Bogáta Timár

published in Postimees, 31 July 2022

I like being a Hungarian in Estonia. Two and a half years after having moved here, I’ve always felt welcome. Estonians not only appreciate my efforts to learn their language and culture, but they often welcome me as vennasrahvas. Many, especially in the older generation, tend to have fond associations and a sometimes startling amount of knowledge about Hungary, and almost everybody has sporadic memories of Hungarian history from their textbooks. Which is very flattering. Yes, I am from the nation of authentic gulyás, horse riders, freedom fighters and Kapten Tenkeš, and yes, in my language gumimatrac means kummimadrats.

However, another thing that keeps coming up when my nationality is brought to light is politics. Estonians generally lack the condescending tone that most Westerners and Americans would have in the matter, but still they do ask: what happened to Hungary? What’s going on there and why?

I appreciate the genuine concern of Estonians, which is somewhat unique to the world. It is the concern of a distant relative, towards someone like an eccentric uncle they might have even used to look up to. Now the eccentric uncle seems to have succumbed into an embittered, paranoid, conspiracy theory-binging internet troll that is awkward to be around. Just a few days ago (23.07.2022), Viktor Orbán in his annual speech in Tusványos, Transylvania, made points about racial purity, the sin of mixing races and the decay of the West that would make even Varro Vooglaid blush. (update: he did not blush.)

So really, what happened to Hungary?

This is a story that I’d like to tell in the future, as this is a much longer story than the one of Orbán and his reign. 

I believe current Estonia is what Hungary could have, and should have become after 1989. After regaining independence, it went straight West. It didn’t try to be “exceptional” or “mediate” between the Eastern and Western world, nor did it go down the pretentious path of “neutrality”. It invested in the social sphere, such as education and healthcare, the results of which are clearly showing today. It most definitely doesn’t revel in some kind of lost glory, nor does it believe the world owes it some kind of justice, which would have been a terrible trap to fall into. One of the things I most appreciate in Estonian society is its forward-thinkingness. Estonians feel responsible for their country and are not waiting around for somebody else to save them.

In contrast we, Hungarians, the people of hot paprika and freedom fighters, have always felt a massive amount of hubris. This sentiment of lost grandeur and being wronged by other nations prevented us from transforming into a democratic society in those early days of freedom, which resulted by missed chances, neglected social sphere and rampant corruption. But more was lost than money: Hungarians lost their faith in democracy. This, added to the exceptionality complex, was perfect soil for Orbán’s regime to thrive on, and by tapping into our worst traits, he managed to sicken Hungarian society into their current, mildly fascist state. Even those who resist the system. No matter how one tries to shield themselves from the regine, the surrounding society will inevitably affect them.

Recently I got interviewed by an MA student at Skytte Institute researching how people’s political thinking changed after their move to Estonia. During this conversation did I realize what fundamentally changed now that I see the world from a 1000 km distance further up North. I’m not the person I was when I moved here.

First, I became much less exposed to Russian propaganda. By the time I left the country, I hadn’t been consuming Hungarian state media for a decade, which is now pouring unfiltered Russian propaganda on its citizens. (They call the Russian advancement in Donbas as “liberation” unironically, and quote separatist leaders as “experts”, to just name a few examples.) Yet, even the remaining independent media seems to be confused about what Russia is and does. Hungarians don’t understand Russia the way the Baltics or Poland does, and are hesitant to use the harsh language it deserves. As a researcher of Finno-Ugric peoples in Russia who has seen one or two things there, and heard one or two stories, I am almost certain that back home I would have lost my mind in frustration. I am humbled and grateful to live in a country that is not afraid to call a dog a dog, and continues to do so in international platforms.

Second, I re-learned how to be a citizen and mend my relationship with politics.

I often hear Estonians complaining about their politicians. Reform is too dominating, Isamaa multiplies by division, Kesk is inconsistent, SDE is snowflaky, EKRE says outrageous things. (My favorite has to be homoteerull.) Yes, Estonian politics can be frustrating and complicated, but what people tend to forget is that politics is meant to be frustrating and complicated. That’s much better than simple and straight. However annoying one’s unfavoured party is and however dumb their voters seem, Estonian politics still mainly revolves around actual issues in current reality. Whether it is about Russian-speaking schools, nuclear plants or where to put the new Südalinna Keskus in Tartu, these issues are openly debated, in conversation with the citizens.

This is not the case in Hungary. In Hungary, decisions are made long before they are presented to the public. The only thing they do is wrap the decision into some makeshift ideology (usually along the lines of “protecting” the citizens from whoever they declare enemy). If it’s a hard sell, they can always blame Soros. There is no public debate. Nobody has a say. There are no coalitions and barely any consequences of mismanagement or corruption. For a politician to resign, they have to be caught naked and high on drugs, hanging from a drainage pipe escaping a homosexual orgy in Brussels in the middle of the pandemic. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, google József Szájer.) In Hungary, politics are simple and straight and it feels like a prison.

Democracy is a fragile thing. It doesn’t come by itself when a dictatorship ends. It first has to be learned, and then constantly cultivated, even when it feels like a burden. No democracy is bulletproof, and one of its best poisons is the hubris of believing “it can never happen here”. I’ve been listening to that lie for 12 years and it always happened. Hungary’s story is not unique and unrepeatable: all that needs to happen is to lose faith in democracy, and someone interested in playing king will surely show up.

I didn’t move to Estonia because of the economic prospects, e-residency, startup culture or Nordic comfort. I moved here because I wanted to live in a healthy society, interested and invested in its own well-being. To live somewhere, where, as my mother put it when she first visited me, you can smell the freedom in the air.

published in Postimees, 20 August 2022

On 20 August, coincidentally, Hungary and Estonia both celebrate a national holiday. The two holidays cannot be more different than each other: one celebrates the creation of its thousand-year empire that still stands in the embrace of the Carpathian Basin, the other its last secession from an empire – now is its 31th anniversary. Flags flutter on the streets of each country, concerts and parades are held, fireworks are shot.

I always watched with envy how proudly Estonians display their colors. They seem to be everywhere: on cars, bags, jewelry, clothing and home decor – Estonians seem to be happy to fly their flag just whenever and wherever. Even in nature, you can’t escape it: blue, black and white seem to be formulating everywhere one gones, be it the winter forest or the seaside, and if they’re absent, surely some roadside rukkilill and flying sparrows will substitute them.

You wouldn’t see such an abundance of Hungarian colors in Hungary, and even where you did, it would mean something totally different from national unity. Like many things, this is rooted in the Soviet times, and later perfected by Orbán’s government.

Back in the days of the Soviet occupation, the Estonian flag was banned. The original flag has a romantically fascinating story of surviving in a chimneyway in the countryside, and in the 80’s, displaying the flag was a sign of open rebellion. If you flew them, you had guts. It was a tool to rise against the oppressive system.

In Hungary though, our flag was always red-white-green. After 1949, a Soviet-style coat of arms was placed in its middle, which was cut out during the Revolution of 1956, creating the famous new symbol of the flag with the hole in the middle. In later times of Socialism, Hungarians were free, even encouraged to celebrate their national holidays, wear their national symbols, and Üles, madjar! Kodu kutsub. Aeg on käes – kas nüüd või iial! was recited together with Nüüd üles, keda needus rõhub, nälg, orjus ikkes hoiavad.

Most Hungarians don’t feel the way Estonians do about their flag. However, we have the kokárda, the red-white-green ribbon knot in memory of the 1848 revolution. It is worn on 15 March, when people pin the knot on their lapel to remember their rebel ancestors. I remember anticipating this day, when I can display nationality, and feel united with my fellow Hungarians. Then came Viktor Orbán.

In 2002, a right-wing civil organization started a movement, asking “true patriots” to wear their kokárda until election day, 7 April. That civil organization clearly meant Orbán’s party, and a person wearing a kokárda became an unmistakable sign of a Fidesz voter. On the streets, at the workplaces the population was visibly split into two distinct groups: one that was wearing our unifying symbol of revolution, and one that was not. Fidesz lost those elections, but my mother hasn’t worn a kokárda ever since.

In 2010, after the definitive victory of Fidesz, began the loud monopolization of patriotism: when Orbán won, he renamed almost all state institutions with something starting with National, and declared his aspiration to be the prime minister of all Hungarians. Though sounds noble, it quickly became clear what he meant: instead of trying to appeal to all citizens, he planned to define who counts as Hungarian.

If you listen to Orbán’s speeches, he never talks about his voters. He talks about the Hungarians. If he wants something, the Hungarians want it. If he wins, the Hungarians won. If he loses, the Hungarians are under attack. In his speeches he describes Hungarywith loving words as the warm, welcoming, fuzzy place you can always return to, where you are understood, the one you can always call home.

But what about those who didn’t vote for him? Are those millions not Hungarians? Are they against Hungary? Are they traitors?

By now, most of them feel excluded from their nation. They might not feel so, had kokárda not become suddenly Fidesz, had nation not become suddenly Fidesz. There are no alternative ways to love your country than the version that is offered to you. Through the billboards and the leaflets and the propaganda media, the message couldn’t be clearer: if you are not with us, you are against us, therefore you are against Hungary.

There are always parties who try to sell themselves as “true”, or “better” patriots who are somehow more worthy to carry the national flag. However, most parties in the EU simply don’t have the power and resources to perfect it like Orbán did. I can tell its consequences though.

According to a 2021 survey, two-third of young adults who are dissatisfied with the government (and only about 25-30% of them support Fidesz) are planning to leave the country. This is by far the highest in the region. And though it might not be the decisive factor, feeling unwelcome in their homeland surely helps them make the move. It definitely helped me. Some are simply heartbroken for being labeled unpatriotic, some, like my mother, can no longer identify with our symbols, some even grow hostile to their own nationality and reject it.

I stubbornly refuse to let any government hijack my nation’s colors from me, and I wear them proudly whenever there is a reason to. Whether I like it or not, I am a Hungarian, and on days like 20 August, I try to remember all the good things that come with my nationality. Last year though, I started to wonder: what message does it convey to carry a Hungarian flag on your chest in Estonia? Does it make the implication that I support the current Hungarian government and its deeds? Does that imply that I may support EKRE?

Last July, while campaigning for the Presidency, Henn Põlluaas was flying a Hungarian flag next to his podium in Tartu. Why? He didn’t talk about Hungary on the spot, nor was it a national holiday or any celebration. Later that day, Delfi published an explanation as it was a symbol to show support for proceedings taking place in Hungary. Here in Estonia, my country’s flag became Orbán.

Of course, this is EKRE. Many of its members have expressed their admiration for Orbán and his politics. Though I disagree, I would never doubt these people’s love for Estonia. But there are very few things that can harm a nation more than robbing a vast amount of its citizens from their patriotism. In that sense, Orbán’s Hungary is not the role model – it’s the most cautionary tale.

One’s national identity is a deeply personal thing. This is why politicizing its symbols – flags, knots and cornflowers – works. They can be symbols of unity, as well as division. In Estonia, they still symbolize unity. I hope it stays this way.