Volume 8 Number 3

Summer 1999

Feature

Eastern Europe After Kosovo
     The Two Halves of Our Souls
     Peter Nadas

If we believe the printed words in his opening address at the Berlin Arts Academy, Gyorgy Konrad, the universally acclaimed Hungarian president of the academy, called those who do not share his opinions rhinoceroses. He thinks the idiotic politicians are in need of intellectual guardians; that the 19 member states of NATO are waging a sinful war against Yugoslavia; and that those who approve of this are SchreibtischtŠter [armchair perpetrators]. They look into the mirror in the morning but in vain. They cannot see the horns that have replaced their noses.

I was not surprised by Konrad's competent judgment and the self-assurance to which it attests. Still, I was surprised at the lack of protest by members of the academy. I have no reason to doubt that all those present were committed democrats. But I cannot easily imagine a situation where not a single democrat stands up in opposition, if, for no other reason, then simply because such talk is contrary to his or her taste or sense of balance. In this case, Konrad's words provoked cheerful laughter in the audience.

If I had been present at the speech, it would have been difficult for me to forget about-and with such cheerfulness-the millions of people whose autonomy was revoked ten years ago, who were bombed in Lubljana, slaughtered in Vukovar, Dubrovnik, Sarajevo, shot into mass graves in Srebrenica, raped and expelled from their homes, and are being expelled in Kosovo at this very moment, whose documents, money, and jewelry were taken away from them-all because they are not Serbian. Had I been present at the speech given at the academy, it would have been even more difficult for me to ignore all this.

My colleague and compatriot's forgetfulness was not news to me. In her article in Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (May 5, 1999) Herta Muller mentions that Konrad simply forgot what he said in essays a few months earlier. For ten years now I have been watching with alarm and in silence as Konrad-the once famous Hungarian proponent of human rights, the foremost enemy of state paternalism and state tyranny, the person whose most attractive quality was his readiness to ask first and make judgments later, or to question his own assertions with due diligence and accuracy-became the prisoner of his own paternalistic dreams, seeing that he does not listen because he knows nearly everything and because others tend to say stupid things anyway. And so it happens that occasionally he snoozes a little in public. Or it happens that he can foresee the future. Even before his Berlin address he warned viewers of Hungarian state television that those politicians who supported this sinful war would not be around for long.

Setting aside my personal opinion on the Kosovo war, or even whether I can make any meaningful utterance on this matter, I do not think that majestic verdicts, good-humored comments, or doubtful prophecies could replace arguments and counterarguments. This is an important methodological question. Paternalistic discourse has a long and noble tradition, but if we stick with it, we might risk a return to old ways of thinking about problems-the ways of oppressive regimes.

I would not blame Konrad for talking to people among whom he is popular. We are all timid and vain creatures who cherish, who pine for, approval, for unanimous assent, for the warmth of the flock. Nevertheless, I think I can still stick to my methodological maxims. I plan to write to the Berlin Arts Academy and tell them that I cannot accept their invitation, an invitation I had previously accepted, to their fall session. It is not their opinion but their cordial unanimity that I find rather repulsive. I have no intention of reading at their gathering. I do promise, however, that there will be no reference to a sudden illness in my letter.

But having sent this letter, I still must face the real question. I do not understand how this president, with such a long experience at this job, with such an almost universal knowledge and foresight, could spend his nights in peaceful accord with himself, so much so that in the morning he cannot see anyone, no one, in the mirror. In fact, he should see two faces. Or three. It is a challenge to bring Konrad's different opinions into sync.

A few months ago, the very president who now calls me a rhinoceros deemed it necessary for Hungary to join NATO. So far, so good. He hoped for some slight advantage, some sense of security for his country. A man of such sound judgment could not think Hungary would enter thereby into a chorus of pacifist virgins. What is more, he did not make this suggestion as a writer thinking in public, he made it as a politician.Gyorgy Konrad is not simply a private person. He is not only the president of a German academy but he is as well an elected member of the Alliance of Free Democrat's national council. As such, surely, he must bear political responsibility, he must be accountable to someone. I don't understand how he can speak as if he were not one of his party's most influential members. Or, at least, in case he can foresee an imminent end to the political careers of those who support NATO bombings, in case he is aware of the little time left for them, why doesn't he warn his friends in his party out of the simple goodness of his heart, if for no other reason? Or, again, in case he warned them of his change of mind, of his sudden transformation from a bellicist into a pacifist, and still, they were stubborn enough to stick to their previous judgment, and went on supporting the war, why did he not leave his party? Or at least the supreme body of his party? Why did he not quit with a blaring public announcement? The official position of the Alliance of Free Democrats is exactly the same as that of the German foreign minister with whom he picked his quarrel.

Gyorgy Konrad's self-promoting one-man show is somewhat less coherent than Peter Handke's self-promoting one-man show. Anyway, a one-man show requires that one do and say extremely surprising things under any and all circumstances. As for this requirement, they both did fine. Nevertheless, I don't find these shows very funny and not only because they both have such a large audience.

These shows exhibit one half of our souls. They put on display the mind of a whole European era that is not necessarily a thing of the past. They show how deeply convinced European egotism feels, this egotism enamored of its own glamorous self-assertion, when it defends its positions against the idea and the necessity of a democratic European integration. They reveal what a tough school our own egoism is. Perhaps, while I would still try to opt for historical responsibility for, and solidarity with, the victims, they already know better. Perhaps they are the realists, not me. They see more clearly than I that what the European Community recoils from is not so much the bombings and terrible sight of bombing victims but a more sober calculation concerning the costs of democratic European integration and the contributions they would each be required to make to foster it. Should democratic opinion decide that the price is too high, they will go back, after this bloody adventure, to their good old separatist traditions. And then we can again travel anywhere, even to Serbia, to listen to the murmuring voice of clear spring water, or possibly to attend yet another conference.

The national socialists of Europe are waiting for precisely this moment of weakness. Isvtan Csurka in Hungary, Vladimir Meciar in Slovakia, and Gheorge Funar in Romania are all waiting for this moment.

Konrad's intentions are quite understandable. His argument, however, is a farce. What kind of pacifism supports the stronger party against the weaker for the simple reason that there is one military power in this world that is even stronger than this strong one? What kind of pacifism is this, if its logic contradicts the Universal Declaration of Human Rights? The declaration prescribes not that we look for a tribunal, for some entity on earth that would sanction intervention against the tyrant, that would perhaps, for a reasonable price, even take care of the whole thing, sparing us the efforts. The declaration prescribes for each of us to oppose the tyrant, even if such a tribunal does not exist.

This appeared in Elet es Irodalom on May 28. Peter Nadas is among the most acclaimed living Hungarian novelists. His books have been translated into most European languages, and The Book of Memories was just released in the United States. Nadas lives and works as a writer in Gombosszeg, a village in southern Hungary.

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