We are living in perilous times. A war is raging just next door, the consequences of which affect the whole world: we are threatened by an energy crisis, economic crisis, and food shortages. The Hungarian government is trying to hold the fort with all its might; it would make and have decisions made based on common sense, but the “good man craze” makes the European elite deaf and blind.
I listen to their advice, like putting on another sweater instead of the heating, or that it’s enough to bathe in warm water once a week, and all I can think is that this is terribly familiar, I’ve already lived like this: in the Romanian communist dictatorship in the 1980s. There we were, shivering next to the cold radiator of our fourth-floor apartment in the middle of the harsh Szekler winter.
Yet three kilometers away, at my grandparents’, the tiled stove was humming, you could always heat up a basin of warm water for washing. Even longer power outages didn’t bother them too much; since my paternal grandparents didn’t have a TV anyway, we took it for granted that my grandmother would sing while shelling corn by the light of the kerosene lamp, while my grandfather told war stories. That is, if they could entice the grandchildren inside, away from the starry night sky.
And the contrast between the empty shelves of the city grocery store and my grandparents’ pantry was quite stark, as they always had at least a year’s worth of basic food supplies stockpiled.
I didn’t evoke this seemingly idyllic image out of nostalgia. Grandma and Grandpa from Telep weren’t hoarding essentials out of a desire to possess, but rather their common sense led them to make the present and future more crisis-proof for the extended family. My grandparents had survived at least one world war and they wanted to survive the communist dictatorship too. Their actions were guided by an experience that we seem to have forgotten. I’m talking about that collective wisdom, the imprints of which we can still see here today.
My grandparents knew what was edible and what wasn’t in woods and field. They could produce their own utensils and repair them too. They knew how to cultivate the land so that it would yield in the coming years as well. They could see the wood for the trees in both the literal and figurative senses.
And despite all the difficulties, they had a desire for beauty. My grandfather taught me how to carve, we learned cross-stitch embroidery from my grandmother (I was good at the former, not so much at the latter). I became a musician because I got a six-hole flute from them as a gift from the fair, and when I experimentally played a folk song on it, it turned out that I had an ear for music.
If we want to understand the age of crises, we only need answer a very simple question: what would happen if electricity were taken away for hours on end? What would we do in case of a prolonged power outage?
With all this, I merely wanted to illustrate that whatever crisis may come, the solution, the real solution, is to regain and master practical knowledge as our own. Anyone who claims today that they know what will happen in one, five, or ten years’ time is lying. But we do know one thing: with God’s help, Hungarian thought has kept our nation in the Carpathian Basin for a thousand years, so we have very good reason to trust that we’ll figure something out for the next thousand years as well. For this, however, we need to return to Hungarian reality, revive our traditions and repossess that wisdom accumulated over thousands and thousands of years.
It’s also necessary to see beyond today’s tavern, to override our mental boundaries. Lucky are those whose birthplace and homeland are within one country’s borders. Unlucky are those who have neither birthplace nor homeland, only a country.
For us, detached parts of the nation, it was difficult to impart what it was to love a country of which you are not a citizen, which has given up on you – and how hard it is to maintain a homeland in a country that is not your home. And how good it feels now, thanks to decades of nation-building policy, to go home from home.
But the real stake is still the distance. How far can you embrace in heart and mind as home? How big your is heart circle?
Mine is now as big as the Carpathian Basin. Szeklerland is the apple of my eye, but I can love the entire Hungarian world from Bratislava to Subotica, from Berehove to Gyula, from our heritage to the lumpy reality. Not because it’s mine, but because it’s ours. That’s an essential difference.
Notes:
Historical context:
– Romanian communist dictatorship (1947-1989): Period of communist rule in Romania, particularly harsh during Nicolae Ceaușescu’s regime (1965-1989).
– “Hungarian thought has kept our nation in the Carpathian Basin for a thousand years”: Refers to the traditional dating of Hungarian settlement in the region, around 895-896 AD.
– “Detached parts of the nation”: Refers to Hungarian communities living outside of Hungary’s current borders, primarily as a result of the Treaty of Trianon (1920) following World War I.
Geographical references:
– Szekler: Hungarian ethnic group primarily living in Szeklerland, a region in Transylvania, Romania.
– Carpathian Basin: Large basin in Central Europe, historically the core territory of the Kingdom of Hungary.
– Bratislava (Pozsony in Hungarian): Capital of Slovakia, historically an important city for Hungarians.
– Subotica (Szabadka in Hungarian): City in northern Serbia with a significant Hungarian population.
– Berehove (Beregszász in Hungarian): City in western Ukraine with a significant Hungarian population.
– Gyula: Town in southeastern Hungary, near the Romanian border.
– Telep: Likely refers to a specific neighborhood or settlement where the author’s grandparents lived.
Literary reference:
– “Today’s tavern”: Allusion to the poem “Ars Poetica” by Attila József, one of Hungary’s most significant 20th-century poets. The relevant lines suggest a contrast between current realities and the vision of a better future, while also implying the role of the intellectual or writer in society.
The relevant lines from the poem are:
“The poet is a child of his age
Who dreams of a new world’s stage.
But in today’s tavern, he is sober,
He knows: his dream will shatter.”
(Rough translation of the Hungarian original)
Homeland Dictionary 