The Hungarian Student, 1957 (1. évfolyam, 2-8. szám)
1957 / 7. szám
10 The Hungarian Student A Student Remembers October 25’ 1956 “T XT WAS a cloudy, wet October morning. The 25th of October, the day which was registered in Hungary’s history as ‘bloody Thursday.’... The city was deadly quiet. The uprising of the 23rd seemed to be defeated. One could even taste the fear of the city. Cruel Mongolian faces appeared through the fog, sitting on the turrets of Soviet tanks, and the tommyguns of the secret-police officers guarding the streets were like exclamation-marks of the regime of terror. I was on my way to see whether my sister and her family were alive or not. The last thing I remembered was my brother-in-law’s furious face handling a sub machine-gun at the radio-station battle. As I made my way through the ragged streets, blocked and guarded by tanks, the people I met were silent and severe. There was no smile on their faces, only a flaming hate in their eyes. One could never feel more clearly our shameful situation, the humiliation of slavery, where the enslavers are cruel barbarians, and the slaves are the people of a freedom-loving nation with a thousand-year-old culture. I arrived at the Hotel Astoria. The windows were broken, wires were tangled on the streets, huge shellholes yawned at me from the walls of the University of Science. The books from the Soviet Information Center were still smoking on the street, and a half-burned picture of Stalin smiled sarcastically at me, as though he were saying: ‘Well, you wanted to overthrow my yoke? Now you’ve learned that is better to live in communist “freedom” than to be the slaves of the capitalist-fascist imperialists! You know in communism the greatest value is human life!’ Suddenly the silence was broken. A demonstration march approached, with black and national flags, shouting: ‘We want freedom! Russians go home! Long life to the independent, free, democratic Hungary !’ I hesitated for a moment, then with a sudden jump I joined the march. A student was beside me and a young mother with her three«y X OUNG people, my friends— I was with you and marched among you, arm in arm through the streets of Budapest. The national colors and the sign of Kossuth were with us from the statue of Petőfi to the statue of Bem, and back to the Kossuth Square, but I have been fighting along with you for years for a new, young literature, for honor, for youth, for truth and for the people. I know you and I know you are honest patriots, that every breath you draw is true. If necessary I would stand at any bar of world justice to say: do not punish these young people; they are not the criminals. But this testimony will not be necessary. There are basic changes in the leadership of the State and the Party. Our most important demands are fulfilled. Imre Nagy is our man; his program is our program. Janos Kadar learned in Rakosi’s prisons what the Hungarians must be protected against. The fateful forces against which you had to be protected have left the Government with the dismissal of Gero. Your patriotic feelings were met with understanding. You don’t have to fear revenge, but you don’t have much time to lose either. We must revert immediately to peaceful means, and stop the armed fighting instantly. Even the quiet demonstrations are not useful now, because they might be misinterpreted. The time has come to fight with thoughts and ideas, without fear, and the representatives of the new—the young people and the younger spirit —will achieve a worldwide victory. Now you have to guard your lives; our country will need you badly in a new Hungary freeing itself from tyranny. This is the message your loving old friend has for you. ...” year-old son. As we marched through the streets, people came out of their houses and joined us. There were perhaps 10,000 men and women, mostly students and young workers, marching stubbornly to the Parliament. As we arrived at the square, the march stopped for a moment, for the Parliament was surrounded by Russian tanks. But then the 12 yearold girl who carried the flag stepped forward, and with solemn, slow steps walked to the front of the building, and we surrounded her. We sang the national anthem, and then the girl wanted to pose the Hungarian flag on the tank. Instantly, like the heralds of hell, machine-guns and tank-cannons shattered our song. From the roofs dozens of machineguns opened fire on the unarmed, exposed mob. The Russians followed their comrades and fired their cannon from 12 feet into the living wall of people. I threw myself on the ground. I wanted to dig myself into the cold stone, but there was no escape. Bodies fell on me, the blood ran in streams on the stones, the air was filled with screams and cries of the wounded and dying. A woman fell before me, dropping her crying baby on the street. Over the horrible sound of the machine-guns and cannon sounded the steadily louder music from hundreds of loudspeakers, the ‘Egmont’ overture by Beethoven. What a diabolic idea! I don’t know how long the massacre lasted, it was eternity—I became older by years during this one short hour. And suddenly there was silence; the shrillcries of the wounded strangely hurt my ears. I crept through bodies to the side of the square, and begin to run, weeping with fear, fury and shame. I ran madly through streets, and finally I found myself in the arms of two Hungarian soldiers, who were asking me : ‘Brother, what’s the matter with you?’ Stuttering, weeping, I told them. I knew only that I wanted to fight, I wanted a gun in my hand, to pay with the lives of Russians and communists for the innocently killed.” Gyula Hay Speaks... October 25, 1956
