Tell me, little ones: aren't you ashamed of yourselves?

Dear cordon breakers and young people who "stand up" for teachers! So there is a dictatorship, right? Then listen now!

I will tell you what a dictatorship is. Because I see that there are a bunch of spoiled, half-assed stupid kids who, in their boredom and good work, want to play freedom fighters against a non-existent dictatorship in order to help those who, on the other hand, operated a real, murderous dictatorship, come to power.

Let's see, for example, what I did on the evening of October 23, 1986. Interesting date, isn't it? Just three years before the regime change. When no one, no one thought that the Soviet Union and the entire communist bloc would collapse within a few years. October 23, 1986 was the 30th anniversary of the Hungarian Revolution of 1956 (in 1986 it was still a "counter-revolution"). A round, big anniversary. So what did I do that night?

You should know that at that time there was still conscription. I was a conscript at the age of 19. In the fall of '86, I had to join the Adyligeti regiment of the BM Border Guard for a year and a half. I spent 3 months of my basic border guard training there. Because, in principle, I was trained as a border guard. In September, in addition to some formal and martial training, we mostly had to practice the parade, because it was invented that all the Budapest garrisons would take an oath together at the end of the month on György Dózsa Street, which was still called Parade Square at the time. And, of course, all the honorable border guard comrades wanted a single border guard battalion appearing among the numerous national defense units to beat the most beautiful parade in front of the chief comrades who appeared at the swearing-in ceremony. So we marched from morning to night. (At the time, I didn't know why this special military demonstration of force, which looked like an oath, was necessary. It's true, I didn't even know what a "demonstration of force" was. But then, of course, the tantus fell off.)

So I didn't learn much about the border guard until the end of September. But it turned out that it didn't. Because even in October, the new recruits were not primarily taught the ins and outs of the border guard profession. You won't guess how we passed the time. The 19- to 20-year-olds who enlisted in the fall of '86 were mainly trained for mass dispersal. Since the border guard barracks in Adyligeti were classified as a direct reserve of the Ministry of the Interior, the border guard regiment, including a training battalion of bald (read: new) small soldiers, was stationed there, on the outskirts of Budapest, as a military force that could also be deployed for internal affairs purposes.

So my training was mostly spent teaching us different crowd dispersal techniques. For the famous "distributing wedge" formation, for the distribution that can be done in small and large groups, for the tasks of the units highlighting the loudspeakers, for the use of various mass distribution devices.

The thing went that the company was divided into two parts, one half was the crowd to be dispersed, and the other half practiced on them how to surround, isolate, push out from areas, disperse, and beat the demonstrators.

This part was actually funny, especially for those who played the crowd, they were allowed to shout, push, imitate fights, scold the organizers, etc. The ending wasn't so funny. Finally, we were taught to kill. They were taught how to methodically shoot protesters dead. I will tell you what the procedure would have been. At least in principle. First, we stood up next to each other in a line facing the crowd. The commander of the dispersal called on the crowd through a megaphone to disperse, otherwise he would disperse it with the force of arms at his disposal. But that outlaw crowd is not divided. Then the dispersal commander gives the order through the megaphone: "Prepare for armed dispersal! Charge!” (At this point, everyone reloads and raises their weapons to their shoulders.) And the following command comes:

"The head is the target! Fire!"

The "Target is the head!" command is part of psychological warfare.

Whoever hears it gets scared and runs away. At least in principle. Because in a shouting crowd it is not so easy to hear exactly what is being said. But this is still just a trick, because then (in principle) we only fire warning volleys over the heads of the crowd. If the crowd doesn't run away madly, or if they actually show some kind of resistance, well, then we enter the next stage of armed dispersal, which can practically be called killing or massacre. The commander of the division announces over his loudspeaker that

"Target the hips! Firing with single shots! Fire!"

Then the little border guards lower their AK assault rifles from their shoulders to their waists and start shooting aimlessly into the thick of the crowd with individual shots. If the 30 magazine runs out, exchange the magazine. Anyone who doesn't shoot is taken out of line and refused orders, court-martialled. If the situation is hotter, your commander can even shoot you on the spot to "encourage" the others. And so it goes on until the commander of the dispersal decides that we have killed enough counter-revolutionaries. Then comes "Cease fire!" command and you can stop and see what we have done. Well, they made us practice this in the fall of 1986 at Adyliget. 19-20-year-old, with regular children. I don't know if you got what I'm talking about...

We are slowly getting to what I was doing on October 23, 1986. That day, of course, we were ready to fight, so that at any time we received the alarm (the so-called KH, i.e. armed force alarm), we could run out of the gate armed to the teeth, loaded into IFA trucks, and deal with the "counter-revolutionaries" in a few minutes. Then came the evening. It was reported that everyone sleeps dressed, in trainers and boots that night. They handed out the weapons and that's how we went to sleep. Not that anyone was able to sleep that night.

And then we finally got to the point of what I did on the evening of October 23, 1986. I was dressed, in boots, with prepared marching equipment, lying on a creaking, cracked, old iron bunk bed, an assault rifle next to me, and I prayed to God that

dear good God, please don't let us go out, please don't let there be trouble in the city, please don't let anyone protest, please don't, please don't, don't, don't!

Well, that's what I did that night and approx. all night. I won't say, sometimes I fell asleep for moments from fatigue, but I must have had nightmares, because I woke up again and again and then the whole thing started all over again.

Come on, THIS is a dictatorship!

Dear hyperactive, bored, useless, anarchist idiots. This!

ad absurdum demonstrators commemorating the Hungarian Revolution of 1956 without permission on the streets of Budapest with 19-20-year-old conscript children.

And when I was forced to do so, Ferenc Gyurcsány built his communist career no longer as a nameless KISZ member or village KISZ secretary, but at the very top of the system, as a privileged beneficiary of the system, in the Central Committee of the KISZ.

The now unheard-of democrat Gy. Erzsike Németh also took care of the proper communist and ideological education of children aged 6-14, not as a junior drummer, but as a hopeful comrade of the Pioneer Association. And Klárika Dobrev - as she still does today - in the same villa, surrounded by reliable comrades-in-arms, slept the dream of the righteous. There, Buksi's head was caressed by the bloody-handed grandfather Antal Apró, who works in the Central Committee of the MSZMP, and his mother, Piroska Apró, who soon after, using the grandfather's great comradery, took care of him in the privatization robbery, so that this family, which deserves all the contempt, would not become runaway. .

I had to take care of the dreams of these, and the other, similar scumbags at the top of the system, in privileged party worker positions, that night. With an AK in my bed. Afraid that it is in the deck that I will be a serial killer by morning, at the age of 19.

My problem was not the WiFi not working. My problem wasn't that mom accidentally put 1.5% cow's milk in my latte instead of soy milk. My problem wasn't that someone said something nasty about my Greta Thunberg Fan Club photo on Insta.

No. My problem was that yesterday I was still a high school student, tomorrow I might be killing people and I can't do anything about it. And today, when they dare to bark at me about freedom, the rule of law, and democracy, shouldn't the imaginary AK in my pocket open?

I'm sorry, but I will never forgive them that night! And when you, conceited stupid children, play freedom fighters without any risk, and you dictate here in such a way that otherwise you come and go when you want, you text, write, read, do whatever you want, you rage like there are no 19 year-old frightened children whom anyone would train and force to shoot you in a heap, should I show solidarity with this bazaar rant? With this handiwork, which puts a parenthesis on the suffering of all those who were forced to exist in a real dictatorship? Me, who had to go through the above? With you, who see the above-mentioned three wretches and their proven business and comrades as the guarantee of freedom, the rule of law and democracy?

Tell me, little ones: aren't you ashamed of yourselves? No? It would be a hell of a time!

Source: Reader's letter/Apa said blog