Martin Simecka, a Slovak and former editor of both Sme and the weekly magazine Respekt, says the new laws are intended to show Hungarians living in Slovakia that they are second-rate citizens. They are meant to feel afraid. And they do. Three ethnic Hungarian high school students I met in Bratislava said they are now scared to speak Hungarian on buses, that they are wary of giving their Hungarian-sounding names, that they would not make cellphone calls home in Hungarian, and that they are worried when they see Slovak-flag-waving young men. But not one of them has given a thought to moving to another country.
Book publisher Szigeti’s small office is not far from historic Michael’s Gate in the Old Town of Bratislava. He publishes in both languages, and his friends are members of both communities. His family is from Dunaszerdahely; he defines himself as Hungarian, though he was born after the Second World War in Czechoslovakia. “My life’s purpose, if I may say so without becoming pompous,” he tells me as he leans back against the wide bookcase displaying both Slovak and Hungarian titles, “is to hold a mirror to each, so they can see how they seem to the other.” Though it has become a Sisyphean struggle, he is sure it will, eventually, succeed.
Ethnic Hungarian parliamentarian Miklós Duray is not so sure. In recent years, he says, many Slovak politicians have chosen to fuel anti-Hungarian sentiments—a useful political ploy, especially during recessionary times, to unite the electorate for their own gains. But the battle for Hungarian minority rights—their own schools, newspapers, books, street signs—has been ongoing since 1920. Indeed, Duray was arrested in 1982 for his human rights activities, including organizing to keep what rights the Hungarian minority had during the Communist regime. In his book Kutyaszorító (Choke Collar), he writes about the indignities of house searches, beatings, and the terrible boredom of 470 days in jail.
More recently, Duray has been in trouble for labelling Slota’s party as fascist three years ago. He was convicted of sullying its reputation. His apology was written in Hungarian; now the party wants it reissued in Slovak, and he is being threatened with a $50,000 fine. But Duray is not about to give up now that Slovakia is a self-declared democracy. “The right to free expression has been used here to express hatred,” he says. “To unite a people, what is simpler than to identify a common enemy?” The good news, Duray says with a smile, is that in his view, “Slovaks do not have a natural antipathy toward Hungarians. In time, they may decide to change governments.”
Hedvig Malina, in the meantime, completed her degree, married her ethnic Slovak boyfriend, and gave birth to their healthy Slovak-Hungarian baby.
Anna Porter, the author of Kasztner’s Train (2007), is currently researching a new book about central Europe.
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