The Hungarian Student, 1957 (1. évfolyam, 2-8. szám)
1957 / 7. szám
The Hungarian Student 11 The Writers and Poets Address the Youth Füst Milan: “I am tired out, old and have seen much in the course of my long" life, but never anything comparable to these events. I want to express here my amazement to you, my friends. I want to speak of the unheard of discipline of this revolt. This discipline lay not only in the fact that no robberies were committed anywhere—it is a known fact that no merchandise was touched behind the broken shop windows—which alone would deserve our greatest admiration. This alone did not constitute the miracle which shook me to the depth of my being and whose memory I want to take with me to the grave. The miracle which ressurected in my heart all my love for my compatriots was the political consideration and wisdom, the political moderation, as well as the heartfelt goodwill and helpfulness of the revolutionaries to their fellow-men. These boys and this whole nation did not ask for the big landowners, for clerical dominions. It did not want to grab riches, it did not try to recall the dronelike princes of a defunct dynasty, it did not demand the return of the aristocrats. In this honorable and honest and disciplined revolution not a single selfish or fascist voice was heard. And this is what I am proud of and never will forget. O, this revolution was modest indeed from a material point of view, sadly modest, and still, it was sublime, because materially it fought only for a modest living, while fighting for the most valuable goods of the spirit. And what are they? True democracy and true freedom!” Bárávy Tamás: “Beloved young brothers, youth of today, about whom so much evil has been said, who have been called frivolous and cynical, it is you who have given an everlasting example that there can be no hesitation when the moment comes, that an answer has to be given when Fate and Time question. And you have engraved in the consciousness of the nation for centuries to come the lesson that life is impossible without morals, that in moral conflicts life ceases to be human life. All that has happened in these tragic days, all that you did, was inspired by the noblest of all human emotions: moral indignation. Never has there been a more beautiful, purer, more moving revolution. What a bloody revenge was taken through you and by you for that hypocritical cynicism which mornings in your schools taught you an almost mythical reverence for the most beautiful ideologies, because they are the most humane, and then afternoons and evening threw before your amazed and dazzled eyes the horrible, inhuman truth. Mornings your blushing, poorly clad teachers exulted to you about human equality, about a society free from exploitation. Afternoons you had an illustration of this equality in the curtained, luxurious cars whizzing past the throngs hanging off the trolleys. Mornings in school you heard about shining examples of human helpfulness and kindness, afternoons and evenings the many thousands of intrigues, the elbowing and fighting of a society debased in the scramble for the meager, everyday bread and 50 forint raises, sputtered around you. Mornings in school you parrotted the blessings of increased production, nights the atmosphere in your homes was heavy with your mother’s sighs, worrying about how to budget the money. This you could not understand; the country really produced more and more, except that your share never increased. Then you realized that they were lying to you. You did not realize this all at once. The awakening was slow, because human beings are made so that they do not want to relinquish their dreams once they have dreamt them. First you just rubbed your eyes, not wanting to believe them. You told yourselves that there were not as many luxury cars but many more trolleys than you saw. You believed that while your neighbors, the Blacks and Whites, had become corrupt climbers, obsessed by the wish for a career, other people were good, true and honest. You believed it was only your poor mother who was no good at budgeting, as even the papers wrote about the rising prosperity of the people. But then came the time when you could no longer disbelieve your eyes. Then you saw clearly how the sinful tyranny of a narrow-minded guilty clique abases the beautiful struggle of one class towards progress by forcing it to run the gauntlet of another class. By then you had learned to be en(Continued on page 12)
