Those Inter-War Years

Zsuzsa L. Nagy:
Magyarország története 1918-1945.
Egyetemi jegyzet
(A History of Hungary 1918-1945. Lecture Notes)
Second, enlarged edition,
Történelmi Figyelõ Könyvek 3,
Debrecen: Multiplex Média, 1995, 266 pp.
Taken from Budapesti Könyvszemle - BUKSZ, Spring 1996, pp. 80-82.


[...]

[...] These past few years, Zsuzsa L. Nagy has been able to write and teach much as she did in the decades gone by, sparing her readers and students the embarrassment of seeing her join those crowding the Road to Damascus, and herself the trouble of self-exoneration and apologies. [...] Such uncommon consistency of values and continuity of beliefs - uncommon particularly among the historians who have specialized in the twentieth century these past 30 years - obliges the reviewer to deal not only with issues on which he agrees with the author, but also with those which he sees somewhat differently, or indeed, altogether differently.

Proceeding chronologically, the first such issue is the nature and assessment of Mihály Károlyi and what one is to think of it, with special reference to his "pacifism" in 1918-19. Károlyi was much censured in the inter-war years for his failure to rally the nation to the armed defence of Hungary's territorial integrity. The criticism continued into the 1950s, and it was not until the 1970s that there was a favorable turn in how the "Red Count" was perceived. There was a return to the critical tone after 1989, on the same grounds as in the inter-war years with the following charge against the Count: Had Károlyi and the bourgeois democratic revolution not trusted Wilson and the Peace Conference, but turned against the Romanian, Serbian, Czech and French armies there would have been no Treaty of Trianon. Or - and this is the more moderate version of the same daydream - if there had been, the Treaty would at least have provided for borders more favorable to Hungary. Zsuzsa L. Nagy, though she never directly engages in polemics, manifestly does not share these illusions. On the other hand, she is certainly not altogether uncritical of Károlyi. Where she faults him is in an area where I, too, think that he and his government could have done better. She notes the dilettantism of the Károlyi government's military preparations, the decisions hastily made and just as quickly reversed, and the failure to adopt a consistent policy toward the foreign forces crossing the demarcation lines (pp. 22-23). In short, she is critical of Károlyi not because he did not venture the impossible, but because he made no real attempt to gauge the line where the possible ended, and the impossible began. When, in early March of 1919, Károlyi finally opted for the armed defence of the nation's frontiers - regrettably, Nagy makes no mention of the stand he took in Szatmárnémeti (Satu Mare) - it was already too late for such an attempt.

[...]

One of the most debated historical questions of the '70s concerned the nature of the Horthy régime (fascist?, semi-fascist?, dictatorial?, pseudo-parliamentarian?, authoritarian?, etc.). I cannot recall Zsuzsa L. Nagy taking a concrete stand in this debate. What is obvious from the works she published at the time is that she did not share the schematic and politically-motivated views expressed by the teachers at the Party Political College and the leading researchers at the Institute for Party History, namely, that Horthy, naturally, was a fascist, and the régime named after him was a fascist régime. We need only look at the chapters she wrote on the 1920s for Volume 8 of the projected ten-volume History of Hungary, chapters whose tone is refreshingly different from those discussing the cultural scene of the same period, a hyper-critical harangue written by László Márkus. Zsuzsa L. Nagy's current characterization of the Horthy era coincides with what she wrote then: "Alongside the traditional parliamentary forms and methods, we find some anti-liberal, dictatorial elements". But the régime "allowed freedom of action, even to its opponents"; "Criticism of the government's policies could be publicly expressed, as long as it was not aimed at toppling the régime by force" (pp. 104-5). All very apt characterizations, to my mind, though somewhat inconsistent with the following statement: "In spite of the institutional guarantees of constitutional government and the multi-party system, the system effectively insured the absolute rule of the government party" (p. 104). Here again, I take exception to just one term: "absolute rule", trusting that I won't be thought to be splitting hairs if I call attention to the need for precision. As I see it, "absolute rule" or hegemony or dictatorship is an appropriate term if there really is just a single party on the political scene. [...]

[...]

In the changed political climate of the 1990s, particularly in 1991-92, historians and politicians alike found a great deal to say about Hungary's participation in the Second World War, with special reference to the circumstances of its declaration of war on the Soviet Union in June of 1941. The former consensus, that the move was constitutional but unnecessary, was challenged by a number of people. The moderate version of the new "quasi-official" interpretation was that the decision to join the attack on the Soviet Union was a necessary and inevitable step, though a fatal one for Hungary. On the more radical view, the Soviet campaign was not only necessary and inevitable, but also the right decision to make, for the Hungarian army was marching against the greatest evil of all, Bolshevism. Zsuzsa L. Nagy's interpretation of the event is the traditional one - and, let us add, is one that squares with the facts. She makes the point that the decision to attack was unquestionably constitutional, for Horthy, as Regent, had the right to send troops to fight abroad. At the same time, she points out that the German political and military leadership was not counting on Hungary's armed participation at that time. In this sense, at any rate, the June declaration of war can certainly be regarded as a rash decision, one prompted by the bombing of Kassa (Kosice), a provocation probably organized by a group of German and Hungarian army officers (pp. 220-21). It is common knowledge that for years now, a variety of theories have been advanced in connection with the Kassa incident: stray Russian bombers, provocation on the part of the Romanians, reprisal by the Czechs, or the Slovaks. To date however, as Zsuzsa L. Nagy also notes, not one of these theories has been conclusively proved.

[...]

Ignác Romsics


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