had never taken any man’s arm apart from Sándor’s, was happily walking with the three former prisoners whom I hardly knew, because we all felt like brothers! Once we arrived in Buda, we met the members of the Folk Dance Group who were coming from the Bem statue. One of them, Kata Rábay, who used to be my elder sister’s classmate, knew me and shouted for us to go to the Parliament. We turned around and went back to the Kossuth Square. There we saw a student climbing up high and cutting the hammer and sickle from the middle of the huge Flag to great cheers! But it was getting dark, and they turned off the lights. Now the crowd started folding the newspapers like torches, lit them and held them up. It was an unforgettable scene! Zoli Nyeste lifted me up so I could see that wonderful scene above the tall people in front!

But then I felt remorse: What’s happening at home? What are Sándor and the children doing? True, my parents were there with the children, but I knew if I went home late, my Mother would be angry. I wondered what they are going to say now. I rang the doorbell trembling like a child. But the Revolution had reached our family as well! My Mother gave me a slice of buttered bread on a plate to eat and a mug of coffee, and then told me to go back out with my husband. And so we went: Sándor, my older sister Kata, my elder brother Gyuszi, and Sándor’s nephew Bandi Juhász who always ate with us, and learned electrician’s skills from my brother.

Kossuth Square
On the way to the Parliament we passed in front of the central building of ÁVÓ to Kossuth Square where a big crowd had already gathered. They were shouting in unison: “Rákosi into the Danube!” Bandi added: “With a big stone around his neck!” The crowd took it over and started shouting it. Then we all yelled out, “We want Imre Nagy!” Then Imre Nagy appeared. Of course, we did not know and could not see that a Russian soldier was standing behind him. Imre Nagy told everybody to go home. And they turned the lights off on the square.

Next someone shouted that we should all go to the printing press to have the students’ demands printed so they could be taken by trucks to the countryside. In close formation we marched to Szikra, the communist party’s printing press. A delegation of young people went in to negotiate. We absolutely felt then that we were witnessing history! Suddenly the delegation came out, and said that everything is all right, and the demands will be printed. That caused great happiness, until my elder sister Kata, who was closest to the road, spotted a motorcyclist who yelled out that students were being shot at in front of the radio!

Hearing this, the whole crowd lined up and marched all the way along the present-day Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Street towards the radio. At this time we were shouting, “Whoever is a Hungarian will come with us!” and “The ÁVÓ are murderers, down with them!” Windows were opened in the houses we passed. We just kept going, and all the time, there were more and more of us. When we arrived to the radio, my brother Gyuszi went forward. I am not sure if he had a role in not letting an ambulance get near the radio, since Gyuszi might have remembered that when I had been arrested with two others, we were taken in an ambulance from Debrecen to Buda. The ambulance at the radio was searched and it turned out to be full of weapons. Obviously, it was an attempt to re-supply the ÁVO inside. They set the car on fire. Meanwhile, we heard the news about how many students were injured, and where they were taken for treatment. But the numbers of injured varied with each telling. And all we could feel was that they were young, unarmed students who lived for their country, and we were waiting anxiously to see what would happen next.

Suddenly, an army bus or truck came bringing the students from the military academy to suppress the demonstration. But a worker stood up on top of a truck and recited Zseni Várnai’s poem: ‘Don’t shoot my son, because I’ll be there too.’ When the military students jumped down and handed over their guns, they turned out to be unloaded. There were some young workers from Csepel, who said they would get bullets, and they left immediately, perhaps to Csepel. When they came back, they started handing out the guns. I admit that I was in such a state of excitement that I told Sándor I wanted to go and get a gun! But Sándor was very sensible and said we cannot do that because if we were caught, they would say that the “old conspirators” incited the young to rebel. So we mustn’t get guns! And as it turned out, there were not enough guns for everybody.

Meanwhile we heard that a café on Kossuth Lajos Street was serving free coffee. As it was late, we went there and the hot coffee was delicious, and then we returned to the radio. And we heard the shots. We were waiting to see if they would let the students in. What was going to happen? Suddenly we heard the frightening sound of the Russian tanks approaching. It was already dawn by then, and we left for home. On our way we had to jump inside the large front gates of the houses we passed so as not to get shot when the tanks were approaching.

The following days
It was a long walk from the Radio building to Óbuda where we lived, but we were so excited, we did not feel it. At home we told the family all that had happened at the Radio.
The next day Sándor and Gyuszi went out to look around. We only heard the shots in the distance, and spent all day listening to the radio. It reported that “fascists” had attacked our public buildings and armed forces, and that all public assemblage was banned.

Meanwhile, László Kardos, a friend from Eötvös Loránd University who was a communist, but who had been with Sándor in the resistance against the Germans, sent two armed students for Sándor. As he said, he was not asking for help because they did not deserve that, but wanted some advice. Sándor was deeply affected by him, and at the meeting there was also a party secretary present, who joined the revolutionaries wholeheartedly. Sándor was genuinely touched by the bravery of the party secretary.

On Thursday the radio announced that everybody should go to work, and everything was all right. So I started out on foot to the office. At the Pest side of Margit Bridge I saw the first dead body of a young man covered with a flag. It was shocking! At the same time I was moved to see the boxes placed for collections for the relatives of the dead, in jewelry shops with broken windows, but none of the jewels were taken. After checking in at the office, I went to see the city with Vendel Borhi. (Later Vendel was imprisoned in the same cell with my brother.) I can still see the scene of the dead body of another young man covered with a flag in Rákóczi Street. We went on in tears. Vendel was walking in front. At the Ministry of Interior we noticed that in every window there stood a soldier or a policeman with his gun turned to the street.

As we were approaching Kossuth Square, which was closed off by navy soldiers, there was an elegant man in front of us who did not stop when the soldiers told him that he could not go on to the square. And then one of the soldiers shot at his leg. The man’s clothing looked very western; he asked us not to take him to an ambulance because he was afraid of them, but rather somewhere to a doctor. So we looked at the other side of the street, and noticed there was the name of a doctor. Vendel helped the man up to the doctor.

Then we tried to approach Kossuth Square through another way. This was when women dressed in black were demonstrating there, and from the other side, maybe from the top of the building of the Ministry of Agriculture, ÁVÓ soldiers were shooting at them. And we saw from far away how the wounded or dead were put on trucks.

After all this, we went to the American Embassy where a crowd was gathering. And finally, the spokesman – as there was no U.S. ambassador there at that time – came out and much to our surprise, he talked as if he were from the Moon and knew nothing about what was happening in the city. He really saddened us. It was all for nothing: the women’s demonstration, the crowd shouting, it all fell on deaf ears. From there I went back home.

The shooting continued the following day. Meanwhile, János Horváth came to see us, who worked nearby as a stoker after his imprisonment, but as he spoke English, he transmitted radio messages to the West during the Revolution. He asked me to take down in shorthand the U.N. law transmitted by Radio Free Europe, so he could use the language of the law to protest on the radio. Later in the evening we all prayed aloud together with 9-year-old Bori and 6-year-old Ági for Anna Kéthly to be let into America to represent Hungary at the UN, instead of the “Hungarian ambassador,” who was actually a Soviet citizen.

Meanwhile, I went to get some food somewhere at Rózsadomb. We were standing in line when a young student wearing a raincoat appeared, and it was so natural that he should go to the front of the line since he was fighting for our freedom. Someone in the line started to say something about “the Jews,” but the entire crowd shouted at him to stop. The people were so obviously mature and wise.

As we had little food, my Mother said she would cook for everybody and that way we needed fewer ingredients. We were constantly listening to the radio. When Imre Nagy was appointed Chairman of the Council of Ministers, we were very happy; however, Gerõ was strengthened in his position as Secretary General of the party, and that added fuel to the fire. Martial law was announced, and the freedom fighters were called “counter-revolutionary gangs,” and were told if they put down their arms by a certain hour, then they would not have to face martial law. But the deadline kept being extended because the young people kept on fighting. These repeated postponements indicated the communists’ weakness, which made us very glad. At the same time, we were asked to put the radios in the windows so the freedom fighters on the street could also hear the reports.

The next day Gerõ was replaced and Kádár became the Secretary General of the party. We thought that this was good news because Kádár had suffered a lot in Rákosi’s prison, his teeth were broken there, and we hoped that he could only be better than Gerõ.

And when the tone of the radio started to change, when they asked for the national flag, when they played the National Anthem, our hearts were exulting. But we could still hear shots constantly. There was a part of Óbuda, for example, where the young people kept the front line.

Daily life
I went to my workplace. Sándor asked me to go to his office, located across the street from mine, to pick up his salary as well. An employee from his workplace, the Soil-Improvement Company, asked me who Sándor was, because Zoltán Tildy had asked for him by phone. And I got his salary. Then I went to our office that had received a number of shots. The Workers’ Council was established in our company. The former personnel manager who dared to employ a lot of “class-aliens” was kept as an expert tinker. (Even the younger sister of the widow of István Horthy received a job in the warehouse there). The engineers with the most integrity became the members of the Workers’ Council. I got a kilo of rice from one of my colleagues, which I happily took home, because it was a great treasure. Our cafeteria was opposite our workplace. When we went to have lunch there, sitting next to me was someone from the personnel department, who called the young people counter-revolutionaries, and, of course, I immediately defended them. We found out later that the woman’s son was a member of the ÁVÓ. That is also why it was good that I left that place.

At some point Sándor took me to work at the Smallholder Party headquarters on Semmelweis Street. He went off to work early each day and returned very late. I issued lots of letters of appointment for the Smallholder Party leaders coming from the country to start organizing the local party. Once, when János Horváth came, the student guards did not want to let him in, and I stood there shouting that he had been imprisoned for years because of the party, and how dare they not let him in! (I found out later that the leader of the armed student guard was Pál Tar, who in the 1990’s became Hungarian Ambassador, first to the United States, and then, to Vatican City.)

Jóska Adorján, a nice old MP from the Smallholder party, a wine trader from Eger, made me sad when he said that the headquarters of the Communist party should be taken over. I felt that we have to be careful not to practice party politics, because many people who stood by the Revolution might get scared off. I really felt that we have to unite with all those who are willing to fight against the Russians.

Meanwhile, armed students came to see one of our neighbors who was the chief engineer of the underground metro, asking him to see whether there was an underground cellar under the party headquarters, because some people said there were prisoners kept there. But we did not hear anything more about it, so probably there was no prison there at all.

Sándor was often among the freedom fighters in the Parliament, talking with Imre Nagy and Tildy as well, but I did not always know where he was exactly. I went with him in the morning and worked diligently in the headquarters of the Smallholder party. When the banned Peasants’ Association, an interest group, was reorganized and received a building as headquarters, I worked there representing Sándor, as he was its national director until he was arrested. In the evening we walked home together. Once we were stopped by armed student guards, and when Sándor said he was the director of the Peasants’ Association, the students thought he belonged to the Peasant party, which in the eye of the students was just like the communist party. Only when Sándor explained to them what the Peasants’ Association was, and how it was banned in 1947, did they let us go, apologizing for their mistake. As we walked, Sándor always had some chalk in his pockets, and wrote on the trams and other places “Russians Go Home!’ and other similar messages. He regarded this as necessary.

End of October
On the morning of October 27th I told my husband that it was our 10th wedding anniversary, and originally, I had planned to give a dinner for our friends. Then Sándor said something I also certainly felt, that if he had to die at that moment, he would feel his life was worth living, because he lived through the days of this Revolution. It was the greatest possible gift for our wedding anniversary! Often, when my oldest sister and my sister-in-law were hiding in the cellar, I calmly walked among the Russian tanks on the Boulevard, and carried out my tasks. And I was full of happiness! Once János Horváth asked me and Sándor to go to see his wife Erzsike, because she did not want János to become involved in politics again. We were to persuade her to let him do that because János was full of desire to work for the Revolution. I think we managed to persuade her.

Many friends kept coming to visit Sándor, but the days flow together in my memory. Yet. I clearly remember when Géza Bodolay came and brought the detailed plan of the renewal of the Scout Association. I also remember very well when Sándor told me how he met the writer, Péter Veres, in the headquarters of the Peasant party, and Péter Veres admitted to Sándor that his peasant policy was the right one, and that in the future he would work with him. It must have been difficult for him to acknowledge and admit this.

My husband’s radio speech
Wednesday, October 31st, was a very memorable day for me. Sándor gave a speech in the radio at 10:25 a.m. The title of the program was “Let me speak into the free microphone,” and as the director of the Peasants’ Association, Sándor announced the reestablishment of the Association with their impeccable flag.

The studio was in the Parliament. Sándor led me in, and while he gave his marvelous speech, he left me in President Tildy’s office. There was quite a crowd in the big hall, with many familiar faces, and also some who were unknown to me. I took a seat next to József Kõvágó, who was Budapest’s mayor in the 40’s, and we started to talk. To my greatest astonishment, he was still saying that this was about the inner conflict of the communist party. This really saddened me. Then two soldiers entered the hall. All the people went and shook hands with them. One of them was a handsome, tall officer. When I introduced myself, he shook hands with me. My hand became sore because he squeezed it so hard. I can still see his light, piercing blue eyes with an intense look. It was Pál Maléter and his deputy. I suppose, as Sándor told me before, that they were just going to the Russian military headquarters to plan how the Russian troops would be flown home from Hungary.

Just then Sándor came back, and we started leaving through the corridor. Zoltán Tildy came towards us, and upon reaching us gave us a big hug and said, “My children, how I remember your wedding!” (The wedding was ten years before, on the 27th of October on Pozsonyi Road in the Thanksgiving Reformed Church, which he attended together with his bodyguard. The bodyguard, Pál Maléter, had announced him then. Perhaps he squeezed my hand so hard because he remembered that?) Then Zoltán Tildy explained that he was just returning from meeting Mikoyan, who had told Tildy, pointing to his watch, that after 4 o’clock there would be no Russian soldiers in Budapest.

Tito, Khrushchev, and Eisenhower
Since then I have read two books: Daniel Schorr’s book, and also the memoir of the Yugoslav ambassador to Moscow. I presume that it must have been at this time when Eisenhower sent Tito the telegram to notify him that he regarded the Hungarian issue as a domestic affair. With this telegram, Tito, who was afraid that the Hungarian Revolution might extend to his country, called Khrushchev immediately to discuss the future of Hungary. Kádár was Tito’s choice. After Stalin’s death in 1953, Khrushchev made certain gestures of reform, such as releasing one million political prisoners from Siberia, and created an atmosphere like Imre Nagy did in 1953, when he abolished the political prisoners’ camp in Recsk.

However, in 1956, there were two opposing factions in the Kremlin: that of the hard-line Stalinists, and those who followed Khrushchev, who after Stalin’s death had dared deliver his famous speech in which he enumerated Stalin’s crimes. Unfortunately, Eisenhower’s telegram reinforced the Stalinist leadership. (After Stalin’s death, we in Hungary received Khrushchev’s speech on leaflets printed on Bible paper, dropped from balloons, which caused us great pleasure. Later, in the U.S. I learned that this fantastic idea of dropping leaflets from balloons had come from István Deák, a professor at New York City’s Columbia University).

Revolutionary days
For me it was really touching to see the former members of the Peasants’ Association come to visit the new headquarters. For example, Lajos Bokros’s Mother came, whose wedding dinner was held in 1946 in that very place. All of them definitely had a lot of trouble and much suffering after the dissolution of the Association in January, 1947.

My brother took over the garages that belonged to members of the ÁVÓ and provided the leaders with cars. One time, a request came in from István Füzesi, who needed to be driven home from Albania. A driver had already offered to get him, but he needed an official letter that only Sándor could have granted, but no one had the slightest idea where Sándor was at that moment. So, for the one and only time in my life, I forged Sándor’s signature to allow the car to go to pick up Füzesi. Later I learned that he might not have come with this car after all.

Of course, I also spent time with our children. Bori was informed by her Grandfather about what was happening. There was a sermon broadcast on Radio Free Europe that had been written much earlier. It turned out to be harmful, because it encouraged people to fight. Although the priest only spoke of the battle against Satan, at that time it disturbed us, because it appeared to be incitement.

Uneasiness
When Cardinal Mindszenty was set free, we listened to his speech, and together with Árpád Göncz, we had the feeling that he was not wise, since instead of speaking of the need for unity against the Russians, he was already speaking of punishing the leaders of the past. We felt that only the ÁVÓ and the Russians were our enemies. With those who changed sides and sided with the Revolution, we felt we needed to work together. There were even Russian soldiers who came over to our side and hung the Hungarian national flag on their tanks. Therefore, mentioning punishment then was very much out of place.

When Imre Nagy asked on the radio that Hungary’s declared neutrality be recognized, we felt great joy and happiness. This is what we wanted also. His speech was so wise; it expressed fully the desire of the whole Hungarian nation! However, when Imre Nagy asked for neutrality – as we later learned – Sándor Taraszovics had already informed him that the Russian troops had turned back and were again heading into our country. This is the way that Imre Nagy tried to prevent what happened on the 4th of November. At the same time, Imre Nagy sent a telegram to the U.N. asking for recognition of Hungary as a neutral state. We also learned later, that Imre Nagy’s telegram had not even been read by the Swedish U.N. Secretary General, Hammerskjöld, because Nagy lacked the necessary “credentials!” We received this information from László Varga’s first wife, Nike, who had very good contacts at the U.N. Perhaps, this too, contributed to her subsequent suicide.

By that time I was working every day, full of hope. It was only the possible return of the Soviet troops that made us feel uneasy. We were waiting to see what the Western world will do. We believed that they would intervene, and we were desperately looking forward to the U.N. taking up the issue of Hungary. Hammerskjöld behaved deplorably! At the discussion of the Hungarian question, it was a Soviet citizen, who was allowed to speak on behalf of Hungary! (Thus, I shed no tears for Hammerskjöld when I heard that he was killed in an airplane accident).

I lived in such a state of excitement during the days of the Revolution, and felt so devastated afterwards, that I was not able to write of daily events. All I remember particularly clearly is that Sándor came home on Saturday, on November 3rd around 10 o’clock, and told us sadly that he feared a betrayal. The Hungarian military leaders were negotiating in the Russian military headquarters allegedly about evacuation of the Russian troops. Thus, if something happened in the next few hours, no Hungarian military leader would be available to react. We went to bed full of the worst fears. And at dawn we woke to tanks rumbling under our windows. Soviet tanks! And Imre Nagy’s dramatic cry for help on the radio, the Hungarian writers’ plea … We were all sobbing! My Father was listening to the sounds from outside, and kept on saying and crying for the West: “Go on, shoot! Shoot!” Even then, we were still hoping that help would arrive if we just held out. And we just sat by the radio and kept praying! Oh God, how we were praying!

The ending
Nearby we heard shots fired from Óbuda. And all we could do was wait. I cannot remember the days that followed; all I know is that I went back to work. Two students came by the office to tell me that Sándor was already being sought by the ÁVO; he should disappear right away. He spent the last night at Árpád Göncz’s place, and the next day he left for the West with my brother Gyuszi, János Horváth, Erzsike, their daughter, Erzsike, and Lajos Nagy. I was also to go with the two children. But in the foyer I overheard my sister-in law telling Gyuszi, ‘No problem, Gyuszi, you just go. I know for sure that you are going to leave me just as Bandi Hamza left his wife Ica.” In that moment I made the decision that I would not go either. I could not let Gyuszi say that my sister came along, but my wife had to stay behind. And Gyuszi promised to come back for us in a car. My sister Kata also promised that she would help us both leave the country with our children to join our husbands. Deep in my heart I was hoping that Sándor would fight for me, just like János did, saying he was not going to leave unless Erzsike and the family went with him as well. Unfortunately, this did not happen. Sándor acknowledged the decision, opened a Bible, read from it, said his prayers and left.

Afterwards Bálint Arany called me on the phone, and he was glad to hear that Sándor had already left. Then Márta Füzesi came along with her children, and as soon as she entered and heard that Sándor had left the country, she hurried out. My Mother and the family said afterwards, “Look at your friend, she was interested only in Sándor.” That was painful for me.

Since our office in Pest had been damaged by bombing, we received other office space in Buda. When the leaders of the workers council were arrested, and the workers still declared a strike, the chief engineer asked me to prepare our room for them, but I answered I would not be a strikebreaker! I stood by the Revolution even on my own. At that time, the “Úttörõ Áruház” (Pioneers’ Department Store) opened up, and I had to buy the children some shoes and clothes. There were long lines.

Decision to leave
I started to become really worried and sad, and felt that my children needed to have their Father. And I already knew that I might get in trouble if I stayed at home. As my sister-in-law’s Father heard Sándor and his friends’ message on the radio, we knew that they had arrived in Vienna safely. I decided that I would go alone with my two children. I went to my office on the last day. I spoke with my colleague, Sztrapkovics, a building engineer and a devout Catholic, and told him I was going to try to defect. I asked him, though, to tell the others for two days that I had left for the countryside to buy food. And he was to tell only on the third day that I was trying to defect to the West.

I felt hat I needed to keep my job in case of any trouble. I met Sándor Kelemen, the head of a department of the Peasants’ Association, who told me the president of the Writers Association, Áron Tamási’s message, that Sándor should go to the U.N. and be the spokesperson for the Revolution.

I planned to leave on Sunday morning. But then the radio announced that there would be no food transport on Sunday. As I lived by the Bécsi Road, my plan was to stand there with my two children, and some truck driver would take pity on us for sure and pick us up. On Sunday I went to church. The minister was preaching that everybody should stay at home in Hungary. While it was difficult to hear this, I also met a friend of Sándor’s in the church who gave me a false official certificate that my apartment had been bombed and I was going to live with relatives in the countryside.

In the evening Árpád Göncz brought me his cousin’s address in Vienna to whom we could go once we arrived there. He left around 8 pm, and afterwards someone rang the door-bell. I thought it must be Árpád coming back, but it was a railwayman coming back from Vienna. He brought a letter from Sándor. He wrote that though Gyuszi had left by car to come back for us, he suggested we go this other way. The railwayman spent the night at my Mother’s, and we left the next day. My Mother refused to say good-bye to me, because she said I was going to kill my children. Sándor asked me to bring the children’s schoolbooks, so I packed them together with a fresh set of underwear in the knapsack. My Father, my sister Kata, and the three of us left from Óbuda to the Kelenföldi Railway Station. Bori was 9 years old, and Ági was 6, but small for her age.

We were the railwayman’s family on the train. When Bori loudly said that this was not our usual way to go to Grandmother’s I told her in despair not to talk or ask anything. A representative of the Smallholder party put us up in Gyõr for one night. Later he was imprisoned for many years.

Crossing the border
There we went to the railway station where my railwayman brought a taxi, since I had enough money to pay. We went by taxi, and I asked about the towns’ names before entering each town “to know where my relative was, where I am fleeing.” We arrived to a cornfield. There my taxi driver showed me three trees in front of us, saying they were already in Austria. So I told my two daughters that we were on the border and we were going to Vienna, to see their Father. No complaints, we are on an excursion, and it depends on them whether we would meet their Father. Bori was trembling, she understood what it meant. Just as we started, another taxi stopped with an elderly couple who were also going with us. I do not know who they were. And we went toward those three trees. But there was no sign of the border. We walked on in despair, and saw a farmer. We asked him to take us to the border, and offered to pay him. And off we went together. My daughter, Ági, was complaining how tired she was and wanted to sit down. But I told my poor darling that we cannot rest now, we had to go on. The dry corn husks also hurt her little hand. And then suddenly two border guards from ÁVÓ stood in front of us. Bori also heard a shot, and I was so frightened, all I could do was to pray. The soldiers told us that the Russians could see us, so they would have to take us to them. When I am in danger, and I pray desperately, I hear an inner voice telling me what to do. And that’s how it was then. I heard from above, “be strong and shout!” So I started shouting: “What kind of Hungarians are you? What would you say if your wife and children were given over to the Russians by another Hungarian? The Father of these two children is in Vienna. It depends on you whether they will have a Father!” Then one of them said: “We are Hungarians as well!” And they took my two daughters by the hand, and the three of us and the older couple walked on together. And my soldiers told us not to kneel down at the border, because the Russians can shoot over the border. Just run up to the first Austrian farmer, and tell him that the soldiers might also have to come over later.

In a distance we saw a tractor with wooden seats. We sat on it, and went this way to Andau, I think. There they wanted to take us immediately to a camp, but I had an address and phone number from Gyõr, and I knew German. Thus I could speak with the mayor, and he called the guesthouse where Sándor, János Horváth and the others stayed, together with a former member of Parliament of the Smallholder Party who had been in the West for a long while, waiting for his wife and two children from Hungary. Erzsike Horváth answered the phone and told me that Sándor was coming to get us.

He arrived that night with Aurél Ábrányi who brought him in a car. His joy was so great, and he could not believe I was there. We woke up the two children who were sleeping on straw bags in a classroom, and left for Vienna. Compared to the dark city of Budapest, Vienna seemed like a beautiful dream to all of us. When we got to the guesthouse where Sándor and the Horváths were staying, the owner came to the door and said that children were not allowed. Somehow the Virgin Mary came to my mind who could not find a place for the birth of Jesus. It was very painful to me to see my poor tired children who had been walking for so long. Then one of the MP-s started calling the hotels, and eventually we received a room in the elegant Hotel Regina. I cannot describe how the children enjoyed their bath and bed. And in the morning we had breakfast at the table spread with silver cutlery, but later, of course, we moved to a cheap hotel.

Austria
Years later, we received the painful news of what happened to Aurél Ábrányi, the lawyer son of the poet Emil Ábrányi, who drove us that night to Vienna. He worked as a lawyer for the Shell Oil Company, and was abducted by unknown people from a meeting he was called to attend. His wife, an Austrian woman, first called the police, and then went with someone to the site of the meeting to try to find out what happened. They found signs of scuffling and blood stains, and learned from a neighbor he had seen people carrying “something” rolled up in a carpet. The police informed all the border crossings right away, but the car had already crossed into Czechoslovakia. The case became a huge scandal in the Austrian Parliament. I have not learned anything more about Aurél Ábrányi since then. All I can do is remember him as one victim of the Revolution.

And this is how our life as immigrants started.


Ilona Éva Ibrányi Kiss
I was born in 1927, and after spending my early years in Tiszacsege, I lived mainly in Budapest until 1956. In 1946, after starting my university studies, I got married to Dr. Sándor Kiss. My husband was imprisoned by the communists for almost three years. My first daughter Borbála, was born on August 29th, 1947, on the day of Sándor’s sentencing. I lived with my parents in Hajdunánás, because as a wife of a political prisoner I was unable to work. I was also imprisoned from October 28th, 1948, by the Ministry of War and by the ÁVO in their cellars.
My husband was released from prison on October 15th, 1949, and my second daughter, Ágnes, was born nine months later on July 15th, 1950. During the communist years, from 1952 till my emigration I worked in Budapest at the No. 1 Structural Engineering Company. In the U.S. I worked for the Swiss Bank Corporation and the Hungarian Department of Columbia University in New York. Later, in Washington, D.C., I was employed at the American Hungarian Reformed Federation. My third daughter, Erzsébet, was born on July 12th, 1961, in New York City. I was widowed in September, 1982.


Dr. Sándor Kiss
My husband was born in 1918 in Vásárosnamény. He graduated from Sárospatak and the University of Szeged. He taught at the Oszkár Feri Teachers College and did research at the Geographic and Ethnographic Research Institute.
Because of his leadership in the underground, he was sentenced to death by the Gestapo, but was able to escape miraculously.
From 1945 he was elected the national president of MADISZ and a member of the Parliament from the Smallholder party. Afterwards he reorganized the banned Peasants’ Association and became its national director. From 1947 to 1949 he was imprisoned by the communists. After his release, he could only work as a hard laborer and later as an electrician trainee.
He played a key role in the events of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution. After arriving as an immigrant to the U.S. on December 13, 1956, he became a member of The Hungarian Committee, and the Hungarian editor of the “East Europe Journal,” published by the Free Europe Committee in New York City. When the journal ceased publication, he worked at the Voice of America in Washington, D.C. from February, 1971, until his death in September, 1982.