Occupation and Revolution

---

The dome arched above, punctuated with small bulbs of glass that allowed in a tepid light. Steam - or maybe it was my general blindness without glasses - enveloped the space in a thin haze. Drip. Drip. The echoes of condensation hitting the stone floor rang against the walls.

I could have been hanging out in a hamam in Istanbul. But I wasn’t.

Up a steep, cobbled road, I found a pretty rose garden on a hill overlooking a wide river. Within the garden, a grey octagonal tomb sat neatly, its crescent and star glinting in the hot morning sun. I peeked through the iron-gated window and saw the cenotaph enshrouded in a green cloth with gilded Arabic lettering embroidered on its edges.

I could have been visiting a Sufi’s tomb in Istanbul. But I wasn’t.

Instead, I was in Buda(pest).

There’s not much that remains of Ottoman Buda, at least not much that is visible. There are still a number of “Turkish” baths, but only a couple - the Király, which I went to, being one of them - that still have part of the original Ottoman structure. And then there is the lonely tomb of Gül Baba, a companion, apparently, of Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent and a Bektaşi Sufi. The tomb is still a pilgrimage site for Bektaşis.

But there’s more that remains of the city’s Ottoman past than just these isolated remnants. Budapest, like most cities with so many centuries of history, both has the physical memory of its different historical periods (evidenced by its amazing variety of architecture) and the less tangible historical memory that tries to define and interpret the city (most apparent in descriptions at museums and tourist spots, but also less formally). I have been here only a short while, and I can already tell that history has a particular importance to Hungarians. And much of it revolves around the word “occupation”.

The Ottoman period, which lasted for 150 years give or take, is always referred to as the “Turkish Occupation” (or in the National History Museum as the “Ottoman Occupation”). This phrase makes it very clear that many Hungarians consider this an unfortunate blip in Hungarian history, a time when the Magyar people lost their independence to an alien people. It also tries to distance them from any influence the “Turks” might have had on Hungarians and their culture. The Ottomans were occupiers, oppressors; that’s all. Interestingly, while Habsburg domination, which came shortly after that of the Ottomans (the Treaty of Karlowitz in 1699 ended Ottoman rule; the signing of the Szatmár Accord in 1711 recognized Habsburg authority over Hungary), was obviously not appreciated by all, it seems to be begrudgingly accepted. Even more so when you hear about the Dual Monarchy Period, when Franz Joseph reframed the Habsburg’s empire as the Austro-Hungarian Empire. My rough and ready interpretation of this is that the Ottomans (invariably referred to as “Turks”) were Muslim, thus not “European”; the Habsburgs were Christian and so “European”. And the Hungarians see themselves as firmly in the European sphere.

Oddly, though, they also seem very proud of their unique origins and decidedly non-Indo-European language. They are descendents of pagan horsemen off the Asian steppes, not unlike the Turks. Even their languages are distantly related (although Hungarian is utterly incomprehensible to me; other than its grammar, with such characteristics as agglutination, I see very little overlap with Turkish). This ancient history is chronicled pretty closely at the National History Museum. And, perhaps more importantly, it is glorified in the 19th century nationalist extravaganza that is Heroes’ Square, built for the 1896 Magyar Millennium celebration (i.e. the 1000th anniversary of the arrival of the Magyar horsemen). Ancient Magyar kings and heroes, including Árpad and St. Stephen - and some scary looking horses with antler-armor! - look down elegant Andrássy, with its Gucci and Louis Vuitton outlets. More recent heroes, such as Lajos Kossuth (see below), also appear in the pantheon. Perhaps not surprisingly, the square is hugely symbolic for Hungarians. It is even where Imre Nagy’s reburial ceremony was conducted in June 1989 (also, see below).

But, somehow, despite celebrating their pagan-warrior days, Hungarian historiography tends to focus on the Magyars “western” heritage after the adoption of Christianity. Perhaps the Ottoman period, then, cuts too close to home. It is fine to glorify the romantically noble, warrior origins of the early Magyar nomads, but it’s also important to recognize that they have progressed and become fully European (even if their language is decidedly of the steppes).

So my experience of Budapest’s Ottoman past is more in its absence. But at least I can still soak in the Turkish baths!

***
The other reason for my coming to Budapest, as was the case for my visiting Prague, was to see another of the major hotspots in the 1989 peaceful revolutions. In Prague, as I noted, there was little to indicate that anything of any import had occurred twenty years ago. Here, there’s also not much about 1989, but there’s a subtle difference, one that connects - at least in my mind! - to the way that the Ottoman period is portrayed. Here, there are other revolutions (in response to, notably, occupations) that get more visible attention, but they are the revolutions of 1848 and 1956.

1848 was a period of great political tumult across Europe, and was no different in Hungary. But significantly it was a time when independence, or at least greater autonomy, was sought from Habsburg rule. Significantly, there’s a huge statue of Lajos Kossuth, the principle revolutionary leader of ’48, outside the parliament building. Although ultimately the Austrians were able to put down the rebellion (and Kossuth had to flee - interestingly! - to the Ottoman Empire), this period is one that shows the Hungarians struggling for self-rule, something that is important to the concept of the Hungarian “nation”. It set the stage for the declaration of the Dual Monarchy and for the brief period post-WWI independence before the Nazi and Soviet occupations (that word again!).

1956 is not so different, in the sense that the rebellion was about Hungarians seeking greater independence from perceived foreign control, this time Soviet influence rather than Habsburg. The Hungarian communist leadership made the fatal error of trying to go its own way after Stalin’s death and Khrushchev’s “secret” speech detailing Stalin’s crimes. The Stalinist hardliner Rákosi was removed from office and replaced by the more moderate Imre Nagy. Nagy supported changes in political and economic realms that distanced Hungary from Moscow - giving the Soviets the excuse to re-instate Rákosi in 1955. A year later, students, supporting reforms in the works in Poland and seeking similar reforms in Hungary, gathered at the statue of a 1848 Polish hero, General Bem, in little Petőfi Square. Joined by workers, the protest turned into a full out uprising when police began attacking. In the chaos, Nagy was reinstated as prime minister and, swept along in the revolutionary moment, he declined Soviet help to quell the uprising and set the stage for a communist Hungary that wasn’t beholden to the Soviets. Of course, Moscow wasn’t pleased by any of this and sent in troops. Nagy, after trying to seek refuge in the Yugoslav embassy, was eventually imprisoned, put though a show trial, and executed in 1958. For much of the rest of the communist era in Hungary he was officially persona non grata; but for many Hungarians he was a symbol of opposition to Soviet occupation.

One of the first major signs of thaw in Hungary, the one that would lead to the peaceful demise of communism in 1989, was the political rehabilitation of Nagy and his televised state reburial in June 1989 - the ceremony taking place, yes, on Heroes’ Square, King Árpad looking upon the event with fierce pride.

Now 1956 and mentions of Nagy are all over the place. In front of Parliament, directly across the square from the Kossuth monument, there is a memorial to the 1956 Uprising, complete with a Hungarian flag with a big, round hole in the middle. (The protestors had cut out the communist symbol that had been imposed on the red, white, and green of the original.) Not far away, a wistful Imre Nagy stands on a bridge, looking at Parliament, his back deliberately turned to the Soviet obelisk (one of the remaining monuments of the communist era).

And at the House of Terror Museum, on Andrássy út, the story of 1956 (and of the two occupations by “terrorist dictatorships” - Nazi and Soviet - leading up to it) is detailed in what amounts to a multimedia experience rather than a museum proper. With light effects and grinding, sober music, the viewer-participant is guided through the dark occupation years and the bright spot in Hungary’s 20th century history, the attempt to go its own way in the mid 50s.

But why so little about the 1989 revolution? Is it too recent, too raw? Perhaps 1989, because it was not really an example of a revolution overthrowing foreign occupiers (Ottoman, Nazi, Soviet) but rather was an internal, more homegrown Hungarian change, doesn’t fit neatly enough into the historical narrative as it has been told.

---

Photos

Flag Sans Communist Symbol
Cut out during the '56 Revolution

Comments

[Tracey Cook]

Thanks!
James, Thanks for "taking" me with you through your blog!! Looking forward to your next adventure!! Tracey

[cemkess]

thanks
Tracey, I am glad you are enjoying the blog!

[TBui]

"Mr. Kessler, tell me another story!"
Your pieces are so eloquently told through the eyes of a story teller. Come visit my class any day-- my geeks would LOVE your stories!