You Will Be a Witness My friend Joska Szilagyi had to be executed without delay. Even though the trial was behind closed doors, a man so impulsive and so uncompromising could not be allowed to stay on the team. Szilagyi had to disappear, and the judge had to be replaced. Not only was Rado gravely ill, he was unpardonably soft to boot. The authorities decided to kill two birds with one stone and appoint a firm-handed man named Vida as judge. He would make his debut with my friend Joska alone. If he managed to get Joska hanged without too much fuss, he would have passed his test and would be a good candidate to preside over the new Nagy trial. The man studied the result of the investigations for fifteen days. He was a peerless jurist and a faithful Communist. Before the war, he had served several years in Horthys famous prison in Szeged. After he had studied the documents he asked to see the justice minister, Ferenc Nezval. They knew and liked each other. They had been together all their lives in the movement. Feri, old friend, said Vida. Ive got bad news for you. Oh? The Nagy material is worthless. What are you talking about? Ive studied it for fifteen days. I know it by heart. Not only is it impossible to convict him of anything serious, there isnt even material there for a trial. The justice minister went deathly pale. He stood up. Tunis - because of his dark complexion, Tunis was Vidas nom de guerre during the partys illegal phase - you are mad. The Russians will hang us side by side. Tunis looked at his friend. He was an anonymous soldier of the Communist movement just like his comrade, the minister. He knew as well as the minister that, in the movement, an order was an order, especially when it came from the Soviets. Theres no point getting upset. I thought you were asking my legal opinion. Feri Nezval had acquired his university training only recently. The man had been a simple artisan faithful to the party, but he had good judgment. During the summer of 1956, at a party celebrating Nagys sixtieth birthday, he had come to shake the old leaders hand, although he knew, as did everybody, that AVO photographers were collecting shots of all the visitors from the windows of the house across the street. Obviously, the Russians had a complete set of photos. As for Vida, his relations with Joska Szilagyi were widely known. The two men belonged to the same party cell, and the two families mingled socially. After Joskas anti-Rakosi speech at a party meeting, Vida had kissed him in front of everybody, congratulating him for his exemplary courage. So the minister was quite right to remind Vida, Youll go along or the Russians will hang the two of us side by side. Vidas final test was scheduled for April 23, 1958, the date of Joskas trial. He had already had a warm-up during the writers trial. Apparently without any valid grounds, he had condemned the old novelist Tibor Dery to nine years in prison and the Communist dramatist Julius Hay to six years in prison. This time, he was to impose the death penalty against a friend simply because the mans existence irritated the Russians. The thing had to be done quickly. On the morning of April 23, I was taken from my cell to an office set up specially as a hearing room. My investigator was waiting for me in the corridor. You will be a witness. In what? In the case of your friend, Szilagyi. I couldnt believe my ears. Szilagyi is one of the accused in our group. Have you separated him from us? Dont ask useless questions. You will go before the court and you will respond to the questions the judge asks you, thats all. I was led into the improvised hearing room. I saw Tunis behind the desk and my friend Joska Szilagyi on the bench of the accused. For an instant, I thought to myself, this is a joke, its a reconstruction of a party meeting. Then Vidas voice brought me back to reality. Defendant Kopacsi, you are here as a witness. You must say what you know, first of all concerning the anti-party attitude of the accused. I looked at Tunis; I looked at Joska - two destinies flying off in opposite directions. I felt like saying, Listen, Tunis, dont be an idiot. You know him as well as I do, our friend Joska is the most upright man and the best Communist ever to walk the earth. Instead, I said, Yes, as far as I know, Joseph Szilagyi was opposed to the views and methods of the former first secretary of the party, Matthias Rakosi. Vida grimaced. He didnt like my answer. No matter. The thing had to be finished on the double. He gave the floor to Joska. My friend approached the witness box. He was very close to me, so close that I could feel the warmth of his body. He looked at me for an instant. His expression was inscrutable. He spoke slowly, seriously. The former first secretary of the party, Matthias Rakosi, was a shady politician, in the sense that one talks of a shady banker or an unreliable doctor. He wasnt a Communist any more. He had degenerated for the same reason that the leaders of the fraternal parties have degenerated: allegiance to a foreign colonial power, that is, Soviet Russia. I order you to be silent, thundered Vida. It was as if Vida hadnt spoken. Joska continued without even raising his voice. A flunkey with bloody hands that is what our Matthias Rakosi had become. Just like Janos Kadar, the new usurper of the Hungarian party. Silence! I forbid you to.... Joska looked at the judge and raised his voice. Mr. President, peoples assessors. It is possible to be a Communist without spilling blood, without destroying the dreams of mankind. I deeply believe that. There was silence. Then Joska continued. He spoke very quietly but we could hear all the inflections of his serious, ardent voice. It is to illustrate that truth that I am going.You who stay behind: get rid of the Russians and their methods. That is the first step to take on the road to the rehabilitation of a movement that has been sullied but still can become a great force for the good of humanity. The verdict was pronounced that night: death by hanging. Joska refused to ask for clemency. I dont want to breathe the same air as the executioners of my people. Through his lawyer, he asked for death by a firing squad instead of hanging. Vida rejected the request on the grounds that Hungarian penal law prescribed the rope. That same night, Joska was transferred to the Budapest central prison. Until dawn, he wrote his wife a long letter that she would never receive. On April 24, 1958, early in the morning, he was led to the gallows that had been set up in the prison courtyard. He climbed the scaffold, head high, declaiming, Long live free and independent Hungary! Obviously, I was too dumb to understand immediately the meaning of Metelkas latest maneuver. In the morning, he arranged for me to get croissants. Half an hour later, I was brought to his office where he received me with a serious expression on his face. Sandor, your daughter is better… What! What is wrong with my Judith? I stammered. Your daughter is particularly subject to the fear that she feels because of... because of your future. He didnt want to say another word. Because of my future? I didnt have any. From the moment that I was arrested by the chief of the KGB, imprisoned and charged along with Nagy, Szilagyi, and Maleter, my future had been identical to theirs. They had committed no crime and neither had I. We were toys in the hands of a foreign power that would decide our fate. I said as much to Metelka, who became unusually talkative. I dont agree, he said. He stood up and stepped to the front of his desk. Your case is not completely identical to those of the other accused, he continued. It was the first time I had heard this subtle distinction. It is difficult to suppress the beating of a heart that, despite all the reasons advanced by the brain, begins to hope to live. My dog, Tango, jumped for joy in the little scene that suddenly lit up my imagination. I saw my daughter running behind the dog and Ibolya calling to her to be careful not to trip on the stones in the garden. Mammy was embroidering on the terrace. The sun was shining. No, your case is not completely identical to those of the other accused, continued Metelka in an inspired tone. From the top of his desk, he lifted a bundle of papers that I hadnt previously noticed. Do you know this manuscript? The manuscript had a title, but from four meters away, I couldnt make it out. Here, Ill pass it to you, said Metelka. It was a copy of Morals and Ethics, by Imre Nagy. Do you know it? Yes. Is it really the pamphlet that Imre Nagy had secretly circulated at the beginning of 1956? Look at it closely. I opened the manuscript, glanced at the pages, and answered: This is the manuscript that I read. But it did not circulate in secret. From what I know, Imre Nagy had it sent by mail to the members of the Central Committee of the Hungarian party so that they would be familiar with his ideas at the time that Rakosi had him excluded from the Central Committee and the party. He even left a copy at the Soviet Embassy addressed personally to Andropov. Metelka let this remark pass and offered me a cigarette. You know what you are going to do? You are going to read this text again. I will give you enough time. Im curious to know if after the events of October you will appreciate it differently. Read it, read it calmly. I read it calmly, becoming more and more absorbed in what I was reading. Little by little, I came to forget where I was and why; I was listening avidly to the words of my compatriot who, for the first time in the history of the Hungarian Communist Party, was saying out loud and intelligently what was cockeyed in the workers movement, and was proposing a way to remedy it. Morals and Ethics meant, in Nagys mind, Communist morals and ethics. He deplored the replacement of such morals and ethics by pragmatism. He spoke of the deep disappointment of hundreds of thousands of militants who, having been filled with hope when they found a movement wherein ethics dominated, saw their hopes dashed as the years passed. What followed was even livelier. The changes that had occurred over the years in Communist practice had led to a wide separation between words and acts, had created a gulf between principles and their practical realization. This contradiction, wrote Nagy, shakes the popular democracies [the Soviet bloc countries] to their foundations. Did I read these words differently now than before the events of October? Yes, Mr. Investigator. I saw them with a new eye. I saw them lit up by the thousand spotlights of the revolution. Metelkas seedy office disappeared. I had been set free, liberated by the crystalline thought of a great man. The manuscript spoke of the changes undergone by the Communist power. It was the debasement of this power that had led, in June 1953, to the troubles in East Berlin and elsewhere. It was the abuse of this Communist power that had triggered the uprising of the prisoners in the Vorkuta camps in the Soviet Union and had sparked resistance movements in the industrial centers of Hungary. Communist policy was detached from the people. Not only the middle classes but the working class as well were filled with doubts. And Imre Nagy rang the alarm. He wrote: To serve the interests of the people, to serve socialism, progress, and the national well-being, it is impossible to rely on the force of bayonets. Socialism and dictatorship do not make a good couple. Tyrant and people arent made to go together. The owner, the master of a country, is the people and no one else, no matter what label the tyranny wears. We must democratize! There is still time for the popular democracies to prevent a general crisis for their regimes by taking energetic measures of democratization. Tomorrow? If these measures are too late in coming, it could happen that the very principle of a state-controlled structure will come under question. I heard, almost physically, the tocsin. To arms, to arms, cried Nagy. Act quickly or else therell be an uprising. Rather than wishing for violence, as his jailers claimed, a year before the uprising this man was recommending a way to avoid it. I began to rethink the sometimes confused events of the last year. I saw myself and my comrades who thought as I did exchanging doubts. We had wanted what Nagy had wanted - to repair the party from within in order to avoid a catastrophe. It was for this reason and no other that we had talked with Nagy about change; it was for this reason that we sought out Janos Kadar. Both party leaders recognized the same danger. I saw the words too late shrouded in cries, smoke, and human blood. Because Nagys warning had gone unheeded, the nations youth rose up, Stalins statue was destroyed, and the tyrants troops entered our land. And what do you think of this sentence? Metelkas smooth voice interrupted my thoughts. He pushed another Nagy manuscript under my nose, entitled The Five Principles of International Relations, in which the agent had marked several lines in red. Read. I read: The people cannot be free when the nation is not in possession of all its sovereign rights - just as any national sovereignty is illusory without the full enjoyment by the population of all rights and liberties. What sublime words. What do you think of it? I am….captivated by it. Hold on, hold on. Read this sentence, underlined in blue pencil. I read: The material destiny of a people depends on its national independence: a country without independence is a population without well-being. Do you understand, Kopacsi? All the criminal policy of neutrality is present in embryo in that sentence. Look at the date on the manuscript. It was January 1956. A month before the famous Moscow congress that heard the secret report on Stalin. Nine months before the Budapest uprising. More than twelve years before the famous Prague Spring. Two decades before the appearance of Euro-communism. A great Communist leader of central Europe, in solitude and obscurity, was crying out the truth about the perils of allegiance to Moscow. And now he was in prison and was going to die. This time, we took a different direction. We were paying a visit to the upper echelons of the administration of Fo Street prison. Colonel Shumilins office was in what was known as the presidential wing of the prison. We entered and I found myself in the presence of the senior members of the team charged with managing the trial. The Russian officer was seated behind his desk surrounded by his closest colleagues: to his right was Colonel Ferencsik of the Hungarian AVOand to his left the bilingual Colonel Rajnai of the KGB. All three were in civilian dress. Nobody was smoking. The atmosphere was tense. Shumilin gestured to the guards, who left silently. The Soviet officer took off his dark glasses, and for an instant I saw his steely blue gaze riveted on me. He motioned to me to approach. Kopacsi.... He pronounced my name with a Russian accent so that it came out Kapassi. That was how Iemelianov had pronounced it and Andropov, Petofi, and Magyar-Miska, the Chaplinesque counselor to the police department. Shumilin put his dark glasses back on and made a barely perceptible gesture to his Hungarian colleague, Ferencsik, who said: The colonel knows who you are. He considers you a victim of circumstances. This was typical of a Stalinist trial: the alternation between torture and kindness - one day the threat of death, another the promise of life; a cold shower, then a hot one. I said nothing. Ferencsik then got to the reason why these superior officers had summoned me: Look, Kopacsi, you must recognize one thing: if you are here, its because of Imre Nagy. The Russian eyed me over his dark glasses. The Hungarian continued: I see at least two reasons why Nagy is responsible for your situation. The first: his so-called theoretical writings, dressed in Marxist clothes, dazzle you. The second and by no means less important reason for your presence here is that your Imre Nagy refused our outstretched hand when he was at the Yugoslav Embassy. He had been called on to perform self-criticism of his theoretical views and his practical activity so as to be able to participate once again in public life. He refused. Later, in Romania, officials of our party visited him, in the persons of Dezso Nemes and others. (Dezso Nemes - known as six-finger Nemes because of a malformation of his hands - was a second-rate civil servant, one of Rakosis buddies and an overt KGB agent generally detested by party cadres.) The colonel continued: From Imre Nagy, yet another refusal. He didnt want to give up his theoretical positions, and he refused to renounce his role before and during the counter-revolution. If he had done so, today he would occupy an important role in the government and you would not be in Fo Street awaiting the serious verdict which is inevitably going to be pronounced against you. Colonel Shumilin, the representative of the Soviet Union, and us, we would like to know your reaction to what you have just heard. Yes. Deep down, I regretted just a little the old mans intransigence. If, despite everything, he had accepted this six-fingered hand…. An instant later, I got a grip on myself. Imre Nagy could not renounce his life and his work. A step on the road to concession and, doubtless, he would live. But what is a life of dishonor worth? After a cataclysm such as we had lived through, it was natural that the Janos Kadars would appear as instruments of Russian normalization. It was no less necessary that there be Imre Nagys, Maleters, and Joskas to give their lives for principles that would emerge again one day in the nations political life. Myself, I had chosen to share the fate of the latter group. The six-fingered man appeared almost materially before my eyes. With an instinctive movement, I turned away. Shumilin, who was staring me, sat up straight and whispered several words to his intermediary. Colonel Ferencsik said: The Soviet comrades think you neednt give an immediate response. You are going to be led back to your cell and you will reflect on what you have heard. The guards appeared behind me. They led me through the labyrinth and back to my cell. It wasnt yet 7:00 a.m. The black brew they called coffee hadnt yet cooled off in the mess tin. It was clear that the Russians were trying to cut me off from my comrades. This was part of the Stalinist rite of having one or two persons in each batch who would add a bit of variety to the proceedings, alleviating the monotony of all the other cases of absolute guilt. A deceived worker: that was a role perfectly suited to someone like me. I was built for it. Hadnt Rakosi asked Hazi, his minister of the interior, before appointing me police chief and colonel, Is he tall? Is he Aryan? (He hadnt thought to ask if I had a brain or was of good character. For the lords of the movement, the worker is a two-dimensional caricature.) This was the role imagined for Kapassi by Moscow. What do we do with Kopacsi? Well, he can be the deceived worker. His head is going to fall, just like those of the others, but his testimony would bear witness to the nature of his class: workers, people without gumption, destined to fall in the enemys traps as soon as they turn their backs on their true leaders. I had nothing but contempt for this sinister farce. A year and a half in solitary confinement, Joskas heroic attitude, the greatness shown by Imre Nagy, because of all of these I had resigned myself to the idea of death. During the sessions of the inquiry, Metelka sometimes repeated in an inspired tone that all the penalties wont necessarily be capital, that some of the accused would get out of this. But this was no longer having any affect on me. The dog Tango no longer appeared in the company of my daughter and my wife. I no longer imagined Mammy sitting in the sun. I was resigned to death. I anticipated the sentence that I was going to say at the crucial moment - Long live Hungary, long live the working class. By tying my shirtsleeve around my neck, I tested the sensation of the slipknot compressing the artery. I imagined a hundred times the brutal dislocation of the first vertebra and the severing of the spinal cord at the neck. I had seen executions during the war; I simply told myself that my time had come. October 1956 had been eradicated from history. Now it was the turn of those who had been part of it. The thing happened without any transition. From one day to the next, the guards began to bring us beautifully prepared dishes, not from the officers mess but from Budapests best restaurants. Chocolate croissants with jam in the morning, roasted meat at noon and in the evening, fresh fruits, and Viennese pastries. We were being fattened up, and we would soon understand why. On the fourth or fifth day of this gourmet diet, the duty guard brought a glass containing a suspicious-looking liquid. Whats that? A tranquillizer. Until now, weve been getting tranquillizers in the form of pills. Why in liquid now? Dont ask so many questions, Kopacsi, drink. Youre not the only one to get this. Your comrade Imre Nagy has already drunk his without making a fuss. Of course, Nagy had taken his without making a fuss. For months now, hed been used to a steady diet of pills, tablets, and drops for his heart. At the age of sixty-two, he had already suffered two coronaries. The beverage had an indefinable taste although it smelt of valerian. A few minutes after drinking it, I could feel myself soaring. I forgot all my cares. I saw myself stretched out on my stomach on a hillside, a valerian blossom under my nose. I slept peacefully. In the morning, the guard had to shake me by the shoulders to wake me up. In other circumstances, I would have been reprimanded. This time, he didnt say anything, but handed me the same drink as the previous evening. My head was still buzzing. From outside the cell, I could hear snatches of quarrelling. Their lousy medicine wasnt being enthusiastically accepted. Drink, said the guard. And to encourage me, he added, Tomorrow is the opening of your trial. The guard, who had been ordered to say nothing to the prisoners, told me it was June 8, 1958. Nineteen months and three days ago, Serov had arrested me, stamping my deputys card under his boot. The guards made a tour of all the cells, exterminating the bugs that infested the beds. Other guards I had never seen before arrived with dark, carefully pressed suits and ties. These were hung up in the corridor, just outside the cells. Immediately after breakfast, I was taken to see my lawyer. Bajor had a strange manner about him that Id never seen before. As we were supervised by the same AVO guard who had been present at our first meeting, Bajor confined himself to confirming the official date for the opening of the trial: it was indeed for tomorrow morning. Several times, Bajor yawned conspicuously. I looked at him in astonishment. In an utterly urbane tone, the lawyer excused himself. Excuse me, dear friend; Im not used to sleeping on camp beds. The guard pricked up his ears. Confine yourself to the facts. Bajor nodded in agreement. He had made me understand what he wanted me to know, He, like the other defense lawyers, had been confined since the day before, required to remain for the duration of the trial at AVO headquarters. Immediately, I understood that my wife could not be aware of the opening of the trial and that the country was unaware of the presence of Imre Nagy in this Budapest jail. I also understood that my death was imminent. Now, listen to me, said my lawyer. I saw again on his face this strange expression, a combination of embarrassment and triumph that I had noticed in the first minute of our meeting. The man looked at me closely and lowered his voice. We should plead guilty. When you are alone, in solitary confinement, for a year and a half, the first human being that you meet makes such an impression that you would swear that you had known him from childhood. Laszlo Bajor was an honest man of noble ideas and he respected me. If he was now taking the initiative of suggesting to me so unexpected a change of strategy he must have very serious reasons for doing so. The AVO agent was listening intently to our words. There was one question to which I desperately wanted an answer. But the others? What are the others doing? The agent got up and came close to us. My defender gazed penetratingly at me and replied: Be assured you wont be the only one. On the advice of their lawyers, Janosi - Nagys son-in-law - and Donath, his close adviser, are also going to plead guilty. Comrades Nagy and Maleter will plead differently. But I know that they wont hold it against you, Janosi, or Donath if you plead guilty. The AVO man intervened. I suspend the interview. Bajor stood up. My friend, you are making an irreparable blunder. As Colonel Kopacsis defender, I am charged by the partys highest leadership to communicate instructions to my client. Remind me of your name and position so that I can raise the matter in front of Comrades Kadar and Munnich. The guard turned crimson. I said to myself, Bajors going a bit too far, before it hit me that he wasnt talking to the guard, he was talking to me. Kadar and Munnich werent interested in an AVO noncommissioned officers blunder. I realized that, for a reason unknown to me, the two leaders of Hungary were concerning themselves with my personal case. The unhappy guard didnt know how to undo what he had done. The interview was suspended. Bajor picked up his things, turned to me, and said before going out: Dont worry: youll see your northern homeland that you love so much….and which loves you so much. Then he left. I didnt have to be a Sherlock Holmes to understand that something had happened in the north, in the industrial region where a good number of key positions were held by my old comrades from the Resistance. In the Kopacsi case, a turnaround was in progress, independent of anything I had done. Ten minutes later, I was taken to see Metelka, who looked at me knowingly. I told you that you would live. I knew from long experience not to take anything the AVO said at face value. But still…life. Life. I was thirty-six and had been certain my days were over. Suddenly, I had reason to hope Id been wrong. The investigator told me what I had to do. Listen, Kopacsi. No one is asking you to accuse your friends. You would certainly refuse to do it. The only thing the party asks is that you recognize your guilt. But….guilty of what? Of not having understood what happened in October 1956. So here we were at the same point where Shumilin and his aides had left me. They had never asked for my answer; they simply assumed I would agree to their proposal that I play the idiot worker who, by mistake, had fought on the wrong side of the barricade. I saw myself in Imre Nagys place, in his cell in Romania. I heard the voice of the six-fingered man making him the same proposition. Nagy stroked his moustache and wiped his pince-nez. Calmly, he shook his head. No. I am not going to lend myself to this shameful comedy. Tell those who sent you that Imre Nagy, Prime Minister of Hungary, member of the leadership of his party for twenty years, accepts his responsibilities. Ive lived sixty years. Ive always fought for the workers movement. What I have done, Ive done with full knowledge of the facts. You must stop trying to treat us all as if we were children. No. Im not a child. It was I who said that, sitting across from Metelka in the little office in Fo Street. Metelka clasped his hands together. But who told you that you were? Hundreds, thousands of people make mistakes. All it takes is an ill-digested pamphlet, a poorly understood speech, and there we are in a state of total error. He came close to me. Give up the role of hero. Thats all we ask of you. And your life will be saved. He had already pressed the bell. The guards appeared. I was led back to my cell. And your life will be saved. Did I have the right to play hero when my hero, my model, Imre Nagy, wasnt asking it of me? Anyway, my ideal was destroyed… I was given the drink. This time I swallowed it without protest. I was back in the meadow on the hillside. I sank into sleep.
Posted on: Tue, 30 Dec 2014 17:55:56 +0000
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