By Frank Furedi (THE TIMES, 14/10/06):
MY REVOLUTION began in a steaming kitchen, where the mother of my best friend, Gabi, had just cooked the family duck. In ritualistic fashion all of us children lined up to receive our ration of dripping on garlic toast. I have never forgotten the Proustian moment as I took in the aroma of the crackling and the garlic, only to be rudely interrupted by loud shouts coming from the street.
Out of the window, there were thousands of people singing, shouting and thoroughly enjoying themselves. This was late afternoon, October 23, 1956, I was nine years old, and the Hungarian Revolution was about to erupt.
I grew up in a family intensely hostile to Hungary’s Stalinist regime. My father Laszlo was denounced as a “class enemy” and in 1948 he was interned for five months. His crime was to be a self-employed watchmaker and a member of the populist Small Holders Party. In 1955 he spent a further nine weeks in jail. The suspicion directed at him extended to the whole family: my sister Judith graduated from high school with top scores in 1955 but was informed that she was a “ class alien” and not suitable for university. Thwarted from realising her ambition to become a doctor, Judith became involved with clandestine anti-government student groups that emerged in Budapest in early 1956.
Until the outbreak of the revolution, my most daring experience was to accompany my dad on his expeditions to an underground bookshop. Publications were heavily censored and many prewar books had been taken off library shelves. One of our acquaintances, an octogenarian former bookseller, had turned his apartment into an illegal bookshop. I loved listening to the animated discussions as customers debated the merits of this or that book. This strange, musty-smelling place was an enchanted world where a child’s imagination could run riot without official retribution.
For my family, reading served as a form of defiance. My father, along with thousands of other Hungarians, obsessively sought to get his hands on uncensored foreign newspapers and books. In early 1956 groups of Hungarian dissidents and intellectuals began to publish underground newssheets. It was at this time that my sister stopped coming home after work in the evenings. Relatives asked: “Is it a love affair?” My dad winked and proudly declared that “she is at a meeting”. Something was clearly stirring. And gradually people were becoming more open about stating their views. That is why when the revolution broke out we were not surprised.
It began as a student demonstration of solidarity with striking workers in Poland. Before the day was out the people of Budapest were demanding the resignation of the Government and the withdrawal of Soviet troops. I can still recall the powerful sense of exhilaration that swept people into the street, filled with excitement, confidence, hope and, above all, the feeling that anything was possible. I was 9 but on that night and the weeks to follow I did not feel like a child.
We lived on Museum Boulevard, opposite the National Museum and a couple of blocks away from the Magyar Radio building, where people were gathering to demand that their “16 points” should be transmitted to the nation. My sister and I had barely left our house to join the crowd before we heard the sound of machinegun fire. Suddenly the carnival-like atmosphere disappeared, and my neighbourhood began to resemble a warzone.
Almost overnight thousands of civilians acquired arms and battles raged between them and the AVO, the secret police. Teenagers armed with Molotov cocktails and rifles were often in the forefront of attacking Soviet tanks. My most shocking moment during that week occurred on Saturday, October 27. As I walked with my father, we saw a crowd standing around the corpse of a young freedom fighter who was lying on the pavement just off Calvin Square. My father covered my eyes with his hands and moved me on.
The 20,000 Russian troops that occupied Budapest failed to prevent the collapse of the Stalinist regime. On Sunday, October 28, a ceasefire was arranged and Moscow announced that it would pull out its troops from Hungary. During the following week I saw little of my sister and father. My sister was involved with a group of medical students who were helping to co-ordinate emergency services. My father became a member of the Workers’ Council of the 5th District of Budapest and organised the distribution of bread in our neighbourhood. Our friends gave him the nickname Mr Kenyeres — “bread man”. On Sunday, November 4, I went to the park and joined my friends in a game of football. That was the last time I saw them.
On that morning a massive force of Soviet troops invaded and within a week crushed the revolution. We all knew that we could no longer stay in our home, that it was only a matter of time before my father would be arrested by the newly installed puppet regime.
On the night of November 21 the four of us crossed the border to Austria. Between us we carried two sacks, a small suitcase and a lot of dreams. My sister was certain that she would become a surgeon. My mother looked forward to a life free from the fear of the midnight knock on our door. My dad talked ceaselessly about all the books he was going to read. And I, obsessed by Wild West novels, was preparing to meet my first cowboy. As we watched the stars in the black Austrian sky, the family was ready for the adventures to come. And to this day I derive strength and hope from the experience of October 1956.