Caught In The Middle

Thirteen years ago, in 1997, we lived in Budapest, in the district of Újpest, at 63 Munkásotthon utca. It was a special time in our lives and one that I have many fond memories of. Or at least I do now! Our apartment, on the third floor, was the base from which I began my exploration of Budapest, and Hungary. From this address we would walk the kilometre to the main underground railway station at Újpest and then onto to Budapest and beyond. Now, through the wonders of the Internet I can see again the apartment building we first lived in and take the same walk to the underground railway station.

I have been waiting for Google Streetview to “arrive” in Hungary but I now see that eXtreme Soft Group S.R.L , a Romanian company, is providing the first “street-level imaging” service for Eastern and Central Europe. I can re-explore the streets and places I once did all those years ago. The world has shrunk indeed.

For a full-screen view click on the small red square in the top right-hand corner of the photo. You can explore from this link as well: http://www.norc.at/pano/gVTYmF4k/.

You cannot write a history of the twentieth century and not mention the lifetime achievements of the Hungarian who is the subject of the third in this series: Edward Teller. He, along with the physicists Leo Szilard, Eugene Wigner, and mathematician John von Neumann, unleashed the power of the atom in a way that changed the world for ever. Teller, widely regarded as the “father of the hydrogen bomb” was at the very epicentre of those early days of atomic, then hydrogen and finally nuclear weaponry. While all played their part, Teller was perhaps the most ardent of the proponents of this type of weaponry and indeed all things nuclear.

He was, like his Hungarian colleagues mentioned above, scientifically brilliant: but he was also a difficult person to get along with and in his dedication to his ideals broke many friendships. His legacy is in some ways ambivalent: Dr Isidor I. Rabi, a Nobel laureate who worked on the Manhattan Project in World War II, called Dr Teller ”a danger to all that’s important”, adding that ”it would have been a better world without Teller”. A harsh judgement to be sure, but one cannot discount the importance of his work in ensuring the West was the first to have atomic weapons and in ensuring their continued military and scientific leadership during the Cold War.

Edward (Ede) Teller was born into a prosperous Budapest family in January 1908. His family was not untypical of Budapest at that time: both parents were Jewish, and both were from “greater” Hungary: his father was from Érsekújvár (now Nové Zámkj in Slovakia) and his mother was from Lugos (now Lugoj in Romania). His childhood and early school years were, by all accounts, not that happy. He was, for example, teased at high school for being “too bright”.

He was close to his mother (who moved, along with his sister, to the United States in 1959, thanks to the efforts of Edward). But those were also turbulent times: the World War, the disintegration of Hungary, Béla Kun’s short-lived revolution and the violent reaction that followed. I doubt many Hungarian children growing up in that era had a particularly happy time.

As soon as he turned 18, Edward went to Germany to study for his doctorate. But by 1933 it became to clear to him that as a Jew, Germany, and indeed Europe was no place for him and like so many others, he emigrated to America. His childhood sweetheart, Augusta Mária Harkányi, affectionately called Mici, eventually joined him and they were married for sixty-six years.

Understandably these upheavals made a deep and lasting impression on him. He remained a bitter opponent of all totalitarian regimes, be they fascist or communist, and with his fierce independence and determination, he was not prepared to stand on the academic sidelines while the great ideological battles of his century unfolded and played out. His family suffered while in Hungary. His brother-in-law died in a concentration camp in 1945. His mother and sister were internally exiled in 1950 and returned to Budapest, having lost everything, in 1953. Edward never forgave the communist government for these actions against his family and it only served to strengthen his determination.

In 1938 Teller entered history, as he liked to joke, as Leo Szilárd’s chauffeur. He was referring to the occasion when Szilárd and Wigner were driven by Teller – the only one who owned a car – to see Albert Einstein and persuade him to write to President Roosevelt and advise him that not only was an atomic bomb possible, but it was imperative that America act quickly to develop one. The letter would lead to the eventual formation of the so-called Manhattan Project to develop the world’s first atomic bomb. Some have argued this letter was the most important of the twentieth century: perhaps somewhat of an exaggeration but the role these three Hungarians had in persuading the greatest scientist of his epoch to write to Roosevelt and thereby prod the United States government into action, is undeniable.

In 1943 Teller joined the Manhattan Project, led by Dr J. Robert Oppenheimer to develop the first atomic bomb. It should be added that it was Leo Szilárd who provided the intellectual and theoretical impetus to this project. The first successful test on 16 July 1945 in the Nevada Desert, at a place called, curiously, Trinity, did indeed signal a new world: the genie had been unleashed and could not be put back in the bottle. The world had undeniably changed forever.

Teller then embarked on a project to develop the hydrogen bomb, a device that would be hundreds of times more powerful than the Nagasaki and Hiroshima blasts. However, this set him firmly against Oppenheimer, who was just as intense and obsessive as Teller. Oppenheimer would have none of Teller’s ideas regarding them as unworkable and indeed unnecessary, and given the enormous destructive power that would be inevitably unleashed on civilian populations, immoral. He remarked, “God protect us from the enemy without and the Hungarian within!”.

Their clash would reach its peak at the so-called Oppenheimer Hearings in 1954. This was the height of McCarthyism and the Cold War. Oppenheimer was anonymously accused of being a Soviet spy and his security clearance was called into question. Teller testified and while agreeing that Oppenheimer was not disloyal to the United States, he did suggest that he personally would feel “more secure” if such vital public matters were in other hands. The authorities agreed and Oppenheimer was denied his security clearance.

A great cleaving took place in Teller’s life at this junction. Many of his colleagues were dismayed at his actions, accusing him of putting personal power and ambition before the loyal and talented Oppenheimer. The rifts would slowly lessen over time but for many in the scientific community Teller had become persona non grata. This hurt him and Mici a great deal and her health suffered badly.

For the rest of his life Teller continued to be an ardent supporter of all things nuclear, being – among other things – the chief proponent of the anti-missile Strategic Defense Initiative, popularly known as ”Star Wars”. He would become an easy target for the “mad scientist” stereotype with his accent and bushy eyebrows helping to reinforce this image. Indeed, he was also rumoured to be the inspiration for the character of Dr Strangelove in Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 satirical film of the same name. He bristled at that suggestion!

After 1989 and the fall of communism, Teller often returned to Budapest, the city of his roots. He died in 2003, aged 95, having earlier that year been awarded America’s highest honour, the Medal of Freedom.

It is often said that two of the greatest gifts parents can give their children is roots and wings: roots to know where their home is and wings to take what has been taught them and exercise their imagination and talents. Szilárd, his colleague, long-time friend and fellow Hungarian once said “I would rather have roots, but if I can’t have roots, I shall have wings.” Teller certainly took all he learned in his beloved Budapest and soared above his century.

First up, this book deals with a very important issue: the rise of the far right in Hungary and the potential danger it poses for both Hungary and the wider European Union. The premise of this political thriller is what if the Nazis had actually won World War II and had spent the subsequent decades building an infrastructure based on such things as a common currency to manipulate the political and social forces to support the current rise of far right political parties in Europe. An intriguing idea, and one that does resonant with what is happening in Hungary today, including the increase in anti-Roma prejudice, virulent antisemitism, and the rise of para-military organizations like the Magyar Garda, here named the Pannonia Brigade. These are important issues that need to be confronted and addressed. Any student of Hungarian history should be concerned at the rise of the far right and the blatant and unashamed prejudices exhibited by far too many politicians in present-day Hungary. The issue here is does this work of fiction deal with these issues in a worthwhile and effective manner. Is this novel the best way to raise awareness of these vital issues? In my view, this novel fails to do so effectively and is a flawed attempt to confront these issues through the vehicle of a political thriller.

There are several reasons for this point of view. One is the writing which, in my view, is overly explanatory. By that I mean, appears written for those who know nothing of Hungary and therefore needs to explain everything as if the reader is completely ignorant. For example, the Ngyuti railway station is referred to both by its Hungarian name and its translated name, the Western railway station. It is either one or the other. Likewise the the use of accents on Hungarian words is inconsistent. For example, the main character’s grandfather is written as “Miklos” where as the poet of the same name is correctly referred to as “Miklós Radnóti”. Silly, I know and the author indicated that this was due to the cost of publishing. I accept that cost is a factor but it is symptomatic of poor editing throughout the novel. For example, YouTube is written as “You Tube” and the Russian composer is referred to as “Rimsky Korsakov”, without the hyphen. Again, the author said these were simple errors and should as such be over-looked.

Another example of this “over explanation” was the author’s need to explain exactly what a “honey trap” was. Well, any reader of spy thrillers should know what this refers to, and if they don’t, it should be inferred from the text. Instead the author feels the need to spell out, through one character’s conversation, that it is, “When one side uses a sexually attractive woman to ensnare a target, either for purposes of blackmail or to extract information”. I don’t recall Graham Greene or John Le Carré having to be quite so obvious in their explanations.

It may sound like I am more critical of the editor of this novel, rather than the author. Perhaps, but it is the author who takes the brickbats or bouquets, so he is ultimately responsible.

I was also intrigued by the inclusion of a select bibliography at the end of the novel, as I was with the inclusion of a section entitled, “Staying Anonymous on The Internet”. Does this suggest a desire to inform as much as to entertain? It struck me as odd and unlike most novels I have read.

But a deeper criticism is the underlying assumption of the novel: that is, that a small, dedicated group of nazis somehow manipulated economic, social and financial events for their nefarious purposes. For example, the Euro, or common European currency, is portrayed in this novel as a tool in the nazis’ attempt to control European affairs to their advantage. How different is this from the view of the far right who blame the woes of Hungary on a small, cabal of “cosmopolitans”, i.e. Jewish, financiers? The view that a small group of individuals, be they nazis or Jews, somehow control and manipulate modern day commerce and politics is, in my view, absurd. In a curious manner, the author almost gives credence to world-view of the far-right by positing that the opposite is true: we are being manipulated by a small group of fascists, rather than the view of current day European fascists that we are being manipulated by a small group of “cosmopolitans”.

As I say, the issues raised in this novel are very important and need to be confronted. But as a work of fiction, The Budapest Protocol is, in my view, fundamentally flawed and should be judged accordingly.

The Budapest Protocol, by Adam LeBor.
Catalogue Details

Title THE BUDAPEST PROTOCOL
Author Adam Le Bor
Price £11.99
Publication Date May 2009
ISBN 9781906702120
Format Trade paperback
Classification Fiction
Extent 235 pp
Rights English language X Canada

The last time all four of us were in Budapest was over three years ago. We had decided that we would see the sunrise above Budapest, the city we first learned to love, as a family, ten years earlier:one of those “must-do-101-things-to-see-before-you-die” experiences. It is the middle of summer, July, so we rise and leave our Socialist-era apartment on Dr. László Csányi Boulevard, as it is grandly called, in the town of Vác, some 35 kilometers north of Budapest,  in the darkness before dawn. We are headed for Gellert Hill which, as any and every guidebook will tell you, “offers the best panoramic views of Budapest”. Or more precisely we are headed for the Citadel on this hill, a place embedded in the consciousness of all the city’s residents because the Hapsburg’s built it, after the Revolution of 1848-49 had failed to overthrow them, to overlook the city, and fire at will on its inhabitants, if it was ever required to do so again. The views are stunning regardless. We travel in the growing light and it soon becomes clear we will arrive just after the sun officially rises over Pest.

Nonetheless we arrive and the Citadel is deserted. There are many memories here: the time we took my Hungarian Mother-in-law here on her last day in Budapest before she would return to New Zealand never again to see this city, the heart of her homeland. Or the time we stood on a sixth-floor balcony directly opposite the Citadel, in Pest, on a glorious evening on August 20th 1997, and saw a fireworks display that took our breath away. So we feel we are on almost sacred soil here. We pass the sleeping guard and the signs that say not only are photographs forbidden, but also that this place is guarded by dogs.  We ignore these signs.  The Citadel is ours and ours alone. It is too early at 5:00am for any one else but us and a sleeping guard. For a brief half hour or so, it remains our playground. In a few hours busloads of tourists will ascend the hill and they will enjoy “the best panoramic views of Budapest”,  just as promised in all the guidebooks.

We make shadows. To remind ourselves that even though we truly blessed to be here, as the sun rises above the Danube, and the cities of Pest, Buda and Old Buda, there are sins of the past and future this land and this city have suffered, and are yet to suffer.  At least, that is what I tell myself.

This is the first of series of articles in which I will look at the lives of famous Hungarians.  What do I mean by famous?  I mean those Hungarians who made a contribution beyond their shores and who influenced the world in some significant manner in science or similar field.  I guess you could say it those lives made a difference to others.

I have chosen as the first Hungarian live to examine that of André Kertész, one of the greatest photographers of the 20^th century.  He is regarded as a seminal figure in the development of the documentary style of photography, or photojournalism, the telling of everyday life of everyday people.  The 20^th century is really the democratic century: the time when the “common man” would find his true place.  The photographer who captured and echoed this imperative best and led the way for all photographers who followed was Kertész. His career as a photographer was the longest of any of the greats of the last century and there is no other who has some many great photos whether, portrait, still life, landscape or abstract.

There was a peculiar Hungarian quality to his work; there is a romanticism lyricism in his photos that echoes the Hungary he grew up in: both in Budapest where he was born and in the countryside where he spent many happy days. Kertész was a poet in the great Hungarian tradition, but he was a poet of light; he created images of simple, everyday life and objects that constantly reveal themselves to the viewer, that draw you in to the photo and transport you, mysteriously and dreamily to another world.

Take for example, the photo Montmartre, taken in1927.  We are looking down some stairs, the shadows of the railings casting peculiar, disparate angles, unsettling the viewer. At the bottom of the stairs, beside a lamplight, sits a man, waiting: what for we can’t know, perhaps a beggar waiting to accost passers-by, perhaps just a man, tired and watching the world go by.  A woman is walking briskly towards the steps, striding forward.  She seems almost to be veering away from the man, as if sensing danger.  There is a feeling of menace in this photo.  We can only imagine.  The light, the diagonals, the everydayness of the scene is pure Kertész: the photo touches our heart, our spirit, our mind. Pure poetry.

Were did this genius spring from? Kertész was born at the height of the golden age of Budapest, in July 1894. The city he grew up was bustling, prosperous and confident. Everywhere you looked there was energy, excitement, in the cafes, along the tree-lined avenues, the ring roads, the promenades along the Danube and in the vibrant buildings that sprung up celebrating its Hungarianness and a thousand years of history.  This was the city of Krúdy, Ady, Bartók, and Molnár. Of Hungary’s seven Noble prize winners, five were born, like Kertész, in Budapest, between 1875 and 1905. Kertész first picked up a camera as an 18 year old and would spend the next ten years developing his craft in Hungary, capturing light and the Magyar world in which he inhabited.  His early photos are of village life, of the puszta and of his beloved Budapest.  His unorthodox approach, his experimenting with angles and light also began here. Take for example, his Underwater Swimmer, Esztergom, 1917 which he took while recuperating from wounds suffered while fighting on the Serbian front.  Here we see light, distortion, irregularity, yet a lyricism and softness, all traits of Kertész.  At the age 23 he was a fully mature photographer, confident and certain, his genius already formed and evident.

In 1925, with a social and political climate unsympathetic to artistic creativity, he moved to Paris and like many other Hungarians saw in this city echoes of their own Budapest.  In Paris he experimented with distortion, his nudes in particular. But he captured Paris and the life of the artists, all brimming with new ideas such as Surrealism and Dadaism.  This spilled over into his own work, including a series of distorted nudes that broke new ground. The Fork, or La Fourchette taken in 1928 is one of his most famous from his Paris years.

His profound lyricism found its truest expression in the photos of him and his wife, Elisabeth. She was the love of his life and they were together for nearly all of their adult lives.  Perhaps his most profound picture of the two of them is entitled, Elisabeth and I taken in 1931. The full-frame version shows him sitting beside Elisabeth, his arm around her, his hand resting on her shoulder, while he looks adoringly at her. She however is looking straight at the camera, as if accepting that her world is also the world of the camera.  While moving and tender in itself, Kertész took the photo one step further by cropping it.  Now we only see the left side of her face, staring at the camera, and his hand on shoulder.  This has been described as one of greatest photos of the bond between a man and woman. Its strength and beauty lies in its utter simplicity.  But I think only of Ady and his great love poem, I guard your eyes/ Őrizem a szemed when I look at this photo.  As I think Kertész must have too: This is a Hungarian love poem created with light. When Elizabeth died in 1977 he reprised this photo (titled For Elizabeth) by photographing the cropped version of the photo and adding a wreath around his hand on the original photo. You can almost feel his grief.  With my old man’s wrinkled hand,/with my old man’s squinting eyes,/let me hold your lovely hand,/let me guard your lovely eyes.

In 1936 Kertész and Elizabeth moved to America.  The storm clouds of Fascism were growing darker and there was less and less work available for such an innovative and apolitical photographer as Kertész.  His Jewish background did not help either.  For many decades he would not receive the recognition he had in Paris and he spent years working as a freelance photographer for magazines such as Look, Harper’s Bazaar, Vogue, and Town and Country. He regarded these as his “dead” years, describing his work from 1949 until 1961 as “worthless hackwork”. He retired and embarked on a series of personal projects; including photographing the view was is the twelfth-story Fifth Avenue apartment.  He was angry at being ignored and misunderstood He was after all, a European, steeped in the language and art of the Old World, and not in the brash, commercial, yet prudish world of America.  He was bitter at his lack of recognition. But such was his strength, and talent, that he resurfaced in his late sixties and started to receive the recognition he richly deserved.   His photo Washington Square is classic Kertész, unorthodox, lines and angles with a single figure, alone, going somewhere.

My personal favourite from his latter years is Martinique from 1972. The composition is simplicity itself, the view from a balcony looking out to sea, the photo divided by the frosty glass door, behind which we see a dark, mysterious figure, matching the mood of the dark clouds and the slightly angular horizon.

He would visit Hungary again in the 1980s shortly before his death in 1986 at the age of 91.  The photos from that time show the same love of the everydayüness, the landscape and the people.  By this time he had received the recognition he deserved; prizes and accolades poured to him. The New York Metropolitan Museum of Art purchased 100 prints from him in 1984, the largest ever acquisition of photographs from a living artist by a museum.  Andre Kertész is now regarded as a great artist of the 20^th Century, a genius who captured the essence of the everyday life in a unique, yet Hungarian manner.