“What’s a Jew,” asks Szintia, a seven-year-old. Mária. Her mother, to whom the question was directed, doesn’t bat an eyelash when she replies.
“Jews were a people and are also those who follow the Jewish religion.”
At seven Szintia is influenced as readily by her peers as her family, so her mother’s words still carry some weight. Maria doesn’t ask where the curiosity came from, nor does she have to. Zsidó, the Hungarian term to designate a Jew as well as the follower of the religion works as an adjective and a noun. Both are used as insults, or at the very least to denote a negative trait. Ne legyél olyan zsidó translates roughly to ‘don’t be such a Jew,’ and is as easily dropped into conversation as any of the myriad swear words Hungarian is (in)famous for. It is not surprising that a seven-year-old was exposed to the word. The real surprise lies in her confusion at why this would be an insult. What her mother does not mention is that Szintia has Jewish blood herself.
“It would be too confusing,” are her words. “And besides, she doesn’t look Jewish.”
In Hungary, optics are of utmost importance. Not just the right look – which must clearly show how much care was put into one’s appearance – but the right shade: tan but not too tan, after all it would never do to be taken for a halfblood or a Gypsy. Neither of which is seen as desirable, yet being half-Hungarian – especially for girls – is deemed socially acceptable by those who normally are not shy when it comes to rejecting anyone of color. Attempts at raising awareness are shrugged away with, “I’m just stating facts. It’s what they call themselves.” While more and more Hungarians have opted for using the term Roma instead, rightwing afficionados have appropriated the word as well, adding a sarcastic tone to the word. More recently, any variation of “… didn’t just get a tan over the summer” has been thrown into the conversation, again with a sarcastic slant. Stories in the media of successful Roma all too often tend to be greeted with either exclamations of surprise, sarcastic comments as to people watching their money, or smug assertions of “see, if they apply themselves, they can succeed,” along with condescending praise always followed by, “… for a Roma.”
Jews, according to the Hungarian stereotype, are stingy, successful, and clannish, statements made as naturally as greeting a woman or elder with utmost respect. There is no need to choose one’s words wisely, or to filter one’s language, since these facts are common knowledge, something those speaking so freely will be only too happy to tell you.
Lana,who came to Hungary so she could explore her Hungarian roots, relates one such incident, dating back to the ‘90s, but the mindset has not changed in over twenty years.
“When I was younger, I didn’t pick up on it,” she states. “I told everyone I was looking for work, because I wanted to earn some extra money while I was at university, and one guy told me to go and ask in the film industry, saying they always hired their own. I honestly didn’t get what he was saying, until I kept hearing more and more frequently that the media is owned by the Jews and the film industry as well, along with being told repeatedly how I looked Jewish.” It doesn’t help that people are often referenced as Jew or Roma instead of Hungarian, no matter how many generations ago their ancestors settled in Hungary as opposed to say, the Donauschwaben, a group of Germans actively recruited by the Austro-Hungarian Empire to populate the area and till the soil. The distinction between Magyarok (Hungarians) and the other groups could not be clearer, though the Donauschwaben are grudgingly admired.
Even the Hungarian word for black, when used at all, is more often than not abbreviated to feka. If that reminds one of another word (fekete – black), one would not be wrong. It is slightly less offensive than the n-word, but only just so, and happily used by racists and lovers of hip hop music alike. After all, “it’s just a word. And we’ve been using it forever.”
Racial stereotypes have become so ingrained into the fabric of Hungarian society that sharing affirmations of them has become a bonding experience. At a beauty parlor in Óbuda (the northern part of the capital, which can trace its earliest settlements back to the Stone Age) beautician Ildi, who is less concerned with the history of her district as with the boredom brought on by a lack of clients, saunters into her co-worker’s room. Despite a lady getting her nails done there, the two women begin to gossip over old acquaintances while ignoring the client, and hit on someone who lived in Ildi’s building. A risk taker, or so Ildi says, who just wanted to do a good deed and consequently adopted a Roma child from an orphanage to whom, in Ildi’s words, “she gave everything the child’s heart desired. But then her blood came out and she started stealing. And the parents had to give her away.” Opinions such as Ildi’s are more common than not, and the prevailing mindset is to expect to have something stolen or trashed the minute a member of the Roma community shows up.
Microaggressions, once well-established, do not always need words. Stella tells a story, which turns out to be a frequent occurrence.
“My landlady’s best friend, when she noticed that I had a cleaning lady who happened to be Roma, used the opportunity to swipe a bottle of expensive perfume when I wasn’t looking. I noticed too late, though I should have known something was up when she started dropping lots of hints about how the Roma always steal. My cleaning lady had been over countless times before that (which the thief didn’t know). Why a retired woman needs to try and get someone fired because she doesn’t like her face is completely beyond me, and absolutely despicable.”
Educating the very young has measured success, and needs an optimistic attitude of epic proportions. Szintia’s brother Barna is a gentle boy of ten, always standing up for those weaker than him. Together with his cousin of the same age, they relate a story to an American relative of when Barna was in America. The narrative involves a black man, and in true Hungarian fashion the n-word is used. Upon being told by their American relative why the word is so hurtful, Barna’s cousin continues screaming the word at the top of his lungs, while Barna tries to find a word that is not offensive and makes up for what he said.
“… so the chocolate man came over,” he concludes.
Facts are one thing. But more than that, a sense of empathy being taught would not run amiss. While forcing young children into church attendance at the threat of not passing Religious Education, teachers of all subjects – along with parents – could start by fostering a sense of empathy in their children. They could also, as is the case with Barna’s uncle, eliminate racial slurs from their vocabulary.
Image credit: Paul Sableman