Fraternity-Testvériség, 2002 (80. évfolyam, 1-4. szám)
2002-10-01 / 4. szám
FRATERNITY 1956 Remembered Page 7 These are some of the thoughts of Peter Ujvági as he personally remembered the events of October 1956, for a Birmingham Cultural Center presentation. These recollections, together with some of her own, were presented by Baba Ujvági on October 23, 2002, at the Ligonier Gardens of the Bethlen Home. Forty-six years! How time has flown by. For my family and me that day in October seems like yesterday. It is as if time slows down and the details of the days leading up to that day will always be imbedded in my mind and soul. It is important that we all take time this month to pause a little, to remember and reflect. It is just as important to pass on to our children and grandchildren the events and lessons of those October days. So, I would like to ask you to pause for a moment and think back . What were you doing on October, 23, 1956? Where were you? When did you first hear of the developments in that little Central European country called by its people Magyarország. Land of the Magyars? Forty-six years have now passed since those exciting and tragic days. Those of us who came as refugees to these shores are no longer refugees but are now Americans, Hungarian Americans, and tonight we remember again events, times and pains that perhaps for some may have been long forgotten. I was young when the revolution broke out. But I will never forget, never forget the dark nights when with shutters down, in the dark of our living room, my brother turned on Radio Free Europe, Szabad Europa, to hear the true news of developments in Budapest. I will never forget the excited reports of people who returned to our apartment on Bécsi út on October 23rd to tell us that the march to the statue of General Bern had become the spark for the revolution in Hungary. I’ll never forget the wonder and the excitement on the faces of our family and neighbors when it looked like the Russians might actually withdraw from Budapest. But, I’ll never forget the sky as it shown red from the bombardment of the Russian artillery on the morning of November 4th. The Soviet army had begun its assault on Budapest. I’ll never forget the look on my parents’ faces as they bundled us up and took my two brothers and my sister to the basement of our uncle’s apartment. I’ll never forget seeing men stick mattresses and plywood against the windows to protect us against possible cannon fire and shrapnel. Nor will 1 forget the rumbling of Russian tanks as they roared down Bécsi út. There seemed to be hundreds of them. You must remember, this was not a revolution of right wing factions or the elite. It was a revolution of workers, farmers, peasants, youth, university students and intellectuals, and most of all, socialists and communists. These were the exact people that the “workers’ proletariat” was supposed to serve. By November 2nd, we had a government in place, a socialist government headed by Imre Nagy, and he was negotiating with the Russians for their withdrawal. Then, on November 4th, the treachery happened. I’ll never forget. And I’ll never forget that radio broadcast: “For God’s sake help Hungary, help Hungary.” But no help came, and little by little, the last outposts of the freedom lighters fell. The last radio broadcast was heard on the afternoon of November 7th. Yet into December and even January, pockets of armed resistance continued, and while the world marveled at the bravery of the Hungarian people, no one came to help. Little by little at first, then as if in a flood, people looked out at a bleak and desolate future; and sadly, with tears and despair, they turned toward the Austrian border and toward a new life and freedom. Until my dying day, I will always remember the look of exhaustion, relief and gratitude on the faces of my mother and father when in the freezing cold of winter, on the night before Christmas, on our third attempt, we finally crossed the border into Austria and freedom. Slowly the refugees of 1956 spread throughout the world. They found Hungarian communities, ones that had put roots down in America over many, many years. They found Hungarian churches, Hungarian bars and stores, and they heard their native tongue spoken on the streets. Many of the people in these neighborhoods opened their homes to these new immigrants, but others wondered who they were and how they would fit into the community. Little by little, the refugees made their lives in these communities. They made plans, went to school and secured jobs. They met, courted and got married. Gradually they became part of the community. But always there was the pain, an ache deep in their hearts and a wound in their soul for they had left behind things that would never be recovered: family, friends, the land, the sunshine, and the music of life. And slowly time passed. Houses purchased and children bom. Some moved beyond the old neighborhoods into the suburbs, but the ache was still there. Some, in their struggle to become Americans, changed their names, wouldn’t speak Hungarian, stayed away from the Hungar“Az Istennek köszönöm, hogy ebben a gyönyörű országban itthon vagyok, de sokszor úgy érzem, hogy a szivem megszakad és vágyom az otthonomért. Sose felejtem el. ”
