Books in English about the Revolution fall into three general categories. One is personal memoirs by men who had managed to flee to the West. A second is popular histories (there are very few, if any, strictly academic works, in English) written before the fall of Soviet Communism in 1991. These tend to closely resemble each other, but vary in their focus, often spending much time, too much time, on America’s relationship to the Revolution. A third is histories written after the fall of Soviet Communism; these benefit from the opening of both Hungarian and Soviet archives, though much is now lost and a good deal that is not lost has not been released, and from the willingness of participants living in Hungary to now speak openly.
I read about twenty of these books. (At the end of this article is a listing.) I did not read any books in Hungarian, though I have several of those; I can only read Hungarian extremely slowly and with a dictionary in hand, and I do not have the latest scholarship, rather mostly older Hungarian books. This may create gaps; it is possible that recent books in Hungarian shed light on events that English-language books do not (there are many books and papers, and there is an Institute for History of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution, established in Budapest in 1991). But I do not think that any such light is crucial to understanding and interpreting the Revolution. Unlike with other historical events with a political overlay, there is relatively little variation in the facts presented. Sometimes there is a variation in emphasis, or different views of minor facts, or disagreement about the interpretation of events—for example, was József Dudás, one of the rebel leaders, a notably charismatic and blustering man, actually helpful to the Revolution, or not? To what degree was Imre Nagy a hero, and to what degree merely a figurehead or pawn? But these are sidelights to a generally very coherent narrative.
This is a refreshing change from the examination of most historical events better known in the West. When I examined the Spanish Civil War, for example, I noted the existence there of “standard candles”—events, such as the bombing of Guernica, which receive very different factual presentations depending on the politics of the presenter. No such standard candles exist for 1956, and really, the politics of the authors is, for the most part, either not apparent, left, or center-left, because the authors were refugees from actual Communism but unwilling to abandon the Left entirely. No right-wing book, in English at least, has been written about the Revolution, perhaps because, for better or for worse, organized right-wing forces had no presence at all in the Revolution (despite the shrill claims by the restored Communist regime, which for decades made the silly claim that “Horthyite fascists” were behind it all).
Of the memoirs, all are interesting, but by far the most interesting to me was Sándor Kopácsi’s In the Name of the Working Class, published in 1986. Kopácsi, who died in 2001, was head of the Budapest police force at the time of the Revolution (the regular police, not the secret police; they wore blue uniforms and were therefore easy to distinguish from the ÁVO—though the ÁVO kept blue uniforms in storage against the day of judgment, which ultimately helped many of them escape justice). He was a devoted Communist, but that is not why the book is interesting—as I say, most of the memoirs are written by Communists or former Communists. It is because it is the only English-language memoir of which I am aware in which the memoirist himself participated directly as a man of high authority in a period of Stalinist terror. Kopácsi tries to distance himself, and his betrayal of the regime during the Revolution certainly is to his credit. But he was Director of Internment Affairs for two years, starting in 1949, in which capacity he reported directly to the minister of the interior, and signed off on innumerable internment decrees of men he knew to be totally innocent. His descriptions of this are fascinating, and invaluable for understanding the mindset of a Left functionary in such a period. Kopácsi was sentenced to death after the Revolution for his betrayal of the regime, but his sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. He was released in an amnesty in 1963, and his book also narrates the difficulties a man such as he subsequently experienced in Hungary, which are similarly of great interest.
Of the histories, the best post-Communist one is historian Paul Lendvai’s 1956: One Day that Shook the Communist World, published in 2008. He was in Budapest during the Revolution, as well. Others I list at the end are also very worthwhile.
One important book, however, does not fit neatly into any of these categories. It is a book of which I had not before heard, but which at the time published, 1981, was by far the most complete history of the Revolution. This is David Irving’s exhaustively researched and nearly-unbelievably detailed Uprising!. The book is almost totally ignored by other writers, however, because Irving is today a controversial figure, though he wrote many well-regarded books about the Third Reich, including The Mare’s Nest, about the German rocket program. I haven’t yet read any of those (I do own several), but he is controversial because he argues that Jews were not as badly treated, nor as deliberately badly treated, by the National Socialists as the postwar consensus insists. However, his book about the Revolution was a disappointment, even though he was able to interview many key figures who spoke for the first time since 1956, including several important Russians. (He claimed he wrote the book because people said he was obsessed with the Germans, and he wanted to write about something new.)
The book is quite odd. Irving is obsessed with psychiatric analysis, and lengthy chunks of the book are taken up with Freudian analysis of revolutionaries, conducted at Cornell University after the revolution, including such gems as identifying “castration anxiety” in refugee intellectuals. It is also odd because he is indeed obsessed with the Jews. For example, he insists on exclusively using the out-of-place word “pogrom” to refer to payback received by the ÁVO. He repeatedly implies that the Revolution was largely driven by anti-Jewish animus (often invisible, but recoverable with psychoanalysis), but never provides a single piece of hard evidence, not even a quotation or a shouted slur, to support either that theory or that the ÁVO was attacked because it was full of Jews, rather than because it was full of torturers. This gives his work a slippery feel.
There is a connection between Jews and Communism, to be sure—Irving emphasizes the undisputed fact that the majority of important Hungarian Communists were Jews, along with much or most of the ÁVO, and that many Hungarians resented this. But his conclusion, that the Revolution was, in effect, a rebellion against the Jews is not supportable in any meaningful way. Examining the matter more closely, including third-party analysis of Irving’s work (also oddly, some of it appearing in Irving’s own recent republication of his book as an appendix), it appears that Irving received official cooperation from the Communist Hungarian government for the book—and the official propaganda line of that government was that the Revolution was designed to re-impose the rule of the Arrow Cross. Thus, it was in the interests of that government for Irving to weave fictions about anti-Semitism during the Revolution, which suggests a quid pro quo, no doubt one Irving was happy to honor, given his general views on Jews. However, we will return at the end to the Jews and the Revolution.
[This is part of my very long discussion of the Revolution; you can find the entire piece at theworthyhouse.com]