The Eighth Tribe, 1975 (2. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1975-04-01 / 4. szám
April, 1975 THE EIGHTH TRIBE Page Nine OUR HERITAGE IN AMERICA Column editor: Joseph Széplaki We will reprint here articles, essays and poems as they appeared in the early American press j regarding our heritage in America. We also j welcome articles reflecting the history and J accomplishments of Hungarians on the American j continent. KOSSUTH’S VISION IN 1852 Delivered in the Public Hall, St. Louis, Missouri on March 15th, 1852 My American Friends! Today is the 4th anniversary of the start of our struggle for liberation. For Hungary, though an independent state since the year 1001, has suffered such tremendous losses in defending Western Christianity against Asiatic hordes, that she has finally become an easy prey to one of her neighbors. Ironically enough, the schemers of Vienna’s Kamarilla, those who benefited most by the Magyar people’s self-sacrifice on the battlefields, were the very ones who conspired against the freedoms and comparative well-being that Hungary’s population had been enjoying. Anniversaries of uprisings are generally connected with memorial services for those who gave their lives for the cause, like the martyrs of old Sparta at Thermopyleae. Almost every land has its national cemetery or war memorial, which patriots decorate with laurel leaves on festive occasions. March 15, however, is a different sort of anniversary. No one lost his life on that day in 1848 for we gained our freedoms in a bloodless revolt, a fact of which Magyars can be proud for all time. Last night I was unable to sleep though my hosts, the good citizens of St. Louis, have done everything in their power to make my visit here a pleasant one. But my restless soul returned me on its magic wings to the past, to my bleeding homeland, to my suffering people. In the silent darkness of the Missouri night, I saw veiled shadows with eternal pain written on their brow, dumb in their agony. I saw them hovering over the cemeteries and the multitude of graves in Hungary: then I saw them kneel beside the resting places of their loved ones, placing wreaths of evergreen and cypress on the mounds. After a short prayer they departed, gliding away as silently as they had come, without a tear. They had to leave, for my country’s murderers lurk in every corner, and they throw into jail those who dare show sorrow for their departed. Today, Hungarians cannot even smile without being punished on grounds of taunting their foreign overlords. Nor can they shed tears without being taken in on the charge of demonstrating against the prevailing regime. Yet thousands of my brethren in Hungary follow their innermost conscience to humanely help the living and revere the departed, no matter what physical tortures this may bring upon themselves. But, in my dreamless night, I have seen more. When the mourners left, the dead half rose from their graves, glanced at the wreaths and muttered: “Still only cypress and ot the flowers of joy? Still the frost of winter and the darkness of winter engulf you, my land! How can it be that we are not yet avenged?” And suddenly, to the east, the horizon turned red, glowing flames shot to the sky and simultaneously the Star Spangled Banner appeared on Hungary’s western borders with lightning-like majesty and power... In its wake appeared an endless flock of young eagles, flying swiftly toward the already flame-engulfed east. As they passed over the cemeteries, a voice from above answered the Hungarian dead: “Sleep in peace, for through America
