The GCW Tour, Budapest: An Open Letter to Cows

Dear Cows,

I'm writing this letter to express my apologies for some of the opinions that have been expressed in this blog over the last eighteen months. From time to time, either through the pictures I've posted and/or the words I've written, I've implied, if not stated outright, that "people are cows." However, after today's tour of Budapest's Terror Haza I've realized that this comparison is grossly unfair to your species. I'm aware of no episode in recorded history wherein, say, the spotted cows got together to oppress, imprison, terrorize, torture, murder and eradicate the non-spotted cows, whereas it would seem you could take any human history book, open it at random, and within a few pages be reading about how this tribe of humans managed to oppress, imprison, terrorize, torture, murder and possibly eradicate that tribe of humans just because it could. Hell, even our religious texts are full of object lessons about this tribe smiting that tribe over some perceived sin, with god blessing the victors for their mercilessness.

I'm sorry, cows. I've impugned and maligned you.

As cows, you probably aren't aware of the Terror Haza. Certainly the structure, with its narrow staircases and small elevators, isn't really conducive to bovine visitation. Unfortunate, really; it's a fascinating place.

The Terror Haza is a museum dedicated to Hungary's role as both originator and recipient of political terror in the 20th century. The simplified timeline runs as follows: At the end of the First World War, Hungary had lost two-thirds of its territory and had essentially been rendered stateless. This fragile condition was exacerbated by Hungary's location between Germany to the West and the newly formed Soviet Union to the East. As World War II ramped up, Hungary unsuccessfully attempted to play both sides against the middle, but eventually sided with the Nazis in Germany. During this period, the apartment building at Number 60 Andrassy was turned into the administrative headquarters for the secret police.

Adolf Hitler eventually got fed up with Hungary's half-hearted support, and so the Nazi's Arrow Cross Party took over governance of Hungary and moved into #60. Finding it inadequate to their needs, they dug out the basements to create cells for imprisonment, torture and execution.

At the end of World War II, the Germans were evicted from Hungary, but Hungary's problems were far from over. By applying the lessons learned from the Nazis, Hungarians affiliated with the Soviet Union were able to solidify power in the country. Given #60's utility in the application of political terror, the new secret police (same as the old secret police) moved into the building.

They did change the name, though, from the euphemistic "House of Loyalty" to the far more straightforward "House of Terror." They were still using the building for this purpose in 1989, when the Soviet Union collapsed and Hungary began the transition back to a free society.

One of the more interesting aspects of the museum -- which is really quite beautiful and amazing in how it handles its subject matter -- is its recognition of Hungary's own role in the decades of misery. The last display is focused on the "victimizers," the Hungarian lawyers, administrators, bureaucrats and others who through their actions, or inaction, caused or allowed the deaths of so many.

All in all, two hours touring the museum is enough to make you want to be a cow -- or at least anything other than a human. It's easy enough to walk through believing that if you'd been there the outcome would've been different, but history pretty much proves the opposite.

So, sorry cows. I didn't mean to suggest you were anything other than the peaceful, cud-chewing creatures that you are. I'll do my best not to repeat the mistake in the future.

Regards,

john