# alien privilege (2)



## psyche's release (Oct 15, 2008)

part two ...

As a fairly a-political American expat, I realized – about a month ago – that I have no idea what’s going on in their country. In my adopted country. My realizations are coming slowly, although the crash-course I’ve had has been intense. If I introduce the topic to my students, entire class hours disappear; textbooks lay neglected on the table. 

MSZP is the Socialist party, and the party in power. They must be good. Because socialism is the pole that draws my logical magnet. The opposition party – Fidesz – is conservative, and conservative is bad ... right? 

I’m learning that this is not necessarily true in Hungary. Like everything else – from theater and literature to mathematical sensibilities – politics in the new Europe comes in a mildly absurdist flavor. They’re reinventing reality, practicality – and democracy. 

Gyurcsány – the prime minister – resembles Harry Potter, but his wizardry lies in his ability to look more like George Bush on paper. The socialists are republicans, and the conservatives act like socialists. When I got on that plane, I didn’t really go to Hungary. I went Through the Looking Glass. 

I don’t recall celebrating the day Hungary threw off the shackles of communism, but that might be because no “celebration” happened that day. No rallies. No parades. No speeches. No fireworks. No riots. But since September 2006, there have been about a dozen demonstrations in the streets of Budapest, each coinciding with a national holiday commemorating a failed revolution. The irony is not hard to spot. 

The “Cause” that’s getting people into the streets isn’t affiliated with either of the major political parties. The driving force is a collection of far-right leaning, often militant groups who seem to speak more to the frustrations than to the collective social conscience of the Hungarian people. They speak loudly, and give the disillusioned, effectively disenfranchised public very big sticks any chance they get. 

As a freelance English teacher, I won’t, generally, have the opportunity to meet “those people” – the demonstrators. By definition, Hungarians studying English are not good nationalists. Right? So I went out to Blaha Lujza square yesterday, on March 15th, to feel them. What sort of person becomes a fascist? Is it some kind of genetic defect? Missing chromosome? Biological anomaly? Are they monsters? I can explore these questions here in a way that I could never in the States. At a traditional KKK or *********** rally in the U.S, I would not only be sniffed out immediately as a “bleeding heart liberal”, I would also have a hard time concealing my contempt. My dismay. 

“If you can’t say something nice, don’t go to the party.” So I never did. But in Hungary I have Alien Privilege, since I have no personal stake in the Hungarian reputation. Objectivity follows. It is possible to observe, and to realize that “those people” are, in fact, just people. As long as I don’t open my mouth and actually reveal myself as a foreigner. (Although, again, once I say that I’m a writer interested in the Hungarian Condition, I am welcomed, treated to a drink, and regaled with opinions.) 

I miss out on a lot of the goings-on in “real world Hungary”. I live in a spacious, gorgeous apartment in an historic and vibrant, up-and-coming neighborhood. I don’t sell flowers in the metro to supplement my pension. My resources are, of course, limited – and I have trouble with finances, but that has more to do with being hopeless with money than with any lack of income. The majority of my friends are expats who apparently lead equally magical, self-created lives. My Hungarian acquaintances are primarily my students, who are paying for English lessons to help them along in their professional careers. They feel empowered to push their lives forward. Our struggles and problems – our mutual and personal complaints – are afflictions I might have fantasized about – could only have aspired to – as a child/product of the welfare ghetto in the States. So I think I know, if only generally, how the majority of these unhappy Hungarians feel. 

The people I teach do not go out and march. They are too busy leading fairly successful and fulfilling lives; they don’t lend themselves to “hopeless causes”. To a man, my students do not understand the protestors. And the funniest thing is ... they don’t generally vote with the two major political parties, either. They’re more liberal. Maybe their version of protesting has to do with making their way in spite of the government. 

I do think that by standing out there and listening to the speeches, by eavesdropping on the conversations of people as they walk the streets, I’ve been able to draft a more complete picture of the situation in Hungary as a whole than I ever would be able to imagine by simply sitting in a pub, waxing idealistic and philosophical with members of the intellectual class. Maybe I’m a dilettante. But I’m a dilettante with empathy, dammit. 

Sidi laughs every time I bring up the subject. He has a LOT of opinions, and he is not shy about them. He’s not some run-of-the-mill, 8-hour-a-day professional example of a Hungarian, either. He’s a top 40 pop sensation. (Record sales in Hungary put his band at #4) Not only that, he is a leather-clad and dreadlocked, guitar-shredding, Nü Metal Rockstar (soon to be discovered), with the actual autograph of Slash (ex-Guns and Roses) tattooed on his arm. He is Hardcore. 

And still – he is affected by contentment. His life is a-typical of any American Superstar – we usually meet in the coffeehouse around the corner from the guitar store he owns and works in. People recognize him occasionally. But mostly, he lives a regular life as a business owner – he has a wife who works as a graphic designer, and lives in an apartment they just bought and renovated so that the former kitchen is now a bedroom. So now they have two rooms. And his favorite television show is Friends. 

“What is their major malfunction?” he asks, being able to keep a mischievous twinkle in his eye while looking perplexed. These protestors make absolutely no sense to him. “What do they really have to complain about? I don’t get it.” 

Barbara pays me $23.50 to spend 90 minutes a week gossiping about guys and discussing one of our mutually favorite topics – new age philosophy. She doesn’t have time to worry about politics. She’s in the same boat as everyone I talk to – adrift in an ocean of contented apathy. She works for a major television network, and worries about who she might settle down with, when she’s ready. There is no sense of the End of Days in her cozy, recently-constructed apartment. 

“WHY? Why do they do this?” She asks, and then admits, “There are so many things wrong with this government.” 

So we have a vocabulary lesson about apathy. 

“How many voters does it take to change a lightbulb?” I ask. 

After I explain the context and set-up of the joke, she gets it. “I don’t know,” she says. 

“Zero. Because voters can’t change anything.” 

I read the joke on the Internet – and it was directed, specifically, at American voters – but she laughs. 

“Exactly.” She doesn’t think there will be a change in the Hungarian governmental system – that things won’t be good – until a woman is elected prime minister. “Maybe in ten years. I mean, look at Pakistan. They had a female prime minister ... and they are a Muslim country.” 

“Barbara?” 

“Yes?” 

“Benazir Bhutto was assassinated.” 

“Why can’t they assassinate Gyurcsány?” She’s joking. Kinda. “Having a woman in charge will be the only way to have the change we need. Rioting won’t do anything.” 

Earlier today, I had a class with Adrienn. Her theory is that people are bored. She has a full-time job, a family, and is pursuing a master’s degree part-time. Maybe the reason these people are protesting is that they simply don’t have enough to do. 

“You mean because they’re unemployed?” I ask, a bit sardonically, thinking about statistics. 

“Well, that.” She nods, thinking. “But also, they don’t have any interests. When I’m not at work, I’m studying or learning something. I have hobbies. My family. Things that keep me occupied. I’m too busy to worry about protesting.” 

She thinks that people who go to protest marches are generally frustrated, angry individuals who want to break things. Smash store windows. Burn cars. And she’s right, to an extent. Some people who go to protest marches, obviously, are looking for an excuse to be vandals. To kick some ass. 

After the tear gassing, during the demonstration, my companion and I headed in the same direction as a largish group of people – into a “bad neighborhood” – the 8th district. (Incidentally, we were headed in the opposite direction of the original intention of the march – which was to the Palace of Fine Arts, where Gyurcsány was attending a party.) We were walking alongside a couple of young guys who were physically agitated. They weren’t sure what was going on anymore, or if any action was going to happen. One of the guys was obviously nervous, washed in the anticipation of finally being able to Smash It Up. He tugged nervously on the dormant, dejected balaclava around his neck. 

“Where are we going?” he asked his friends, 

“The 8th district, I guess,” one of his companions answered. 

He didn’t understand, at first. “The 8th district?” Nothing important happens in the 8th district. But then he seemed to remember something ... “relevant”. 

“Ah, yeah – the gypsies live there.” 

God help us.


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## Trope (Oct 18, 2008)

I wish I had something useful or relevant to say or add or critique about this except that it's written in a fashion above my skill level. 

Thoughtful, engaging, and curious. I wish I could write as well as you, but I suppose for now I'll just settle for subscribing to your blog. Thanks for a great read.


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## Ogion (Nov 1, 2008)

Like the first part. Captivating, insightful piece.

Ogion


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