It was 1956. In those days, nobody stole. The murderers who had left prison did not murder, the robbers did not rob. The moral level of the entire nation remained on a higher plane, everyone rose above themselves. In this aspect, 1956 was not just a republican moment in the life of Hungary, but an invigourating moral celebration as well.
Source: Monkey on a bicycle (excerpts from a memoir) – hlo.hu
All of Budapest was seething and streaming. We went back: here there were crowds, there groups of people were starting to collect. In front of Parliament: like a sea. We met up with Pista Mészáros, who informed us that all of the lectures that the Petofi Circle had planned for the following week had been delayed because of the events, but that we should most certainly come. Another clump of people came rushing towards us, breathlessly informing us that there was shooting at the Hungarian Radio building. They can’t shoot! Where’re they shooting? We were disillusioned with Imre Nagy’s speech. If a crowd is hanging on every word, don’t say that we’re going to talk everything out and then say “I am not the prime minister…” Speak to the crowd! Or don’t come out at all. I was seized with rage, because I felt that he had failed to rise to the situation, and was merely acting like a functionary. “They’re shooting at the radio building!” “Let’s go there!” We started off, but by the time we got there, the shooting had stopped. It was evening. We roamed all over the city; it was impossible to find out what was going on. Everything was in motion; the news came that the barracks had been opened, and it was possible to obtain weapons. We wandered here and there, my small daughter Zsuzsa was in the hospital battling with pneumonia; rest was necessary. We arrived home at three o’clock in the morning, slept for a couple of hours, at dawn we ran over to Zsuzsa. In the hospital, the radio was bellowing: Erno Gero was calling upon the people to hand in their weapons, with the promise of amnesty. We hurried to the university, where we were met with the news that a revolutionary committee of intellectuals was to be formed. And not long after that, Géza Losonczy and György Ádám would be arriving to give a talk. While we waited for them, I “founded” the MSZMP with Gyuri Litván in a small seminar room. I didn’t want to hear anything more about the Hungarian Workers’ Party. It was time to build a new socialist party; a completely different one. One that would begin from anew. From nothing. A virgin initiative. And one that the sins from the previous decade could never cling to …
Translated by: Ottilie Mulzet