Momentum started the "celebration". They went up to the carmelita (there is their superior self) and poured red paint on the cordon. Wait, let me explain: they splashed about two buckets of red paint on something made of thin wire with twenty by twenty centimeter holes.
What remains on the cordon is negligible, imperceptible, nothing. It's exactly like those who shot it. Then the paint piled up on the asphalt, a rain washes it away, but maybe it's enough to wash it off. "Did we make history, Feri?" "No, just dirt."
They started it. That's all you can think of.
Then they gathered in the street to make a "revolution" and "change the system" again. There were a few thousand of them. As many as the first few lines of any peace march. Their new protagonist (fifteen minutes of fame) for some incomprehensible reason began to demand that religious education be banned from schools (as if it were mandatory anyway). Mindszenty must have prayed for him.
Then they went on. They insulted the public TV reporter a bit, because they are always very strong in a herd, especially when the "opponent" is alone, lonely, unarmed and vulnerable.
Then they went on stage one by one and began to speak. Let's stop here for a moment. At these speeches. Exactly one. This was told by a certain Noel Perlaki-Borsos (five minutes of fame), and the most important parts were as follows:
In '56, they still remembered the cocktail recipe as an antidote to oppression. Should every Hungarian really be given a cookbook by now? If the people are robbed, their future is taken away, their happiness, livelihood, housing, and freedom are taken away, will we not dare to invest in our own industry, will we not stir our cocktail? (...) Let's continue with the scythe, the hoe, and with great force as long as this lice-ridden dictator is on our necks!
We understand. That particular cocktail, for which "every Hungarian should be given a cookbook" (?), can only be the Molotov cocktail. In other words, a Molotov cocktail should be thrown in Hungary today, I assume, at the members of the government, the government buildings, the government's supporters, its intellectual hinterland, the pro-government journalists (Attila Császár only got water now, but next time?), and if everything went up in flames, it would arrive the freedom. If we understood Noel Perlaki-Borsos correctly - we understood him correctly - this is what he spoke about in front of a few thousand "revolutionaries".
I will forgive this unfortunate. A typical pampered, middle-class, miserable little nobody from a mom hotel screams into the microphone.
He has never had any difficulties in his life, no real problems, no problems, in fact he has only one problem: himself.
This miserable little nobody stands in the middle of the warm nihil, the song was about him in 1987, when, of course, everything was still at stake: "I can't decide, my love, / whether it's a hamburger or a hot dog.
/ I can't decide, my love, / whether it's worse here or better there." This little stupid Noel's song, he just doesn't understand. And what is even more about him was sung by Tamás Cseh: "My son became a neurotic, he couldn't stand the changes, / and I look at my grandson, I see that he is a weak figure, / how will they survive? Something is going wrong here. / I would like to ask, who will know Hungarian here in a hundred years? / And as I look at you, none of them are concrete, / they fly away to the first wind! What will happen? I ask." Like this.
Noel wouldn't get screwed by a Soviet tank, but a Fradi Drukker, and he wouldn't dare throw a Molotov cocktail, but a goose feather either.
And these are revolutionizing today. Like in the brilliant cartoon called Ice Age:
"Kids! I'll play die-hard later, now come have dinner!"
And the part of Viktor Orbán's speech at this dignified and truly festive commemoration in Veszprém rhymed wonderfully with the part of Viktor Orbán's speech when he remembered Árpád Brusznyai: that he, the teacher, did not let the genie out of the bottle, did not let the street lynching bite, but protected the sinners too. Then the communists executed him. The Gyurcsány Feri pereputtya. And today Feri Gyurcsány appoints himself the sole heir of '56. And now there is no popular anger. Just some stupid kids who don't even know what they're talking about. After all, it's a pleasure that we weren't given the same prosperity in our teenage years as they were. Even in the end, we would have been completely stupid. And we would be swept through history.
Featured image: Momentum's Facebook page
