Race in this Place

I was teaching an English lesson when the film Munich came up in conversation. I said I liked the film very much. One of the students said they thought it was okay, but you could tell it was made by one of those people.

Odd, right?

I’ve become obsessed with racism of late, not angered by it, or at least no more angered than I used to be. I just can’t stop thinking about it. This has a lot to do with the newness of the brand of racism I’m witnessing here in Hungary. I won’t say it’s better or worse than what I know from the States. It’s just different.

Anti-Semitism is rampant. People spit out the word “Jew” with distaste. The example with the Spielberg movie is only one of many instances when I saw an “us and them” attitude that rubbed me the wrong way.

Dora is half Jewish, on her father’s side, and she and Lili are often upset (but no longer surprised) by the comments they hear in bars or on public transportation. I asked Dora what she thinks the Jewish population did to earn this ill will. I know, loaded question, but I enjoy the role of Devil’s advocate. Dora told me it was jealousy. People think all the Jews are successful, and since the Jews are outsiders, that success is being stolen away from the real Hungarians. It sounds like the “Mexicans are taking all our jobs” logic, but here in Europe the roots dig deeper. This, I think, can be credited to the kind of Nationalism that people in the States have trouble understanding.

There’s a joke:

A little baby mole is digging around underground when something strange happens. He runs out of ground to dig. He has come up to the surface for the first time. He calls out to his mother, and he asks her, “Mom, Mom, what is that big blue space up there that seems to go on forever?” The mother replies, “That’s the sky.” The little mole says, “Wow. It’s beautiful. And Mom, what is that huge yellow ball up in the sky shining down on everything?” The mother says, “That’s the sun.” The little mole says, “Amazing. And Mom, what are those huge green giants standing up tall from the ground?” The mother says, “Those are trees.” The little mole says, “They’re wonderful. Mom? Why don’t we live up here instead of digging through the dirt all day?” The mother takes the little mole by the arm, yanks him back down into the hole, and she tells him firmly, “Because this is your home, and you like it!”

When I tell that joke to Hungarians, they laugh out loud. I laughed too when I heard it, but I wasn’t laughing from a personal place, like you do when a joke really hits home. I was laughing as an outsider seeing the humor, but not feeling it.

Nationalism is a strange thing. Hungarians who feel comfortable with me will often ask why on Earth an American would want to live in Hungary. They see their country as poor and problematic, no place for someone from the West. Don’t mistake this for an inferiority complex, however. The same Hungarians who ask me that question will be the first to point out that the world would be a complete mess without the many invaluable contributions made by the Hungarian people. They will argue, in fact, that if you consider the entire 1000 year history of the nation, Hungary is probably one of the most influential nations in the western world.

I often walk away from these conversations thinking that that first question, the one asking why I would want to live here, is something akin to an invitation to leave.

The Hungarians, not all of them, but certainly a good number of them, want Hungary to be a place for Hungarians. They’re angry about the number of Chinese immigrants and the inexpensive goods those immigrants sell at the no-frills markets they set up (of course, that doesn’t stop anyone from shopping there). They are upset by the Africans who come here to study, and to make their way into the more prosperous parts of the EU. I have a Nigerian student who was told to go back to where he came from. I almost laughed before I realized that the phrase “Go back to Africa” isn't really cliché over here.

Something I find particularly interesting is the attitude toward the Muslim people. There is not a strong Muslim population here, nothing like Western Europe. And as a result, there isn’t much anti-Muslim sentiment. Of course the more ignorant people think, “They’re all terrorists.” But that’s true everywhere. The reason I find this interesting is how clearly it illustrates what is already evident. People need a tangible thing to hate.

That simple and, I’ll admit it, obvious point explains a lot of motivations behind the current state of affairs in the world. Extremist clerics have to dig up Danish cartoons to drag the EU into the East-West battle they want to stoke. Danish cartoonists have to draw sacrilegious images to drum up readership in a country where the extreme-right is gaining ground. The US has to brand the Iraqi insurgents as terrorists because that’s the only enemy the voters understand as tangible. The Iraqi political parties fan the flames of tribal warfare, because political stability may dissolve their grip on things. And that doesn’t even include Nigeria, Central Africa, Darfur, Sri Lanka, Kashmir, China, or South-East Asia. These people wanting power simply point to an ethnic group and lay the issue of the day on that group’s shoulders. It’s a cheap shot, but cheap shots work.

Here in Hungary, like I said, the Jews take a lot of shit, but it’s the Gypsies that really get it.

People hate the Gypsies over here. I mean really hate them, like think of them as subhuman. And a lot of these people are very open about it.

We have a cleaning lady (which is weird for me, since I’ve never really had a cleaning lady). Her name is Margitka [quick Hungarian culture point: Margit is the Hungarian equivalent of Margaret. The –ka makes the name diminutive, and the Hungarians use the diminutive with everyone]. Margitka is a gypsy. She’s worked for Dora’s family for years. She’s an unbelievably cheerful woman. She talks a lot, all in Hungarian, and she is certain that I can understand every word of it. The first time she came to our new apartment, she brought her brother to help her clean the windows. We asked them to leave the keys in our mailbox. They did. When we got home one of our neighbors stopped Dora in the stairwell. He told her that he “almost caught the thieves”. Dora was confused. The man explained that two thieves were doing something to our mailbox. When Dora told him that they were not thieves, that they were cleaning people the guy told Dora, “But they’re Gypsy. Can’t you see that?” Dora assured him that we could see that, but he wasn’t convinced. Why would we allow those people in our home if we knew they were Gypsy?

This attitude rears its head in a lot of situations. Hungary’s poor economic status: Gypsies on welfare. (Never mind the clear examples of government corruption at every level from Parliament to law enforcement.) The petty crime problem: Gypsies. (Of course, the Hungarian and the Ukrainian mafia are active, but forget about that.) The garbage in the streets: Gypsies. (See entry for Feb. 16^th)

Yeah, so in Hungary the need to pin problems on a tangible minority is normally an excuse for apathy. But for me this little fractal has pointed to how troubling this laziness can become.

So, now you know what’s been on my mind.