COURAGE

Підключення Колекцій

Judging from the level of difficulty of the twenty-two questions contained in it, the target group of the document identified as a questionnaire included the most sophisticated members of the Hungarian elite in Romania, who did not necessary work in the cultural sphere, but who had presumably been selected as a result of previous inquiries. The questionnaire, made up of three major sets of questions, first assesses the social status, qualification level, and general culture of the subject, then examines the subject’s sense of identity, and finally investigates, also out of a need for identifying a solution, the nature of the connections and relationships between Romanians and Hungarians, as well as experiences regarding coexistence.

I. The first set of questions focuses on the subject’s social status. It begins by examining the social background of the subject – family, origin – and then inquires about his/her age to further turn to a direct reference to the “small Hungarian world” in Northwestern Transylvania during the Second World War (Sárándi and Tóth-Bartos, 2015), which suggests that the questionnaire focuses primarily on mature individuals holding well-defined views on the Transylvanian issue. Questions four and five address the length and possibilities of past education in the mother tongue in the family of the subject, respectively, in his/her “range of vision.”

The Questions:

1. What kind of family do you come from?

2. What type of social environment do you come from? (rural, urban, peasant, worker, bourgeois, aristocrat, etc.)

3. How old are you? Were you alive between 1940 and 1944?

4. How long and what were you able to study in your mother tongue?

5. What about your family and /or “range of vision”?

II. The second set of questions – questions 6 to 14 – is directed at the subject’s sense of identity. The assessment of collective memory is followed by a nostalgic question, which, beside the inventory of violations of human rights experienced in the present, makes the subject draw a comparison with the rights undoubtedly held in the past. The question about general knowledge of Hungarian history is followed more emphatically by that about self-declared knowledge of post-1918 Transylvanian history and of the public figures related to it. Then the author of the questionnaire moves on to the mapping of reading habits and needs in the mother tongue, of cultural life and religion. The question referring to the level of Romanian language skills is still relevant. As the knowledge of language represents a prerequisite for social integration, this also means that as long as the coexisting nations are unable to eliminate language barriers, their cultures cannot get closer to each other, cannot coexist in harmony. Radio listening habits provide answers regarding the need for information of Hungarians in Transylvania, but also about their possible resignation and indifference. The inquiry about connections in Hungary presupposes the existence of a current network of contacts in the “mother country,” including relatives, friends, and acquaintances. The thirteenth question, about the new situation in Hungary – which offers a clue about the date of the document – presumably hints at the changes that took place during the official mandate of the moderate reformer Károly Grósz, appointed president of the Council of Ministers in June 1987. On May 1988, the reform wing of the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party (MSZMP) obtained the long-awaited goal of removing the old and ill János Kádár from the party leadership and elected Grósz as his successor upon a programme of transition to a market economy and political decentralisation. However, it cannot be excluded that allusion was made to symbolic events of 1989 relating to the commemoration of the Revolution of 1956, such as the reburial of Imre Nagy and his comrades, or the radio speech by the senior party official Imre Pozsgay about the re-evaluation of this tragic event in Hungary’s recent past (Romsics 2013). The last question in this section, referring to a “prominent Transylvanian personality” takes into consideration the greater political events and perhaps it looks ahead in allowing for an unpredictable political turn in Romania.

The Questions:

6. What can you recall, or how far back does your collective (family, workplace, etc.) memory extend?

7. Would you like to regain anything from the past? If yes, what?

8. Are you familiar with Hungarian history, and with the history of Transylvania in particular? (What do you know about the events following 1918? Are you familiar with the operation of the Hungarian National Party [Bárdi 2014, Horváth 2007, György 2003]? Are you familiar with figures such as Ct. Bethlen György [1888–1968, president of the Hungarian National Party representing the Hungarian minority in Romania in the interwar period (ACNSAS, I185019)], Jakabffy Elemér [1881–1963, Hungarian, later Romanian Hungarian politician, lawyer, publicist (Balázs 2012, Csapody 2012)], Makkai Sándor [1890–1951, Transylvanian Hungarian writer, pedagogue, Reformed bishop (Veress 2003)], Mailáth [Majláth] Gusztáv Károly [1864-1940, Transylvanian Roman Catholic bishop, member of the nobility, honorary archbishop (Marton and Jakabffy 1999)], Domokos Pál Péter [1901-1992, teacher, historian, ethnographer, one of the pioneers of research into the Csangos (Jánosi 2017, Domokos 1988)] etc.?

9. Do you own Hungarian books? Do you read in Hungarian? If yes, how much? How do you gain access to Hungarian books? Do you go to the theatre? Are you a church-goer? (Is the use of the Hungarian language or the fact that you are a believer behind church attendance?) 10. How well do you speak the Romanian language?

11. Which radio station do you listen to? That of Budapest or that of Bucharest? And which Radio Free Europe broadcast do you listen to: the Romanian or the Hungarian one?

12. Do you have contacts in Hungary?

13. What do you think of Hungary in this new situation?

14. Is there a prominent Transylvanian personality you know about and consider worth paying attention to?

III. The third set of questions – questions 15 to 22 – analyses the relationship between Romanians and Hungarians. Thus, beside inquiring about the nature of relationships maintained by the subject and his/her environment with his/her ethnic Romanian fellow citizens, these questions focus also on the ethnic characteristics of the coexisting population, whether the demographic balance in a given settlement, which was centuries ago favourable to the Hungarian community, has been subject to modifications by the communist regime by attracting inhabitants from other regions populated mostly by Romanians. Having future coexistence in view, question 17 is aimed at learning the “lacking needs” of the subject, so it inquires about the required minimum conditions in terms of human rights that allow him/her to live as a Hungarian there, in that given place. Amidst the measures aimed at the assimilation of the Hungarian minority in Transylvania, such as the continuous diminishing of educational opportunities in the Hungarian language, the closing down of Transylvanian Hungarian theatres, the potential destruction of villages, the phenomenon of emigration, which affected the Romanian citizens too, in the context in which the nationalism of Ceaușescu’s regime was become more and more radical, when politics-fuelled intolerance towards ethnic otherness was a daily presence, the question about individual views regarding the future of the minority community might have seemed surreal. Thoughts referring to the renewal of the indigenous minority were closer to utopia as the flagrant violation of human and minority rights provided no realistic grounds for this. The last two questions of the questionnaire – questions 21 and 22 – about positive experiences as a Hungarian living in Romania, positive experiences concerning the Romanian–Hungarian relationship – illustrate, even in their choice of words – “have you ever,” “accompany or would accompany” – the perspicacity with which the author of the questionnaire acknowledges the situation of the Transylvanian Hungarian minority of the period preceding the change of regime.

The Questions:

15. What is the nature of your (your personal and your community) relationship with Romanians?

16. Are you surrounded mostly by Romanians or by Hungarians in your living environment? If you live predominantly surrounded by Romanians, when was this situation installed? Is it a result of incoming settlement or is it the indigenous population?

17. What is it that you lack most in living there as a Hungarian?

18. What is your opinion about your own future, the future of your family, and that of Transylvanian Hungarians?

19. Do you see any possibilities of renewal?

20. If you are a church-goer, what do you know and what can you witness from the Greek Catholic movement?

21. Have you ever had any positive experiences as a Hungarian? If yes: when and what kind of experience was it?

22. List the positive experiences that accompany or would accompany the relationship between Romanians and Hungarians?

There is no doubt that Gyimesi is the author of this document. In numerous places her works include analyses of the given situation and sense of identity of the Hungarian minority in Transylvania (Gyimesi 1993). Most probably the document escaped the attention of secret police officers conducting the home search on 20 June 1989 due to the absence of title and date. The physical existence of a questionnaire examining minority life in the darkest days of Romanian Communist dictatorship is startling in itself. Research conducted in the form of questionnaires presupposes the subject’s right to free opinion and is interpreted as an accessory of democratic systems. However, the existence of the document does not mean that the intended survey was actually conducted. For Gyimesi, who was the subject of informative surveillance, in a world abounding in collaborators with the secret police, this questionnaire must have meant a handhold which should have helped her in identifying persons with similar views on whom she could have counted in the struggle against the violation of human and minority rights. This may have served as a basis – as a possible interpretation – for her efforts to recruit reliable colleagues for the editing and distribution of the Cluj-based samizdat paper known as Kiáltó Szó, which she conceived in the fall of 1988 together with Sándor Balázs, a philosopher and university professor. Out of the nine edited issues of the samizdat – which was little known even by the Securitate – only two were published, though this had nothing to do with the editors: the publishing of further issues was rendered unnecessary under the circumstances following the fall of the Ceaușescu-dictatorship.

The Hungarian Revolution of 1956 had a strong echo in Romania, especially among young people. As a result of the news about the revolt of the Hungarian students, there were student protests especially in the university centres of Timişoara, Cluj, and Bucharest, which were nipped in the bud by the repressive institutions of the communist state. These initiatives would not have happened if Voice of America and RFE had not broadcast detailed information about the Hungarian Revolution. The Mircea Carp Collection includes a black and white photo which illustrates the moment in the autumn of 1956 when Voice of America radio station became an alternative source of news to the official one concerning events in the Eastern Block. The photo was taken in the studio of the Romanian section of Voice of America during the Hungarian Revolution. In the foreground can be seen two employees of the radio station, Mircea Carp and Michael A. Hanu, reading typed materials live. In the background there is a map of the world covered by the motto: “The Voice of America – around the world ... around the clock”. On the back of the photo the creator of the collection, Mircea Carp, noted: “October 1956: Mircea Carp (commentator) and Michael A. Hanu (editor) commenting on the Hungarian Revolution”. In his memoirs, Mircea Carp mentioned about this moment that, although the Romanians who had emigrated to the West expected the USA to adopt a stronger position towards the Soviet intervention in Hungary in 1956, the American political class took a step back, thus disappointing the supporters of the Hungarian Revolution (Carp 2012, 169).

Libera lays down on the sidewalk next to a dead cat. He curls up, mimicking the position in which  the animal’s body froze.

The first impression of this black and white photo can be taking it as a dadaist jest or a nihilist stunt.
Especially that in the picture we see Libera as a young man, from the Pitch-in Culture milieu period. With a tousled crew cut (still not bald), in jean shirt and faux Ray-Bans, he has the rakish look of a New Wave band bass player, whom he used to be at the time, occasionally.

However, his face is serious, even reflexive. He has a defensive, embryonic pose expressing vulnerability.
Hommage is a tribute, an expression of recognition – one that is usually dedicated to the dead.
The artist meditates on the elusive life and the fragile bodily form of the animal. He brings it out of the negligible. Through a gesture of imitation, for a while, he levels the status of man and animal. He brings to attention the animalistic, corporeal and mortal qualities of humans as well, and of himself.

This interpretation gains gravity when we learn about Libera’s adolescent suicide attempt, about his episodes of identity crises and self-destructive acts of destroying artistic works. Furthermore, the themes of suicide, bodily practices, illnes and death are present in his other works as well.

The former Black Hole (Fekete Lyuk) in Budapest had become a legend already in its first few years of existence as the most important underground nightclub of the transition period. The building in Golgota Street originally was a community center at the residential area for the workers of the Ganz-MÁVAG machine factory. After 1945, it was operating under the name Vörösmarty House of Culture (it was a kind of a “community center”) under the oversight of VASAS, the Hungarian Metalworkers’ Federation. The basement, which served as a community bath until 1969, was transformed into a center of contemporary alternative and independent music in just a few weeks in 1988. The Black Hole opened its gates relatively late, in February 1988: perhaps this could not have taken place at any other time. Club life in Budapest was just beginning to take root, and while the plans to open the place had been drawn up in 1985, permission was granted only in 1988, when the party-state eased the pressure it had been putting on this kind of undertaking. “Adult educator” (népművelő) Gyula Nagy, the leader of the community center, ran the place.

In the initial period, the target audience was primarily a narrow circle of young intellectuals, but when a frequented punk club in the working class district Kispest closed, the repertoire of the Black Hole expanded. The club became a kind of home to several subcultures: young intellectuals who sought ways of expressing dissent, path-seeking artists, punks, skinheads, and a variety of nonconformists mingled in the smoky basement. The performers were similarly diverse. The Hole provided a platform for all sorts of upcoming bands, which was extraordinary during an age of censorship and “blacklisted” performers. In this sense, the name alternative music center stood not for a single music genre, but for the diversity of the featured genres. Numerous bands started their careers at Black Hole, and some of them even managed to acquire national or international reputations. From Auróra to F.O. System to Pál utcai Fiúk, almost everybody performed at some point in Black Hole. The place remained popular in the first few years after the transition too: a diverse array of bands performed there, such as Kispál és a Borz and VHK. Foreign bands also came to perform at the club, such as No Means No, Chumbawamba, and Fugazzi. The club quickly acquired an international reputation. In 1989, the club was on Rolling Stones magazine’s list of the 50 best clubs of the world. The core members also edited a fanzine entitled Lyukság (Hole-ness), and the constant rehearsals were complemented with other cultural programs. In addition to film screenings, literary evenings, readings, and various performances, the club also served as a site for exhibitions. Later, a studio was added to the Hole, and the Voice of the Black Hole Cultural Association helped countless bands publish and distribute cassettes.

It was essential to the spirit of the club to reject all formalities, which was evident in the looks of the club. There was not attempt to change the labyrinth of the former community bath. On the contrary, during the process of renovation, the holes and cracks were either left in the walls or even deliberately emphasized. The walls were covered with graffiti, and there were very few pieces of furniture, and they were not of a particularly high quality. People could sit on the floor or on discarded train seats. The same principles applied to rules of politeness. People could casually dance on the table, pogo, or take a quick nap on the floor, and a passing sickness did not mean much of a problem either.  Prices were low and the opening hours were long. The place was tremendously popular, and with popularity came trouble. There were fights, drug use, and deviant behaviors. Nonetheless, Black Hole was a kind of home for many young people, and in this sense, the club was not the cause of these problems. It was a place where people could find refuge from their problems, and it was also a place where they could take their problems. In addition to the many cultural programs, the Black Hole also ran a drug monitoring program. Meanwhile, in 1989, the Faith Church held ceremonies in the community center right above Black Hole for six months.

The outsider nature of the club, both in terms of content and form, drew a considerable amount of attention. The night club was presented by the press as the “gates of hell” and a “rathole.” The reputation of Black Hole as a dangerous place spread rapidly. This negative presentation was a kind of advertisement for the club, and it was also a sign of softening. While police presence was constant, it consisted mostly of a single officer, László Kerti, who spend most of his time at Black Hole as a kind of “indoor major.” The club also had to maintain daily contact with the cultural department of the Budapest Police Headquarters. It had to submit the lyrics to the songs performed by the bands, and the files on the bands under observation (Sziámi, Európa Kiadó, Bizottság, and more) and their activities at the Black Hole grew. The very existence of Black Hole was in many ways a matter of sheer luck.

This spirit of this vibrant, unique, and sometimes frightening sphere was captured by Tamás Urbán, the well-known forensic and social documentary photographer. Urbán began taking photographs there at the request of Youth Magazine (Ifjúsági Magazin, IM) at the end of the 1980s. IM was the first periodical to publish a report on Black Hole legally, and Urbán took photographs there several times after that, not so much because of the music, but because of the atmosphere. Black Hole was connected to Urbán’s major topics in several ways, not just through the various subcultures and junkies, but also through personal relationships. His photo series offers portraits of the performing musicians and snapshots of the carefree parties, offering insights into an unrepeatable, unique sphere of the age.