What is Cowardice?

Today, I’m going to reflect on Hungarian emigration and consider who can be called a coward and who can be called brave.

As I’m riding my scooter home, I’m listening to one of Sándor Friderikusz’s interviews.
Sometimes people ask me why I don’t want to move back to Hungary. To that place?! Where such things happen?! When I could live anywhere in the world?! Should I go to a place where doctors turn patients away? Should I go to a place where my children won’t be learning, but instead will be subjected to brainwashing?! I can’t explain to a single Hungarian living in Hungary what exactly bothers me, and this makes sense, because we rarely (if ever) see what we’re immersed in from the outside. For those who spend a lot of time abroad, I don’t need to explain anything—we just exchange a knowing glance.

I admire people who (even in small ways) stand up against the current Hungarian regime. I am not capable of doing that. I was a coward; I chose to leave (as I have done so many times in life).
My reasoning is that I live a life independent of family and wealth, so I had the chance to choose cowardice. (I have wealth and family now, but I still make my own decisions.) It wasn’t easy. Once again, the easier path was to leave and live in an environment where I have choices, where I am supported, and where I don’t have to do what I don’t want to do.

Otherwise, today was uneventful: gardening, maintenance, a siesta. In the evening, I went to a small concert at the pub, just to get out of the house. It was a completely normal day.
I wish all days were like this!

Arles, Thursday, September 12, 2024