published in Postimees, 22 August 2023

My parents first visited the Estonian National Museum in the summer of 2020. They grasped the tiny window of free travel in the middle of the pandemic to come over from Hungary to see the country I was so crazy about. At the exhibition, I led them to an installation about the Baltic Chain. Scrolling through the pictures from their youth (in 1989 my mother was 25, my father 28), they stood mesmerized. “I had no idea”, said my father, eyes wide open. “No news of this ever reached us in Hungary.” “This is it”, said my mom. “This is what we would have needed in 1989 as well. Everything would have turned out differently for us.”

Nothing left as deep an impression on them of the entire 3781 m2 exhibition than that installation. And although I was happy to show them something so impactful, my mother’s words kept echoing in my head. What exactly did Estonians experience in 1989 that Hungarians did not? And how did it affect their lives from then onwards?

In the 80s, everybody envied Hungary in the Eastern Bloc. The “happiest barrack”, as it was called, was wealthier and freer than any other socialist country, let alone Estonia. There were no more product shortages. A regulated but strong private sector was blooming, and most people were able to accumulate wealth. By 1989, a home without a private bathroom became practically extinct, together with the sense of living in a dictatorship. While in neighboring Romania people were still shot by the secret police, Hungarians could study Thatcherian economy at Karl Marx University then go to a rock opera where the main character asked them whether they wanted to be slaves or free. “Bring the news of the new spring, fly high, free bird” – they chanted back, hands in the air.

Cathartic as it sounds, this liberty had its own caveat. Hungarians could live out their own fantasies of freedom within the framework of the system – and for most, it was enough. The relative wealth and occasional cosplaying as freedom fighters simply kept people satisfied, especially when combined with the stability of a socialist system. Hungary even enjoyed portraying itself as a freedom-fighter country in the Eastern Bloc: think of Kapten Tenkeš or the fiery poems of Sándor Petőfi distributed widely.

Of course, this doesn’t mean everybody was content. Mass demonstrations did take place, for example at the reburial of Imre Nagy in 1989, the Prime Minister turned national hero who was executed after the 1956 revolution. What many seem to not realize is that just like 1956 itself, it took place almost exclusively in Budapest. This is a far cry from the bonding experience of the Baltic Chain that stretched throughout the country and beyond. Even those in remote areas played an important part and had the chance to become history.

The rest of the country only tagged along. “If anything, we were surprised by what was happening, as it all seemed like the work of some 200 people in Budapest.” – told my mother, and she was hardly alone with this feeling. –  “One day in 1989 a man stood in the Parliament balcony and declared it is the Republic of Hungary now. And then there were elections and there were more than a hundred parties and much confusion.”

The lack of catharsis reflected in the lack of paradigm shift in the country’s political and cultural sphere. Barely anyone was tried, let alone convicted for crimes committed in the old regime. Barely anyone was removed from their position. Definitely nobody took the effort to learn how an actual democracy works. While in Estonia, Lennart Meri’s first act as Foreign Minister was to get rid of all communists and attract bright young people, in Hungary the same old people were calling the shots. So much so that at the second free elections in 1994, the old socialist party was reelected out of sheer nostalgia for the good old times.

The 1990s were a hard time to live through in all of Europe, including Estonia. But by the 2000s, Estonia was regaining stability and took off to prosperity after joining the EU, while Hungary kept stumbling from crisis to crisis. While in Estonia, roads and hospitals and a digital bureaucratic system were built, in Hungary half of the money got stolen. And I do believe this had something to do with Estonians trying to do better, while the average Hungarian was stuck in the same thinking: 1) common people hold no power over what happens in their country, 2) no matter who is in power, they’re all the same. This adds to the many reasons why Hungarians tolerate Viktor Orbán’s regime, even those who don’t like him. “At least, these thieves we already know”, many say. 

Still smitten by Estonia, my mother was educating my three younger siblings in Werner Café that same summer: without trust, it is impossible to build anything. Without trust the most you can do is survive. If you want to improve your country, you must have trust in the people you elect for government, and you must trust that if you are not happy with them, you can remove them from office. And more importantly, you have to trust your fellow citizens. Not only those you already know, but strangers, too. You must believe you both are working for the same thing. Formative shared events are crucial for this feeling of unity. Holding each other’s hands, waving the banned flag, singing the banned songs profoundly contribute to consciously abandoning the old ways.

Hungary is currently paying the price of not having put the energy into wanting meaningful change. It didn’t experience the catharsis necessary to establish trust in one another and feel united.

Three years living in Estonia, the Baltic Chain is still one of my favorite things. Not the least because it is an excellent conversation starter: I’ve never met an Estonian who wasn’t happy to talk about the Baltic Chain. After 34 years it still resonates. But just a month ago during Noorte Laulupidu many were voicing their doubts whether such display of patriotism is necessary in 2023.

If only I could show them how important these are. It is common and natural to be annoyed by your fellow citizens when they say stupid things, support stupid policies and vote for stupid parties and anyway, are taking your parking spot and mowing the lawn after 10pm. You surely feel like you have nothing in common with that stupid neighbor. But you do.

Mass events like Laulupidu, or even the memory of the Baltic Chain remind you that you have a common treasure.

What you see in Hungary now is the result of missing such shared joy.