Jewish–Hungarian Conflicts and Strategies in the Béla Kun Regime, a Review-Essay of “When Israel is King” (Part 5 of 5)

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5118 words.

The casualty figures of dictatorships, political systems, or simply certain policies and views, play a significant role in historiography and mainstream political activism. There is a reason the mere lowering of the number of victims of what we know as the “Jewish Holocaust” is a crime in Hungary and many other countries. While the number of alleged or real victims of the Holocaust is protected by law, the questioning of Jewish responsibility is also “incitement against a community”—according to the Jewish Tett és Védelem Foundation (TEV), as already mentioned. While revisionism of any tragedy is academically legitimate, if the results of research give it foundation, we will see below that in the case of the victims and perpetrators of Bolshevism, a philosemitic slant dominates mainstream historiography.

Returning to the leitmotif of our study, in When Israel is King, the Tharaud brothers inevitably discuss the activities of the Lenin Boys. They mention that Bela Kun “sent [József Cserny] to Moscow to study terrorist organization. Cserny returned in a very short time, having been initiated in the right methods, and bringing with him eighty professional executioners for the further instruction of the Hungarians. A Russian Jew, Boris Grunblatt, and a Serbian burglar, Azeriovitch by name, were told off [sic] to recruit men for him in Budapest” (Tharauds, 2024, 123–124).

Regarding the number of victims of the red terror, publishing in the newspaper Népszava, Péter Csunderlik (2022) cites the official 1923 number of 590, which he claims is “relatively low compared to other countries” (note that we are talking about “only” 133 days), while also claiming that some of the victims were “killed in firefights or [were] common-law criminals executed for committing a crime,” revising the number to “380–365” (he adds that this might still seem high today, but “[i]n 1918–1920, the World War in Central and Eastern Europe was not essentially over yet”).

If they come for you and you let them kill you, this historian will generously consider you a victim—if you fight back, you are not even worth having your death be part of a list of martyrs. You are just a dead militant, apparently. Reasonably, dying while protecting yourself, your family and community, from illegally formed terror groups, would render one a victim—and a hero—but Csunderlik shrugs and lowers the number. That he accepts the claims of executions for crimes, made by a regime that sent terror groups to travel around the country, executing people based merely on suspicions, extrajudicially, might also raise concerns here about the author’s historiographical standards. We might wonder if Csunderlik would apply this kind of rigor to the number of victims of the so-called Jewish Holocaust’s official narrative (which, unlike our topic at hand, is actually protected from critique by law), and whether he would exclude large numbers of Jews from the list of those shot by, for instance, the Einsatzgruppen for partisan activities—or perhaps because they “did not have a Jewish identity” — as partisans, they were likely “internationalists,” after all.

It is worth noting here that, although no longer published by Communists, Népszava back then was the newspaper that published, perhaps with the greatest delight, the writings of Bolshevik leaders of the Kun regime during their reign, along with other propaganda pieces.

A Népszava article glorifies the “heroic” Kun regime (July 18, 1919)

Csunderlik (2023) does not only lower the “relatively low” number of victims—aside from denying the Jewish role—but is also in the habit of dismissing eyewitness reports with a mere wave of his hand—unlikely in the case of Jews claiming to be eyewitnesses to the Holocaust. In yet another piece regurgitating the exact same points we have already familiarized ourselves with earlier (sometimes for extended segments, word-for-word, with only minor additions), he accuses Cécile Tormay of spreading “lots of fake news, scare stories and untrue rumors” (ibid., 22, 23), and claims that her work is “full of verifiably fictional stories” (ibid.), without illustrating his claim with a single example, calling the book a “horror novel.”

As a Holocaust fact-checking revisionist myself, I am acutely aware of the tendency of emotionally involved—and perhaps traumatized—witnesses to be unreliable, and thus I apply that principle to Tormay’s work (or that of the Tharauds), as any reasonable person would. It is possible that some of the stories and details are inaccurate or untrue, and Tormay goes out of her way to underline that some of these things are things that she was told.

Csunderlik then mocks Tormay for thinking that the Galileo Circle was able to influence the war effort, leading to defeat, because of a segment of her book related to the Circle spreading anti-military flyers, calling it “laughable” that this could have had any influence (ignoring the fact that members of the movement were at the forefront of both the Aster Revolution and the Kun regime: their influence was significant). Csunderlik even fabricates a quote from her when he says that for Tormay “the domestic agents of the imagined ’Judeo-Bolshevik world-conspiracy’ were the atheist-materialist student association, the Galileo Circle, which produced anti-war pamphlets” (ibid.). Putting aside that the group did way more than just spreading flyers, nowhere in her work does the quoted text appear; it is presented as a direct quote in the Hungarian. But it is Csunderlik’s fixa idea to debunk this “world-conspiracy” theme by emphasizing how non-religious these Jews were, making anything “Judeo” self-evidently absurd in his presentation, attempting to keep Jewishness within a religious framework, conveniently—something we have already addressed. (That some members of the Circle, incidentally, literally worked with Soviet Bolshevik agents, making themselves “agents,” has also been shown earlier from Russian archival material.)

In Hungary “[p]ublic denial of the crimes of the National Socialist and Communist regimes” is a crime: according to the 1978. IV. law (modified in 2010): “Anyone who denies, doubts or trivializes the fact of genocide and other acts against humanity” in public, committed by these regimes, “commits a crime and is liable to up to three years’ imprisonment” (269/C. §). Note that this crime relates only to “the Holocaust”: if one publicly “violates the dignity of a Holocaust victim in public by denying, casting doubt on, or trivializing” the official story. Applying the extremely low standard for what counts as “Holocaust denial” in the country, Csunderlik might just be “trivializ[ing]” the Kun regime’s “acts against humanity” while violating the dignity of victims he doesn’t even consider victims. Of course, it is well-known that nobody actually gets in trouble in Hungary for trivializing or denying Communist crimes, nor for displaying their symbols publicly (NJSZ, 2023) — another supposedly illegal act (269/B. §). (On the anniversary of the Kun regime’s proclamation, a small group of Bolsheviks publicly commemorated the event, protected by police when a group of Nationalists showed up.)

Of course, the criminalization of research does not advance the truthful analysis of the past; the above is only to illustrate why the mainstream discourse still maintains that the Jewish role is taboo in such a biased system, since—if such regulation exists at all—instead of the author facing legal problems, Csunderlik’s article was funded with a grant from the state-funded Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Given that the young historian does not believe “that ’the truth’ of history can be known” because of the inherent biases of researchers (noting also that “if there is a ’truth’ at all, since postmodern historical theory denies it”), he has no reason to worry within a neoliberal, postmodernist establishment. With this attitude, his career will most likely continue to develop—something he surely knows already.

Péter Csunderlik (source: hirklikk.hu)

It can be added to the above, that according to Csunderlik, for example, we cannot even speak of a Hungarian nation from the period before the French Revolution (including the Árpád era), because modern nations were created only after the Revolution—which, in the light of the above, I believe, is a typical act of logical manipulation, and again, deriving from a predictable worldview. Of course, our ancestors are our ancestors, and how much we have to do with them is not changed by the French Revolution in any way. The understanding of nationhood does change somewhat over a thousand years, but our ancient codex-type gesta books, both the twelfth-century Gesta Hungarorum and Gesta Hunnorum et Hungarorum, emphasize the importance of common ancestry, which is the basis of the natio; i.e., the same stock of blood. These works are, in fact, national epics. (Hungarians are genetically related to their ancestors, see my earlier study introducing some of the genetic research on this topic: Csonthegyi, 2023). Gyula Kristó (1990, 430–431), a researcher of the Árpád-era Hungarians, states that “from the turn of the 11th–12th centuries onwards, the Hungarian [national] consciousness was—we can conclude with great certainty—established, based on the common (Hungarian) language and the tradition of common origin,” and then he mentions measures aimed at the protection of the “Hungarian” ethnic group, separate from others.

So we have learned from the above that the Jewish group is not a Jewish group because it is atheistic, and the history of Hungarians is not Hungarian because the modern concept of nation was developed at a later point in time. And if another interpretation becomes dominant next year, we may also learn that Hungarians were not Hungarians this year, either. Whether the historian will also explain to the Jews that they have nothing to do with their own past is unlikely—such semantic misrepresentation is presumably used for other purposes. According to Pew Research (2013, 54–55), for the vast majority of Jews today, “remembering the Holocaust is an essential part of what being Jewish means”—that is, modern Jewish identity is a post-Holocaust identity that Jews before the Holocaust could not have had: can we even talk about “Jewish” victims if the Jewish self-image today is somewhat different from that back then, following strictly Csunderlik’s logic? In any case, if this historian is in the habit of reducing victim numbers, and if atheism and internationalism, or the lack of professed Jewish identity, mean that a Jew is not a Jew, his task could be to subtract those from the magical “six million” number—based on the principles of ethics and logical consistency.

Victims and Perpetrators

In a desperate attempt to downplay the role of the Jews, Géza Komoróczy also manipulates the data in the usual, infantile way (e.g., Jewish Communists were not Jews because they were Communists, etc.); for example, he emphatically notes that the “not (!) Jewish” József Cserny was the commander of the Lenin Boys (Komoróczy, 2012, 361), presumably because of his Hungarian origin, so apparently no sealed and notarized proof stating ethnic identity is required, and mere origin is sufficient to classify persons as part of ethnic groups—unless the Jewishness of Jews is to be obfuscated.

As for commanders: it is well known that—while he may have had some autonomy—it was Béla Kun, Béla Vágó, Ernő Seidler, Ottó Korvin, and Tibor Szamuely, who were in command of the Cserny squad, as well as Ede Chlepkó; see for example: “Ede Chlepkó Hantos called József Cserny on the same day and ordered him to arrest and execute those named”—we read in the work of Péter Donáth (2012, 153), where we find several similar statements, including Cserny himself and others claiming that they received orders mostly from Chlepkó (ibid., 166ff). Péter Konok (2010, 77) also states that the forces led by Korvin and Szamuely “also used the Cserny group against the counter-revolutionary forces in the interior”—indicating that they were in command. The commanders named here are all Jews (Korvin was later executed for this reason).
And did the non-Jew Cserny hate Hungary and its culture? Was he a psychopath? Note that the original Cheka was made up largely of non-Russians, and the Russians in the Cheka tended to be sadistic psychopaths and criminals (Werth, 1999, 62; Wolin & Slusser, 1957, 6)—people who are unlikely to have any allegiance to or identification with their people. Indeed, that is the picture the thorough study from Donáth (2012) on the Cserny group paints of them, quoting extensively from their trials. Vilmos Böhm (1923, 382) himself commented: “Cserny’s character is illustrated by the fact that after the fall of the revolution he betrayed his comrades in prison with sadistic lust, and even led innumerable innocent people to the gallows by denouncing them.”

Komoróczy (2012, 363) then attempts to emphasize Jewish victimhood, by presenting two sets of data: the first set is the more well-known 590 number, of which 44 are considered Jewish; the second set is the number 626, of which 32 were supposedly Jewish. Additionally, he mentions a monument, erected in 1936 on Kossuth Square (Budapest), and the 497 names featured on it, of which 32 are Jewish. If we take the data presented by this philosemitic, Hebraist author as our foundation, then the Jewish victims of the Bolsheviks can be concluded as being 7.4 percent, 5.1 percent, and 6.4 percent, respectively. This is proportionate to their share in society at the time; as is known, in 1910, Jews constituted 5 percent of the total population. However, since Jews had a heavy overrepresentation among the bourgeoisie, the researcher would expect that a dictatorship of the proletariat would produce more victims from this demographic. But according to this, that was not the case (instead, the regime primarily targeted poor rural Hungarians). In contrast to this, for the dictatorship itself, Jews were overwhelmingly responsible, thus, downplaying their role by pointing the finger at their victims, is a rather shameful tactic.

In his thorough study on Jews in Hungary—their numbers, influence, and prospects—Zoltán Bosnyák (1905–1952), one of the most prominent scholars of the Jewish question at the time, presented demographic data in general, but also of only “Torn-Hungary” (Csonka-Magyarország, i.e., present-day Hungary, after territorial losses) where Jews consisted 6.2 percent of the population in 1910 (Bosnyák, 1937, 10). The Kun regime mainly focused on this territory, making this number the most relevant for us. His data on the “upper ten thousand,” which is to say, in contemporary language, “the 1%” of society (supposedly the main enemy of the “proletarian” dictatorship) is heavily Jewish. In Bosnyák’s estimation “[o]ne third of the top ten thousand are Jews (plutocracy), the second third are related to Jews by blood (aristocracy), and the last third are pro-Jewish because they are dependent on and indebted to Jews (intellectual aristocracy)” (ibid., 80). According to this, we see again, that Jews were proportionately represented among the victims—until we take their share in the upper classes into account, which will render this proportion actually underrepresented. Bosnyák concluded that “one of the most important prerequisites for the final solution of the Jewish Question is the formation of a new, self-confident, racially conscious, Jew-free, leadership-oriented Hungarian middle and upper class” (ibid.). It is deeply tragic that the same Jewry, whose acquisition of power Bosnyák so passionately warned about, returned to power after 1945—and this Jewry sentenced him to death for that very warning. He was executed on October 4, 1952, by the newer Jewish dictatorship of Rákosi-Rosenfeld Mátyás, Farkas-Lőwy Mihály, Gerő-Singer Ernő, Révai-Lederer József, and their associates…

Zoltán Bosnyák

If we look at data about the Lenin Boys, we find what we could predict at this point: according to the research of historian Gergely Bödők (2018, 134): “Catholics, approaching 58 percent, are close to the national average (67 percent) for the whole population, making them the largest religious group. In ’second place,’ the Jewish denomination accounted for 21 percent, while 5–6 percent of the total population, and among the ’Lenin Boys’ they were nearly four times as much, making them the most over-represented. However, this is still far below the proportion of People’s Commissars of Jewish origin, which is estimated at 60–70%.” This tells us that Catholics were underrepresented (his Table 1 actually says 57 percent, not 58), but compared to victims, Jews were at least four times as likely to be the murderers, and 12–14 times as likely to be Commissars who were running the regime (not to mention that the Lenin Boys were commanded exclusively by Jews, as noted above). There were also 13 percent Reformed, 4 percent Evangelicals, 3 percent Greek Catholics, and 1 percent Orthodox and Unitarians, respectively, while 129 had no religion registered. This is only based on religious data, however, which is not the best, considering how, generally speaking, these young men tended to be atheists, and we must also remember that many Jews officially converted to Christianity in those decades, which helped them with social mobility. In other words, the ratio is likely higher still.

A well-known symbol of the so-called Jewish Holocaust in Hungary is the monument “Shoes on the Danube Bank,” and the story of the “Danube shootings.” It is less well-known that the method of execution using the Danube was first used by the Lenin Boys. The Tharaud brothers also describe the story of Sándor Hollán (1846–1919) and his son, Sándor Hollán, Jr. (1873–1919):

1. Hollan and his son, the one a former undersecretary for state, the other a railway director, were denounced by their concierge as being suspected of anti-Bolshevist tendencies, and their names appeared on the list of hostages drawn up by the sinister Otto Klein-Corvin. One night a motor lorry, driven by Red Guards, drew up at their door. “I am going to make it hot for these two,” declared a certain Andre Lazar, who was directing the expedition, and for whom the elder Hollan had once refused to sign a request asking that he should be dispensed from military service. The terrorists went into the Hollans’ house, arrested them, and forced them into the motor. (Tharauds, 2024, 126).

Then they were taken to the Széchenyi Chain Bridge, where they were shot from the back, into the Danube, or at least shot and then their bodies were thrown into it by the red terrorists. (There is no information on whether they resisted, so even Csunderlik-types are forced to count them among the victims.)

The sentencing and execution of József Papp by the Lenin Boys in Sátoraljaújhely (a city in the North-East of Hungary), April 22, 1919 (Hungarian National Museum)

Blinkens, Böhm, and the Bolsheviks

The narratives outlined earlier are, of course, propagated by the Open Society Archive (OSA), part of the Jewish George Soros-affiliated Central European University, which has been renamed the Vera and Donald Blinken Open Society Archive after a major donation—the donors here being the father (and his wife, both Jewish), of US Secretary of State Anthony Blinken. According to the OSA, the over-representation of Jews can also be explained by the fact that at the time there was a “rigid political system that effectively excluded them from the political sphere,” so Jews were attracted to a new system (which is itself a Jewish motivation, but this may not be obvious to the OSA). The concept of Judeo-Bolshevism is sought to be debunked by claiming that the system had Jewish victims (just as German National Socialists had German victims, yet no one disputes that they were driven by German interests and identity), and by arguing that there were patriots among the Jews who, for example, opposed the loss of territories. They mention Vilmos Böhm, the Berinkey government’s Minister of War, as an example of this, but fail to add that Böhm, among others, was one of the facilitators of the Bolshevik takeover by collaborating with them, and he later became commander-in-chief of the Red Army. In this role, to portray him as patriotic, while part of the Bolshevik transformation of the country, is disgraceful.

As far as Böhm’s seemingly patriotic statements are concerned, it is worth recalling that in his 1923 book Két forradalom tüzében (In the Fire of Two Revolutions) he clearly states how the new regime feared the thousands of Szekler (Transylvanian Hungarian) troops, and therefore, instead of accepting losses of territory, they wanted to push the Hungarians closer to the Soviets, by agitating against the Western powers. After realizing that “the adoption of the [Vix] Note will create a storm in the country which will destroy any government which complies with the demands of the Note,” they decided that “the whole country must be called to armed defense, the Western orientation must be replaced by an Eastern orientation towards Russia,” and the Social Democrats “must agree with the Communist Party to establish an alliance with the Russian Soviet troops on the northern border of old Austria” (Böhm, 1923, 240–241, emphasis in the original).

As the reports made it clear that “the Szekler troops and officers would not leave their positions without a fight under any circumstances, would not retreat” (ibid.), Böhm says: “We had to take into consideration the mood and determination of these troops. If the government, without consulting them, simply orders them back from the frontier, thus sealing their fate and foregoing the possibility of liberating their country, in that case, this desperate armed force, under the influence of nationalist agitation, will undoubtedly turn against the government and the revolution, and its victory will lead to the victory of a bloody counter-revolution.” (Ibid.) Böhm’s Hungarian Wikipedia article even quotes from his patriotic speech to the Szeklers, but the above motivation is not explained there either. It is also noted in the article that “from the excessive pacifism of the Aster Revolution, by March 1919, he had come to the idea of armed defense of the homeland”—in words, at least, but then he handed the levers of power over to the Bolsheviks only days later, and instead of protecting the borders of the homeland, he turned the armed forces—under the red flag this time—against Hungarians themselves. Nevertheless, he is the positive example of Jewish patriotism in the Jewish Blinken OSA Archive.

As for the so-called northern campaign, it was also aimed at spreading Bolshevism, rather than regaining territory, which soon became clear indeed. As a result, the soldiers’ enthusiasm waned, and the forces collapsed—the Slovak Soviet Republic did not even last a month. The Jewish Zoltán Szántó, regimental commander of the Red Army, in his article The Role of the 1st International Red Army Regiment in the Northern Campaign, describes the titular event as “the sacrifice made by internationalists for the survival of Hungarian Soviet power…”—so not for territorial defense (quoted in Chishova & Józsa, 1973, 274).

Counter-Revolution and Red Collapse

While we are on the subject of victims, it is worth pointing out that the Hungarians did not just passively tolerate the Bolshevik terror but resisted it time and again. Relevant literature is the book of Lénárd Endre Magyar (2020) on the history of the counter-revolutionary events in Szentendre and the collection of notes by Pál Prónay’s (1963)—perhaps the most prominent counter-revolutionary. When Bolshevik power collapsed with the advance of the Romanian troops, this counter-revolutionary momentum was no longer contained by the hordes of Lenin Boys. This is how Lajos Marschalkó recalled the mobilization of the Hungarian resistance:

By the time the train of the People’s Commissars, loaded with treasures, left Hungary, the nucleus of the Hungarian National Army, which had been formed in Szeged under French occupation, mainly through the organizational work of Captain General Gyula Gömbös, was ready three months earlier to call Rear Admiral Miklós Horthy to lead it. When he arrives in Szeged at the end of April 1919, Gyula Gömbös prophesies of a new world. (Marschalkó, 1975, 193)

According to the Tharauds (2024, 154), Béla Kun “also firmly believed that a general revolution would break out simultaneously on the same day, July 20th, in Germany, England, Italy, and France. So he chose that date to launch his offensive. But that catastrophic day, July 20th, 1919, was a most peaceable one throughout Europe. The world revolution in which Bela Kun believed as naively as Karolyi had done a short time before did not take place. And to crown his humiliation he was very soon made to realize that his soldiers were useless.” Some of the leaders then fled to Russia, others, like Ottó Korvin, were captured and executed, while Tibor Szamuely did not wait his turn: he committed suicide at the Austrian border. As Dávid Ligeti (2019, 35) reminds us, “[t]he majority of politicians who then lived in the Soviet Union in the 1930s were victims of Stalinist purges, i.e. they were executed on the orders of the Bolshevik dictator—besides Béla Kun, we can also mention the cases of József Pogány and Béla Vágó.”

“Our worker brothers, you are being deceived again!! Watch out, brother!! Don’t let them!!”—poster of the Awakening Hungarians (Ébredő Magyarok) group warning after the fall of the Kun regime that Jewish influence did not disappear

Towards the end of their work as chroniclers, the Tharaud brothers sum up the depressing mood after the storm, with poignant sympathy:

These brutal scenes no longer take place today, but the Jewish question remains. All Hungary has risen up to suppress the Jews. They wish to expel the five hundred thousand Galician Jews who arrived in the country during the war. The number of Jews admitted to the university has been limited so as to diminish their position in the liberal professions; the Masonic lodges, which had become almost completely Jewish, have been closed; everywhere Christian banks and cooperative societies are being established to replace the Hebrew middleman. Publishing houses and newspapers are being created whose mission it is to defend the national intellectuality. A violent struggle has been entered upon between two spirits and two races. (Tharauds, 2024, 160)

It was treachery, or—if we insist on being polite—a mistake on the part of those who were responsible for the Hungarian nation in the decades, or rather, centuries, preceding all this, to allow this group conflict to reach this point. The new Hungarian State of 1849, which had already planned the emancipation of the Jews, and the disastrous emancipation of 1867—the law, which was introduced by Prime Minister Gyula Andrássy (1823–1890) and was widely accepted by both the House of Representatives and the House of Lords—had already set the stage. There could be no excuse for not foreseeing where all this would lead—Győző Istóczy saw it clearly, as did those who helped him into Parliament, to represent this growing concern. The evisceration of rural Hungarians, the cultural and intellectual corrosion, and then the bloody mass murders, were all attributable to this—but only after a lost war, to be followed by yet another Jewish regime, from which Hungarians rebelled against again in 1956, for a few days at least. And the cycle continues to this day, with taxpayer-funded sectarian Jews filing criminal reports on Hungarians, for daring to ask for self-reflection over their past sins, or forcing Hungarians into hiding under pseudonyms in their own homeland, if they dare to question their mythical role as victims—since only Jews can be victims in this dynamic, and the perpetrators are Hungarians whose “identity” no philosemite sets extreme standards for by saying thay they don’t know whether Hungarians are Hungarians just because they were born one. If these ancestors had no excuse a century and a half ago, we really have none at all today. Istóczy tried to spur his compatriots to action just a decade before the Jewish terror:

And let those who can, do something for the cause, if for no other reason, then because we, the present generation, will somehow manage to get along with the issue as long as we live; but what fate awaits our children and grandchildren if things continue to go on as they have been going on, is another matter. (Istóczy, 1906, 20.)

It would, therefore, be worth listening to those, who foresaw where things were going: the Istóczys, the Bosnyáks, the Tormays, the Marschalkós, and many other truth-telling Hungarians who feared for their nation—or Frenchmen, like the Tharaud brothers, in this case. It’s been going on for thousands of years, time to draw the obvious conclusion, pleasant or not. The work of the French brothers is an old-new addition to this process.


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Pew Research Center. “A portrait of Jewish Americans: Findings from a Pew Research Center Survey of U.S. Jews.” Washington, DC: Pew Research Center (2013).

Prónay Pál;  Szabó Ágnes, Pamlényi Ervin (eds.). “A határban a halál kaszál: fejezetek Prónay Pál feljegyzéseiből.” Budapest: Kossuth, 1963.

Werth, N. (1999). “A State against Its People: Violence, Repression, and Terror in the Soviet Union.” In Courtois, S., Werth, N., Panné, J., Paczkowski, A., Bartosek K., & Margolin, J. (1999). The Black Book of Communism: Crimes, Terror, Repression, trans. J. Murphy & M. Kramer. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Wolin, S., & Slusser, R. M. (1957). The Soviet Secret Police. New York: Praeger.

 

Cofnas out at Cambridge

Nathan Cofnas has been removed from his position at Cambridge University. I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, he was removed because of his race realism, which I have long agreed with and is apparent in what is posted at TOO (including 27 articles on race realism  and many more on Africans and African-Americans). On the other hand, he has been obsessed with attacking me—often in academic journals (journals that I have published in back in the good old days). See here. In general I have been prevented from responding to him except on my website.

I regard him as an atypical Jewish academic activist: acting to defend the Jewish community—and quite possibly seeing race realism as conforming to the interests of Jews as an intelligent, wealthy elite; recently I heard Alan Dershowitz defend Jewish power, saying something like, “Jews deserve everything they have attained in America.”

Nevertheless Cofnas has attacked some of the ideas on race differences (including IQ) that have been originated and long championed by mainstream Jewish intellectuals and which have become dominant in academia and a pillar of political correctness.

Obviously, I have a very low opinion of Cofnas’s  intellectual honesty, his scholarship (he clearly was unacquainted with the vast majority of the literature reviewed in The Culture of Critique), and even his ability to form cogent arguments—something that one would not expect from a person who is trained in philosophy.

From the Daily Mail:

A fellow at the University of Cambridge who has sparked backlash with his comments on race has been dropped by Emmanuel College where he was a research associate.

Nathan Cofnas, an early career research fellow in the Faculty of Philosophy, is understood to have had his relationship with the college ended following an investigation into his conduct.

Mr Cofnas came under fire in February after he published a blog post which claimed the number of black professors at Harvard would ‘approach zero’ in a meritocracy, and that ‘Blacks would disappear from almost all high-profile positions outside of sports and entertainment.’

He also dismissed equality between people of different ethnicities as a ‘thesis’ that is ‘based on lies’.

Mr Cofnas, who describes himself as a ‘race-realist’, is understood to have been informed of the college’s decision by letter on April 5, which stated his posts were in violation of its diversity and inclusion policies.

According to Varsity, the letter stated: ‘The Committee first considered the meaning of the blog and concluded that it amounted to, or could reasonably be construed as amounting to, a rejection of Diversity, Equality, and Inclusion (DEI and EDI) policies.’

It added: ‘The Committee concluded that the core mission of the College was to achieve educational excellence and that diversity and inclusion were inseparable from that. The ideas promoted by the blog therefore represented a challenge to the College’s core values and mission.’ …

 

 

Jewish–Hungarian Conflicts and Strategies in the Béla Kun Regime, a Review-Essay of “When Israel is King” (Part 4 of 5)

Go to Part 1.
Go to Part 2.
Go to Part 3.

6207 words.

After the elements examined so far, such as networking, press influence, cultural and political movements, and finally the question of the acquisition of power and Jewish activism, it is worthwhile to look more closely at these, in particular, the question of identity, which is a recurrent focus of those who want to dismiss the responsibility of Jewry. According to the narrative, if certain individuals did not declare to the whole world that they were Jewish, they were not Jewish, because according to this infantile logic, it is a matter of choice or proclamation. In reality, identity manifests itself on multiple planes—and then there is also the importance of ethnic traits.

The principle outlined above, however, is not considered by these commentators to be applicable in other cases: for example, if a seemingly White person hits a gypsy, logically one should wait for both persons to declare their identity because it might be that a Hungarian with a gypsy identity hits a gypsy with a Hungarian identity, so to complain about anti-gypsy racism would be premature. Even in the case of the so-called Jewish Holocaust, those who argue in this way accept that the actual, legally protected number of victims, is the real number, regardless of how many of them may not have had a Jewish identity (remember: internationalists can’t be Jews, following a similar logic), showing the highly cynical and biased nature of this tactical nihilism. This postmodern view is thus absurd: while the role of one’s identity is important, there are several aspects to a person’s motivations, inclinations, or needs.

Aspects of the Dynamics of Internationalism and Tribal Networking

We sometimes hear that the Republic of Councils of Hungary (i.e., the Kun regime) was anti-Jewish. In contrast, Jewish ethnic activism was quite free, both in Hungary, and elswhere under early Bolshevism. Although two Jewish leaders in Budapest wanted the Jews to be regarded as Hungarians with Jewish religion by the new Kun regime, other Jews formed a Jewish National Council (Zsidó Nemzeti Tanács), with the permission of the Minister for Nationalities, Oszkár Jászi (1875–1957; Jewish), who “recognized that Jewish national organization was legitimate,” recalls Géza Komoróczy (2012, 354) in his comprehensive work of over 1200 pages, The History of the Jews in Hungary. We also learn that several anti-Jewish events were the result of Jewish infighting, mostly between religious Jews, Zionists, and secular Bolsheviks. Oszkár Jászi, in his emigration to Vienna in 1920, described the Commune as the first revolution in world history in which “Jewry was able to assert itself without any restraint or limit, and thus to freely develop the forces and tendencies that had been dormant within it for centuries” (quoted in ibid., 358).

Jászi described Jewish activism in Russia as an ethnic, tribal movement. According to a lecture given by him to the Galileo Circle on January 28, 1911, the Russians, with their repressive measures, “created the bloodiest, most anarchistic Jewish nationalism … and the result was that this most internationalist people, which did not give much heed to racial and national aspirations, produced bloody nationalist movements” (Jászi, 1982, p.162). Jászi reiterated this on other occasions: the repressive characteristics of the tsarist order “created a suitable soil for the most extreme revolutionary ideas in Jewry. The result of all this was that a hitherto unknown strain of Jewish fanatic nationalism spread throughout the land of Russia” (Jászi, 1912, 139, emphasis in original). He did not specify who or what he meant, but in these years, in addition to the Zionists, the anti-Zionists (who rejected emigration) were openly Jewish and socialist Bundists who later supported the Bolsheviks; moreover, the Bolsheviks themselves were significant (one need only think of their bloody revolutionary attempt of 1905, with Leon Trotsky). In the early 1910s, the Bolshevik movement was already significant, so the adjective “revolutionary” must have been a reference to them and other Marxists. As Gerald D. Surh (2023) summarized in the introduction to his book, “[t]he defeat of Jewish revolutionary initiatives by the end of 1905 did not defeat their movement’s pioneering efforts. Jewish revolutionary socialism, largely created and emergent as a part of Russia’s 1905 Revolution, found a longer and more influential life in Palestine, Europe, America, and post-1917 Russia”—as it did in Hungary in 1918–1919.

Oszkár Jászi (source: szevi.hu)

Jászi (1982, p.69) admits in a speech to a public assembly on August 7, 1906, that “a very large role” in causing Hungary’s poverty is played by what he simply calls “Jewish usury.” In his view, the Jewish question is nothing more than “group antagonism complicated by racial frictions” (ibid., 263), not in a biological, but in a historical sense. As he points out, “haute finance and commerce are predominantly Jewish occupations, and the conflicts of interest inherent in these operations easily take on a sectarian or racial color” (ibid., 264). Jászi explains the differences between the two ethnicities, the Jew and the Hungarian, such as the excessive rationalism of the former, his alienation from nature, his crude, arrogant, pushy character, in contrast to the peasant character of Hungarian provincialism, which he believes naturally leads to antipathy. In his view, one of the causes of the “Jewish question” was to be found in the “overwhelming and pathological influence of Jewry” (ibid., 489). As is often the case when a Jew engages in a relatively honest analysis of the Jewish–gentile conflict, Jászi here comes very close to the views of the “anti-Semites”—in this case, to the summary of Hungarian grievances put forward by the Tharauds (2024, 160–163), which basically says the same thing about Jews and why they arouse antipathy.

Jászi is also quoted by the American-Israeli historian Ezra Mendelsohn, after pointing out that “the number of Jews who occupied prominent positions in Kun’s ill-fated one hundred-day regime was truly remarkable. According to one student of this period, of twenty-six ministers and vice-ministers of the Kun regime, twenty were of Jewish origin” (Mendelsohn, 1993, 894). He sums up the situation later: “Not only did Jews dominate the Bela Kun government, but they were also very prominent in the prewar ’Galileo Circle,’ the center of Budapest student radicalism, and in the prewar socialist movement” (ibid.). The author quotes Jászi as saying that “[t]he Hungarian people is much more rural, conservative, and slow thinking than the Western peasant peoples. On the other hand, Hungarian Jewry is much less assimilated than Western Jewries, it is much more an independent body within society, which does not have any real contact with the native soul of the country” (ibid., 895).

According to Mendelsohn, however, “the fact is that most Jews were patriotic Hungarians who were extremely hostile to Bolshevism”—a rather hyperbolic claim. But putting that aside, he greatly simplifies the issue: the animosity of Hungarians against Jews was the result of many factors, of which Bolshevism was only one. Hungarians noticed that Jews—as admitted by the very prominent Jászi above—formed an alien society within society, and given their enormously oversized presence in positions of influence, had a serious transformative effect on the nation as a whole. (As another source of hostility, recall Jászi’s acknowledgment from elsewhere that 90% of usury is practiced by Jews.) Indeed, the psychoanalyst Sándor Ferenczi, who was closely associated with the Galileo Circle, was not very fond of Bolshevism, and neither were some of his friends from the Circle (while others did participate in the Kun regime). And yet they had a very anti-traditional, corrosive influence on elite culture in Hungary. The conflict remains, whether Zionists, or non-Zionist Communists, perhaps Capitalists, landowners, merchants, journalists, artists, and a long list of different positions.

Identity, and Identity by Proxy

Considering the fact that the “explainers” are fond of repeating that Bolshevik Jews had no Jewish identity (which is demonstrably untrue, at least in some particular cases; see below), another point to raise here, therefore, is that of honesty. We don’t know how honest these characters were in their communications and expressions; therefore we should be cautious in assuming that the absence of something in communication proves an absence of that thing on a deeper level. A diaspora people developing proxies for group identity would not be a surprising tendency, especially during times of intergroup tensions: “Communism was, among other things, a form of assimilation” for Jews, opines Krajewski (2000), portraying them as longing to belong to a society while at the same time attempting to transform it into something very different. Yet this “seemed the most promising way” for them to assimlate. He notes, however, that “[w]hen they became rejected or just disenchanted they often ‘regressed’ to Jewishness.” This is more consistent with the possibility that Jews developed a mask for their Jewish self-image subconsciously (portraying themselves as mere socialists), or perhaps this was a consciously strategical, deceptive narrative, to appeal to masses—which returns us to the question of honesty. Indeed, for instance “[t]he idea that the victory of socialism depended on winning over the peasantry was to become one of the few political principles that [József] Pogány would continue to cling to over his entire career as a revolutionary” (Sakmyster, 2012, 30). Consciously avoiding manifestations of Jewish identification would also be consistent with the concern these Jews had about anti-Semitism—which was, indeed, the motivation behind their desire to portray their regime as less Jewish than it was (seen earlier in this study).

Appealing to peasants would not work under the flag of the Star of David, just as transforming society to cleanse it of anti-Semitism and render it safer for Jews—where Jews, indeed, would be the rulers—would not be important for a significant enough mass of people (it’s likely that they would oppose it, in fact). Using a mask—such as gentiles as leaders of a movement—to appeal to the broader gentile society is a well-known phenomenon among activist Jews (among psychoanalysts, leftist radicals, and Boasians, see: MacDonald, 1998, Ch. 2, 3, 4; Csonthegyi, 2023; 2024). Adopting proxies for the sake of “assimilation” (or perhaps for strategy), while remaining Jewish, might also remind us of the fifteenth-century Marranos, amongst whom we can also find this regression to Jewishness (MacDonald, 2003, Ch. 4). Regarding the pursuit of Jewish interests under the red, rather than the Jewish, flag, Jaff Schatz (1991, 230) notes notes that “[t]he activists were guided by an ambition to shape Jewish collective postwar life according to the content of their ethnopolitical vision. In this vision, Jewish secular culture would bloom under Socialist conditions.” Jews saw the triumph of Communism as “a remedy to anti-Semitism, backwardness, misery, and other Jewish problems in a changed Jewish occupational structure” (ibid.). We are thus again back at the transformation of host societies according to specifically Jewish perspectives.

Schatz reflects on this as well when he describes a specific type of Jewish Communist: “[r]ooted in a Jewish prewar world, they shared the activists’ vision of combining socialism with the preservation and cultivation of a secular Yiddish culture, without sharing the latter’s Machiavellian sophistication” (ibid., 237). The main leaders of the Red Guard of the Kun regime (with the exception of Ferenc Jancsik) were all Jews: Ernő Landler, Dezső Bíró, Ernő Seidler, Ferenc Rákos, Ede Chlepkó, Mátyás Rákosi. Ignác Schulz was “a former deputy commander of the Budapest Red Guard” (Simon, 2013, 61). Sándor Garbai, president of the Kun regime, recalls about Schulcz—who participated in the 1918–1919 revolutions and later moved to Czechoslovakia, still being active, but later lived in Israel, where he died—and that he followed traditional Jewish customs: “I myself have seen, and in many cases observed, that there are only Jews in Ignác Schulcz’s circle of friends and surroundings. This does not happen by chance. Schulcz still lives correctly inwardly, in the spirit of the ghetto. He observes all the injunctions of Jewish tradition, from the enjoyment of kosher cuisine to the exact observance of the long day [Yom Kippur]” (Végső, 2021, 232). This further illustrates that being an internationalist Communist-Socialist was able to coexist with a Jewish identity, refuting philosemitic mainstream tropes about this supposed impossibility. (Recall also Oszkár Jászi’s view on revolutionary Jewish nationalism.)

Some members of Po’alei Zion in Łowicz, 1917

We should also take note of the historical existence of specifically Jewish-identified Socialist groups, like the General Jewish Labour Bund in Lithuania, Poland and Russia, the Jewish Socialist Workers’ Party also in Russia, or the Marxist-Zionist Po’alei Zion (“Workers of Zion”) movement at various places in the Pale of Settlement. Moses Hess, clearly with a Jewish identity, as one of the pioneers of Zionism—and specifically of Labor Zionism—was himself a socialist. As the Enyclopaedia Judaica (2007, 704) reminds us: “An outstanding figure of the British socialist movement was Eleanor Marx-Aveling (1855–1898), Karl Marx’s youngest daughter, who felt a close affinity with the Jewish people and affirmed that ’my happiest moments are when I am in the East End of London amid Jewish workpeople.’” We can see again that being a Communist was consistent with a Jewish self-image, despite its internationalism, and this activism can be seen in their interests as Jews. Around the time of the 1905 revolution in Russia (with Leon Trotsky as a prominent figure and in which the Jewish Bund “played an extremely important role,” Bezarov [2018, 1083]), The New York Times quoted a Jewish preacher in a January 29, 1905 article with the headline “End of Zionism, Maybe”—as saying that, in the case of a successful revolution “a free and a happy Russia, with its six million Jews, would possibly mean the end of Zionism” (quoted in Heddesheimer, 2024, 20). In other words, with the victory of the revolution, Jews would have no reason to emigrate to Palestine to build Israel.

Moreover, Mirjam Limbrunner’s examination of the Bund explicitly identifies it with Jewish nationalism: “Jewish socialists would soon realize that the popular socialist movements did not address many of the challenges the Jewish masses were facing and therefore saw the need to come up with a Jewish version of Socialism” (Limbrunner, 2019, 64). The result of this desire for group-oriented forms of politics was that “Socialism and Jewish nationalism began to merge into political movements such as the General Jewish Labor Union, in short, the Bund, which was founded in 1897 in Vilna and which would have a profound impact on the Socialist Zionists in Palestine in later years” (ibid., 64).

Limbrunner also details the work and influence of Ber Borochov (1881–1917), an important figure who developed a blend of Marxism and Jewish nationalism. Borochov’s work shows the superficiality of dismissing ethnic identity among internationalists, socialists, Marxists, or Bolsheviks. Such narratives are likely dishonest. This dishonesty was often rather explicit: if we look at the Bolsheviks of Russia under Lenin, we find a specifically Jewish section of them, with the name Evsektsiia (or Yevsektsiya; Евсекция), officially recognized “as a Jewish Communist organization,” in the study of Baruch Gurevitz (1980, 29). The role of this Jewish group was to gather the more ethnocentric Jews, carefully keeping them under the Bolshevik umbrella (and thereby weakening the Zionist movement), while allowing them to remain Jews (in a secular Bolshevik way), and continue to network with the many other Jewish groups. As Gurevitz notes, the Central Committee of the Bolsheviks ordered “the Ukrainian Communists to admit the Jewish Farband and to set up an Evsektsiia in accordance with the policy being implemented in Moscow,” and as a result, they “found Jewish sections on the local level as well as a central Evsektsiia” (ibid., 33). A similar situation occurred in Belorussia as well, but Gurevitz presents many more examples of officially permitted Jewish activism within the framework of Communism—to the embarrassment of those who still pretend that this is an impossibility. (Also recall the Jewish National Council under the supervision of the Kun regime’s Oszkár Jászi, outlined earlier.) That some Jews accused the Evsektsiia of being traitors, or even as “anti-Semitic,” because of their anti-religious and anti-Zionist stance, should be viewed as an example of tribal in-fighting that is of secondary importance to us here. Thus, while gentile nations were supposed to “wipe” their “slate clean,” Jews were active within this socialist-Yiddish-Jewish identity.

Indeed, Israeli historian, Inna Shtakser argues in her book, The Making of Jewish Revolutionaries in the Pale of Settlement, that these revolutionary Jews developed a new Jewish identity, which, however, remained a Jewish identity:

The Jewish community was the place where Jewish revolutionaries felt most comfortable. Lena, a prospective revolutionary, chose to join the Social Democrats — rather than the Socialist Revolutionaries — whom she supported politically since she assumed that in the urban-oriented Social Democratic Party she would be able to propagate her ideas among Jews rather than among peasants whom she assumed would reject her due to her ethnicity. In a Jewish setting, revolutionaries did not feel the need to pretend to be non-Jewish, and to some extent could count on communal solidarity against the authorities. (Shtakser, 2014, 128)

Here we may notice that even according to Shtakser, some Jews felt the need to present themselves as non-Jews, which brings us back to the narratives used to obfuscate the responsibility of Jews (as not even being Jews), which we have already dealt with.

Shtakser also notes that these “young revolutionaries had to make compromises regarding their internationalist identity and make it clear that they were responsible for all the Jews,” and that “[f]or a short period during the revolution, the Jewish community accepted revolutionaries and even their leadership” (ibid., 129). During these tumultuous times “they did not abandon the Jewish communities when these were threatened” and “they also took responsibility for the community and expected to be treated as insiders rather than as strangers. Militants expected to be supported and to provide support against the common enemies – the tsarist regime, which discriminated against all the Jews, and the pogromists” (ibid., 130). Shtakser concludes:

Even though young revolutionary Jews had mixed feelings about the Jewish community, it was clear that only within that community did they feel secure in their social status as revolutionaries. Whereas non-Jewish revolutionaries saw the actions of the ‘Black Hundreds’ as part of a longer political battle that they were fighting, the Jews felt that the very basis of their activism was threatened, the space where they felt secure. Their subsequent struggle against the Black Hundreds was not just a struggle for the Jewish community, but also a defence of their identity. (Ibid., 130)

Abigail Green (2020, 34) also notes that “[t]he fact that early forms of Jewish internationalism were structured by liberal preoccupations — civil and religious liberty, humanitarianism, civilizational discourse, liberal imperialism — made it possible for secular Jewish liberals to engage in collective Jewish action in the international sphere.” And Ben Gidley (2014, 62) remarks that historians tend to downplay “the extent to which these migrants had any connection to the Jewish world”; in fact, Jewish migrants had “a major impact on the development of British Marxism.” He points out how this results in contradictory perspectives: “Paradoxically, such historians have often taken at face value the radicals’ profession of an internationalism that disavows any possibility of ethnic belonging, while at the same time, they have been keen to portray the radicalism that they cherish as indigenous to English soil and not transplanted from foreign lands” (ibid., 62–63).

Even earlier, the 1905 revolution already showed that Jews perceived the revolutionary movement as in the interest of their grouIt is, therefore, not a surprise that Jews were strongly motivated. Bezarov (2021, 132) notes that “The processes of formation of the organizational and personnel structure of the Russian Social-Democracy continued during the First Russian Revolution. Jews took an active part in these processes. Their role in the organization of [the] Russian social-democratic movement and in its staffing is difficult to overestimate.” This was not just due to individual Jews playing “extremely important” roles; rather, this essentially developed into a group-identity for many—a secular form of Judaism, as Bezarov comments: “Eventually, the Jewish origin of Marx, the founder of scientific” socialism, canonized his doctrine in the mass consciousness of the urban Jewry of the Russian Empire, which awaited a new messiah who would ’brin’» them out of the ghetto of the Jewish Pale” (ibid.).

This fits with Oszkár Jászi’s perception of Jewish activism in the first decade of the twentieth century as a form of “nationalism”—even if under the flag of internationalism—and we can accurately describe the activism of Jews in Hungary at that time, whether in the psychoanalytic movement, the Galileo Circle, or Bolshevism, as activism motivated by perceived ethnic interests. To bring about change; a transformation of society to a new one, where Jews are less restricted, or threatened, and can obtain more power—a competition for resources that should not surprise those who view history through the lens of evolutionary processes, with ethnic character taken into account.

 “Vote for the United Jewish Socialist Workers’ Party” –  Ukrainian election poster in Yiddish from 1917 (Ne Boltai Collection)

A key to understanding the link between being an internationalist and still possessing a particular national (ethnic) identity, is through the lens of this ethnic competition, especially from the perspective of minorities: by advocating the destruction of restrictions, the minority groups advocating for a new order where they have more freedom and access to power, engage in the pursuit of their group interests. How much of an advocacy of that sort is cynical and deceptive, and how much is genuinely believed, is often hard to know, but in the case of the latter, the phenomenon of self-deception is well-understood in the relevant literature: von Hippel & Trivers (2011, 1; see also MacDonald 2003/1998, Ch. 8) argue that “self-deception evolved to facilitate interpersonal deception by allowing people to avoid the cues to conscious deception that might reveal deceptive intent.” And Mijović-Prelec & Prelec (2010, 238) conclude that “[l]ike ordinary deception, [self-deceptoin] is an external, public activity, involving overt statements or actions directed towards an audience, whether real or imagined.”

A remark from the “non-Jewish Jew” Marxist historian, Isaac Deutscher (1907–1967) provides an interesting perspective on self-deception (assuming he is not being outwardly deceptive): “Religion? I am an atheist. Jewish nationalism? I am an internationalist. In neither sense am I therefore a Jew. I am, however, a Jew by force of my unconditional solidarity with the persecuted and exterminated” (Deutscher, 2017, 50). Here Deutscher is identifying with his own group, but gets there not in a way he finds objectionable. Instead, he rationalizes a Jewish identity as the result of a humanitarian, moral stance. But Deutscher would not, and did not, identify as a Palestinian because of all the persecution and ethnic cleansing that this specific group was subjected to around the same time (and ever since); he did not identify as a Russian or Hungarian because of the persecution those people faced under Communism, neither did he identify with any Asian or African people who endured persecution, oppression or mass murder on a large scale. His humanism appears highly selective and he, it so happens, ends up feeling solidarity with his own people for humanitarian reasons, as a foundation of his consciously accepted identity and ethnocentrism. Deutscher then goes on to note that “I am a Jew because I feel the Jewish tragedy as my own tragedy; because I feel the pulse of Jewish history,” and concludes the remark by expressing a desire to “assure” a real “security and self-respect of the Jews” (ibid.).

Gerald Surh (2023) has explored this aspect of Jewish activism in terms of perceived or real security, summarizing in the introduction to his book that “[a]mong Jews, a post-1881 generation began breaking with the quietism and passivity of the elders and traditional leaders. Just as Gentile anxiety and anger against Jews in 1905 was conditioned by more than antisemitism, transformations among Jews since the 1880s were due to more than resistance to antisemitism, however compelling the anti-Jewish threat.” He points out that “[t]hey organized Jewish political parties for the first time and, in response to the shock of the 1903 Kishinev pogrom, adapted them to pro-active self-defense efforts. The Jewish parties which gained a footing among Jews by defending them against pogroms in 1905, went on to play a substantial role afterward, both in Russia’s ongoing revolution and in the diaspora abroad.” Thus we return to the Jewish activism that Jászi saw, which included Bolshevism as another Jewish identity in the revolutionary era.

An argument is often made that, although Jews were heavily over-represented among the Bolsheviks and Communists, the majority of Jews as a whole did not support this. Even if one assumes that, depending on the situation, the Bolsheviks did not have more than 50% support in Jewish circles—that does not mean that Bolshevism in Hungary, in 1919, for example, was not a Jewish phenomenon. (This argument is also meant to suggest that other Jews were somehow patriotic, although, if there are several anti-national movements to choose from, one cannot proclaim this merely on the basis of the support of one branch.) The distribution of Jewish votes at the time—related to Surh’s insight above—is revealing, for example, in an analysis of 1917 data from Russia, summarised by Simon Rabinovitch (2009, 216): “The large number of Jewish parties vying for Jewish votes in 1917 reflected ideological divisions among the most politically active segment of the Jewish population. This political fractiousness, however, for the most part did not carry over to the Jewish masses, who overwhelmingly voted for Jewish national coalitions favouring Jewish civil equality and collective rights within a generally liberal framework.” The author adds about the coalition that received by far the most votes: “To vote for the Jewish National Electoral Committee or the Jewish National Bloc in 1917 meant to vote for a list of Jewish candidates whose priority in the All-Russian Constituent Assembly would be Jewish advocacy and defence, not merely civil equality for all (such as the Kadets) or class struggle (such as the socialists, Jewish and otherwise)” (Ibid., 217). Which is to say, political activism for Jewish interests, which is understandable, but the suggestion that “not all Jews” supported the Bolsheviks does not imply identification with the host nation, only different strategic perspectives within a Jewish framework. And finally, it doesn’t account for the fact that there was a major shift toward much greater Jewish support of the Bolshevik regime after it came to power (e.g., Slezkine 2004; Bemporad, 2013).

Under the red flag, we find Jewish identity and activism elsewhere, too. Demonstrating a strong Jewish identity among Communists, this time in the United States of the 1930s, Bat-Ami Zucker (1994, 175) details how “the ’Jewish Bureau’ was not autonomous but an integral part of the Communist Party and, as such, subject to its Central Committee, it nonetheless expressed a Jewish identity, which led—albeit indirectly and unintentionally—to the development of a unique Jewish leftist culture.” Zucker presents examples of these Communist Jews attempting a strategy in which they rejected a “national” and “Jewish” perspective, instead, they phrased it as being “Yiddish” (a mild case of identity by proxy). This changed after a few years, however:

The new positive attitude toward Jewish culture was manifested in several well-planned programs. The Jewish communist publications started promoting Jewish culture and Jewish heritage, using for the first time—though with reference to Jewish masses—the term “Jewish people” applying a positive connotation. Instead of earlier miserable attempts to justify the use of Yiddish, Jewish culture was granted a prominent role. (Ibid., 180)

Zucker quotes Moissaye Joseph Olgin, a Communist from Soviet Russia, who participated in the 1905 revolution, but ended up a journalist in the United States, as saying that “the main objectives” of these new Jew-friendly Communist policies “were to defend the Jewish people and its culture, to promote Jewish culture and to spread it among the Jewish people” (ibid., 181). These new policies included “the institution of a ’World Alliance of Jewish Culture—IKUF,’ the creation of local branches under an international committee, and the founding of a special periodical dedicated solely to Jewish culture—Yiddishe Kultur” (ibid.). This was not done merely by Communists, but achieved by specifically Jewish activism, as Zucker clarifies: “the separate organization of the American Jewish communists and especially its press, educational network, and social and cultural activities led in the 1930s, to the creation of a unique Jewish culture. Though they considered themselves loyal communists and adhered to communist beliefs, they never let go and kept proclaiming that they belonged to the Jewish people” (ibid., 182).

Shifting our attention to a different region and era, regarding the period after the Second World War, Anna Koch (2022, 111) notes that in the Communist German Democratic Republic (GDR) “Jewishness continued to play a role” even in the lives of Jews who were not close to their Jewish background anymore, not to mention other Jews who “had always seen their Jewishness as an integral part of their self-understanding and had turned to leftist politics to battle antisemitism, perceiving their antifascism to be intertwined with their Jewishness” (ibid., 111–112). As she notes: “In contrast to much of the literature that brushes aside the Jewish origin of these German Communists as being of little relevance, this chapter highlights the myriad ways in which they positioned themselves in relation to it” (ibid., 112). Koch includes in her analysis those who did not (at least explicitly) identify as Jews, but regardless, they were also motivated Jewishly.

Following Koch’s focus on the GDR, and proposing to show “how Jewish leaders rendered Communist antifascism Jewish,” David Shneer (2022, 156) elaborates on this theme: “even after the postwar purges of Communist Jews from the leadership of GDR Jewish institutions in 1952–1953, there still existed a global Communist Jewish community. Before World War II, communicating usually through Yiddish, this community played a central role in shaping modern Jewish life as it advocated for a Marxist approach to injustice and for the liberation of all peoples, including Jews, from structural systems of domination like fascism and colonialism” (ibid., 154). These Jews “found political and cultural space in the GDR in general, and in East Berlin in particular” as “GDR’s Jews inserted Jewish culture and memories of the war into the GDR’s memorial culture, thereby ensuring that Jewish memories of the war were invoked in the state’s public antifascist culture” (ibid.). Schneer then looks into the networking of these Jews, that he calls “transnational,” mostly focusing on the GDR, Hungary, and the United States—indeed, he notes that “Hungary served as a primary node of Judaism in the Communist Jewish world,” partially because “Budapest maintained the only rabbinic seminary in Communist Europe, the Budapest Rabbinic Seminary” (ibid., 163). These Jews in the GDR “were integrated into transnational and global networks that helped them maintain a sense of Jewish community through Communist networks. These other Jews created community through an older Communist tradition of Jewish universalism that had been popular before World War II, primarily but not exclusively through Yiddish culture” (ibid., 168). Robin Ostow’s interview with a woman who left Germany in 1933, but moved back from Soviet Russia to the GDR later, also details her explicit Jewish identity together with her professed Communism (Berliner, 1989).

Staying for a moment with the volume that features the essays from Koch and Shneer, and within this, with Hungary, it is worth mentioning the work of Kata Bohus, who analyses Jewish activism in the János Kádár era (1956–1989) and presents the narrative that was emerging at the time in the context of the Magyar Zsidó Jewish publication, quoting that “[t]he Jewish question is actually a Hungarian question. The question of the democracy, tolerance, openness and moral standards of Hungarian society, the question here is whether the contradictions of our society can be resolved freely, without aggression….” (Bohus, 2022, 247) This is the framework within which mainstream historiography is currently living: the crimes and responsibility of the Jews are to be attributed to the Hungarians, because of their intolerance, as we have seen earlier.

We will, however, stick to the Jewish character of the Jewish question, and thus turn our attention to the victims of the Jewish terror: we will put the complications of the “Jews were just as much victims of Bolshevism” narrative under the magnifying glass, and the blurring of Jewish responsibility for the Lenin Boys, in the concluding part of our study.


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Alain de Benoist: “Lutamos por uma revolução como nunca vimos.”

Em uma entrevista publicada originalmente em “La Gazeta” (seção Ideias), o diretor de El Manifiesto, Javier Ruiz Portella, conversa longa e detidamente com Alain de Benoist, aos 80 anos de seu nascimento e aos 50 anos do lançamento da Nova Direita.

1.

JAVIER RUIZ PORTELLA: Cinquenta anos atrás, Vossa Senhoria colocava em marcha, junto com um grupo de camaradas e amigos, o que mais tarde ficaria conhecido como a Nova Direita. Uma tarefa colossal! Porque não se tratava apenas de defender ou atacar tais ou quais ideias, reivindicações, conflitos… antes, se tratava ― e se trata ― de transformar toda a nossa visão de mundo; ou seja, a configuração de ideias, sentimentos, desejos … envolvendo os homens de hoje, que assim vivemos e morremos.

E como buscamos algo novo, diferente, está claro que o devemos buscar longe dos dois grandes pilares (já meio derrubados…) que chamamos de “direita” e “esquerda”. Assim, Vossenhoria não acredita que os novos pilares destinados a sustentar o Verdadeiro, o Belo e o Bem (que hoje nada sustenta) estejam mais perto do espírito da direita ― desde que não liberal, não teocrática e tampouco plutocrática ― do que de uma esquerda que, no melhor dos casos, sempre será individualista, igualitarista e materialista?

ALAIN DE BENOIST: Desconfio das palavras com iniciais maiúsculas. Eu conheço coisas belas e coisas feias, coisas boas e coisas más, mas nunca topei com o Belo e com o Bem em si. O mesmo ocorre com a esquerda e a direita. “A direita” e “a esquerda” nunca existiram. Sempre houve direitas e esquerdas (no plural), e a questão de se possamos encontrar um denominador comum para todas essas direitas e todas essas esquerdas segue sendo objeto de debate. Vossoria mesmo admite isso quando fala de uma direita “não liberal, não teocrática e tampouco plutocrática”: é a prova de que junto à direita que Vossoria aprecia há outras. Porém, quando Vossoria fala da esquerda, volta imediatamente para o singular! É um erro. Grandes pensadores socialistas como Georges Sorel e Pierre-Joseph Proudhon não eram nem individualistas, nem igualitaristas, nem materialistas. Tampouco cabe atribuir esses qualificativos a George Orwell, Christopher Lasch ou Jean-Claude Michéa. Tampouco devemos confundir a esquerda socialista, que defendeu os trabalhadores, com a esquerda progressista, que defende os direitos humanos (não é o mesmo). Só se pode dizer que o igualitarismo, para dar um exemplo, foi historicamente mais comum “na esquerda” do que “na direita”. Porém, falando isso, não dizemos grande coisa, quando menos porque também há formas de desigualdade na “direita”, sobretudo na direita liberal, que me parecem totalmente inaceitáveis. Por isso, acredito que devamos julgar caso por caso, em lugar de utilizar etiquetas, que sempre são equívocas. Como eu já disse muitas vezes, as etiquetas servem mais para os potes de geleia! Não cedamos ao fetichismo das palavras.

Creio que nós dois prezamos os tipos humanos portadores de valores com os quais nos identificamos. Esses tipos humanos são mais comuns na “direita” do que na “esquerda”, isso eu atesto sem vacilar. Nesse sentido, sinto-me completamente “de direita”, mas não faço disso um absoluto. Uma coisa são os valores, e outra, as ideias. Eis por que não tenho nenhum problema em me sentir “de direita” de um ponto de vista psicológico e antropológico, reconhecendo, ao mesmo tempo, a validade de certas ideias que geralmente são atribuídas, com ou sem razão, à “esquerda”.

2.

JAVIER RUIZ PORTELLA: O que Vossia sente depois de cinquenta anos transbordantes de reflexões, combates, vitórias… ou alguma pequena derrota, talvez? Suponho que sua alegria terá sido grande ao constatar que o espírito da Nova Direita, ainda longe de conformar agora “o horizonte espiritual de nossa época” (como dizia Sartre sobre o marxismo), chegou, no entanto, a marcar o campo de ação intelectual da França; sem falar de sua presença, embora menos vigorosa, em países como Itália, Alemanha, Hungria, a própria Espanha…

ALAIN DE BENOIST: É a eterna história do vaso meio cheio ou meio vazio. Sim, de fato, em cinquenta anos, houve muitos êxitos. A Nova Direita não só não desapareceu (meio século de existência para uma escola de pensamento já é extraordinário), como ainda os temas que introduziu no debate ganharam ampla repercussão na maioria dos países europeus. Disso dão prova os milhares de artigos, livros, conferências, colóquios, traduções e encontros que marcaram os últimos cinquenta anos. Isto posto, também devemos ser realistas: os pontos referidos não impediram o avanço das forças do caos. O “horizonte espiritual de nosso tempo” não tem nada de  espiritual, absolutamente: é o horizonte de um ocaso, ocaso que se acelera cada dia mais. Declarar, como desejável, que “o niilismo não passará por mim” não muda coisa nenhuma. Como dizia Jean Mabire, não transformamos o mundo, mas o mundo não nos transformou. E não nos esqueçamos de que o momento da “luta final” ainda não chegou.

3.

JAVIER RUIZ PORTELLA: Entre os diversos fenômenos verificados no mundo hoje, quais Vossia considera que portam a esperança e quais outros trariam a desesperança? Tudo está, obviamente, entrelaçado, mas nesse emaranhado de fenômenos sociais, culturais, políticos… onde estaria o nosso principal inimigo e onde estaria o nosso maior amigo?

ALAIN DE BENOIST: A segunda pergunta é, obviamente, mais fácil de responder do que a primeira, porque a resposta está diante de nós. Há três grandes perigos que nos ameaçam hoje. Em primeiro lugar, os estragos da tecnologia e o condicionamento decorrente na era da inteligência artificial e da omnipresença dos computadores, que com o tempo conduzirão à Grande Substituição do homem pela máquina. E só estamos no começo disso tudo: o transumanismo já preconiza a fusão do vivo com a máquina. Em segundo lugar, a mercantilização do mundo, um dos pilares da ideologia dominante, com a adesão das mentes à lógica de benefício e à axiomática do interesse, ou seja, a colonização do imaginário simbólico pelo utilitarismo e a crença de que a economia seja o destino, de acordo com uma antropologia liberal baseada no economicismo e no individualismo, que só vê o homem como um ser egoísta buscando sempre satisfazer os próprios interesses. O principal motor disso é, obviamente, o sistema capitalista, que pretende acabar com tudo capaz de obstar a expansão do mercado (soberania nacional e soberania popular, objeções morais, identidades coletivas e particularidades culturais) e desacreditar todos los valores que não sejam os do mercado. Em terceiro lugar, o reinado quase mundial de uma ideologia dominante baseada na ideologia do progresso e na ideologia dos direitos humanos, que está semeando o caos num mundo cada vez mais voltado ao niilismo: a redução da política à gestão tecnocrática, a moda da “cultura do cancelamento”, com os delírios da ideologia de gênero propagada pelo lóbi legebético, o neofeminismo preconizando a guerra entre os sexos, o decaimento da cultura geral, as patologias sociais causadas pela imigração massiva e descontrolada, o declínio da escola, a desaparição programada da diversidade dos povos, línguas e culturas… e tantas outras coisas.

Para mim, o principal inimigo segue sendo, mais do que nunca, o universalismo no plano da filosofia, o liberalismo no plano da política, o capitalismo no plano da economia e, no plano da geopolítica, o mundo anglo-saxão.

Fenômenos “portadores de esperança”? Este é tema que devemos abordar com prudência. Para mais de a história estar sempre aberta (é, por excelência, o domínio do imprevisto, como dizia Dominique Venner), está claro que vivemos um período de transição e de crise generalizada. A ideologia dominante é, efetivamente, dominante (sobretudo porque é sempre a ideologia da classe dominante), mas ela está em processo de desintegração por toda parte. A democracia liberal, parlamentar e representativa está cada vez mais desacreditada. O auge do populismo, a emergência de democracias iliberais e dos “Estados-civilização”, os intentos de democracia participativa e de renovação cívica na base, isso tudo tem lugar quando se alarga cada vez mais o hiato entre o povo e as elites. A classe política tradicional está desacreditada. Todas as categorias profissionais se mobilizam e a raiva aumenta em todo lugar, o que abre a perspectiva de revoltas sociais em grande escala (o clássico momento em que “os de cima já não podem mais e os de baixo já não querem mais”). Ao mesmo tempo, as coisas estão mudando no plano internacional. As cartas são embaralhadas de novo entre as potências. Os próprios Estados Unidos estão em profunda crise, parece que nos encaminhamos para o fim do mundo unipolar ou bipolar e o começo de um mundo multipolar, o que acho muito positivo. Surge nova clivagem entre os BRICS (as potências emergentes) e o “Ocidente coletivo”. Numa tal situação, portas são abertas para muitas oportunidades. No entanto, o seu aproveitamento exige que abandonemos as ferramentas analíticas obsoletas e prestemos muita atenção naquilo que assoma no horizonte da história.

4.

JAVIER RUIZ PORTELLA: O que Vossia acha da bomba-relógio de contador sonoro das duas hecatombes demográficas? Aquela da aparente decisão tomada pelos europeus de, simplesmente, não mais procriar; e aqueloutra da imigração tão massiva que mais parece uma invasão, e invasão fomentada pelas próprias “elites” dos países invadidos. Ocorre-lhe alguma ideia que pareça a solução disso ou, pelo menos, algo que pudesse amortecer o efeito devastador da explosão dessa bomba?

Vossia já declarou que não lhe parece factível a remigração compulsória, que alguns propõem. Provavelmente Vossia tenha razão, haja vista o bom-mocismo piegas que impregna tudo. Então, se a remigração não é exequível, que outra opção nos resta?

ALAIN DE BENOIST: A imigração é um desastre, porque ela provoca uma mudança na identidade e na composição dos povos ao atingir certo limiar. Não podemos remediar isso numa espécie de corrida para aumentar a natalidade, que está condenada ao fracasso. Também não acredito na remigração (como tampouco na assimilação e no “laicismo”), porque, simplesmente, não é possível nas condições atuais. Como o Reconquête [“Reconquista”, partido de Éric Zemmour], ísso é só um mito de refúgio. A política é, antes de tudo, a arte do possível. No entanto, evidentemente, não se trata de nos rendermos. Quando existe vontade política (o que dificilmente ocorre hoje), podemos, sim, vencer a imigração, freando-a drasticamente, quando menos pela supressão das disposições sociais e societais que atraem imigrantes como “bombas de sucção”. Os remédios são conhecidos há muito tempo. Ocorre que, mesmo sendo um fator decisivo, a vontade política não é o único. Também é preciso haver a possibilidade de exercê-la. Ora, todas as medidas sérias destinadas a frenar a imigração estão sendo bloqueadas na atualidade pelo governo dos juízes, que carece de legitimidade democrática, mas pretende se impor tanto aos governos dos Estados quanto à vontade dos povos. Digamo-lo mais claramente: nenhum governo dará o basta à imigração se não se decidir por considerar nulas e sem efeito as decisões do Tribunal Europeu de Direitos Humanos. E se não se afastar da ideologia liberal.

A imigração é, na verdade, a colocação em prática do princípio liberal do “laissez faire, laissez passer” [“deixar fazer, deixar passar”], que se aplica indistintamente a pessoas, capitais, serviços e bens. O liberalismo é uma ideologia que considera a sociedade exclusivamente pelo indivíduo e não reconhece que as culturas têm a sua própria personalidade. Ao ver na imigração a chegada de um número adicional de indivíduos a sociedades já compostas de indivíduos, considera os homens como elementos intercambiáveis entre si. O capitalismo, por sua vez, desde há muito tempo busca a abolição das fronteiras. Nele, o recurso à imigração é fenômeno econômico natural. Em todas as partes, são as grandes empresas as que exigem cada vez mais imigrantes, especialmente para forçar a redução dos salários dos trabalhadores nativos. Nesse sentido, Karl Marx pôde dizer com razão que os imigrantes são “o exército de reserva do capital”. Assim, aqueles que criticam a imigração e veneram o capitalismo fariam melhor se fechassem o bico. De nada serve condenar as consequências sem atacar as causas.

5.

JAVIER RUIZ PORTELLA: Como Vossia já disse certa vez, a atual situação de nossas sociedades é a da tensão de uma típica dualidade pré-revolucionária que Vossia mesmo referiu numa de suas respostas: o velho mundo morre, mas o novo ainda não nasceu. Vislumbram-se, decerto, muitos traços do que pode constituir a nova ordem do mundo. Aí está todo o mal-estar, as mobilizações, a lutas, os avanços… destes nossos dias, embora insuficientes para mudar as coisas. Não lhe parece que uma das razões dessa dificuldade é que esse mal-estar afeta, basicamente, as camadas populares (e um núcleo de intelectuais), enquanto nenhum mal-estar perturba as “elites” indignas de tal nome, que reúne desde a esquerda festiva até os radicais chiques, passando pela esquerda-caviar?

Em outras palavras, Vossia acredita que seja possível mudar o mundo contando apenas com os de baixo e sem que uma parte significativa dos de cima sinta as mesmas ânsias de transformação? O “mudar de lado” não é o que sempre ocorreu em todas as grandes mudanças, em todas as grandes revoluções da história?

ALAIN DE BENOIST: Comecemos por recordar que, como demonstrou [Vilfredo] Pareto, a palavra “elite” é uma palavra neutra: também existe uma elite de traficantes e ladrões. As “elites” de nossas sociedades, seja políticas, seja econômicas, seja mediáticas, estão formadas por homens (e mulheres) geralmente bem formados e inteligentes (embora nem sempre) que acumularam, não obstante, uma série de fracassos em todos os campos. São pessoas isoladas do povo, vivem sem maior ligação com o próprio país, num universo mental transnacional e nômade. Também estão alheias ao real. Não vejo nenhuma utilidade em que se unam à “grande transformação” de que Vossia fala, e menos ainda em aceitar compromissos para intentar seduzi-las. Por outra parte, está claro, não obstante, que as classes trabalhadoras, que agora se levantam contra essas “elites”, necessitam de aliados. E terão cada vez mais aliados por causa do empobrecimento das classes médias. Dessa aliança entre as classes trabalhadoras e os empobrecidos das classes médias pode surgir o bloco histórico que termine por se impor. Se isto ocorrer, veremos então os oportunistas de cima solidarizando-se com os rebeldes de baixo; algo que já se viu em todas as grandes revoluções da história. E, como sempre, é do povo que surgirão as novas e autênticas elites de que precisamos.

6.

JAVIER RUIZ PORTELLA: Dado o seu conhecido questionamento do capitalismo, alguns chegaram a dizer que a Nova Direita deviera uma espécie de Nova Esquerda… Deixando de lado esse tipo de gozação, a verdadeira questão é a seguinte: o que devemos fazer com o capitalismo? Acabar com ele, Vossia dirá. Mas, então, colocar o que no lugar dele? Seria o caso de substituir o capitalismo pela propriedade estatal dos meios de produção? Deveria ser abolido o mercado e a propriedade, como os comunistas fizeram em todas as partes? Não, Vossia dirá, sem dúvida. Mas, então, se o programa for o de abolir as clamorosas injustiças do capitalismo, salvaguardando o mercado, o dinheiro e a propriedade ― embora colocados fora do altar em que se encontram hoje ― isto não seria ― e eu me refiro só ao âmbito econômico ― um simples reformismo?

ALAIN DE BENOIST: “Para os nossos contemporâneos, é mais fácil imaginar o fim do mundo do que o fim do capitalismo”, dizia o teórico britânico Mark Fisher em 2009. Nessa situação, muitos fazem a sua pergunta: como sair do capitalismo e o que poderia substituí-lo? Ao fazê-lo, e sem nos darmos conta, estamos naturalizando abusivamente um fenômeno histórico perfeitamente localizado. A humanidade viveu sem o capitalismo durante milhares de anos: por que amanhã não poderia passar sem ele outra vez? O capitalismo não é toda a economia, nem sequer todas as formas de intercâmbio. O capitalismo é o reino do capital. Surge quando o dinheiro devém capaz de se transformar em capital que se incrementa perpetuamente por si mesmo. O capitalismo é também a transformação das relações sociais conforme as exigências do mercado, a primazia do valor de troca sobre o valor de uso. a transformação do trabalho vivo em trabalho morto, a suplantação do ofício pelo emprego etc. Um sistema assim só pode funcionar sob a condição de  se expandir constantemente (ele cai quando parado, que nem uma bicicleta), daí o ilimitado ser o seu princípio. Sua lei é a híbris, a desmedida, a fuga para a frente na corrida desenfrenada para o “cada vez mais e mais”: cada vez mais mercados, mais lucro, mais livre comércio, mais crescimento e cada vez menos limites e fronteiras. A aplicação desse princípio levou à obsessão do progresso técnico, à financeirização crescente de um sistema que há muito tempo perdeu todas as suas raízes nacionais, conduzindo, ao mesmo tempo, à devastação da Terra.

A oposição de princípio entre o público e o privado é uma ideia liberal em si mesma. Portanto, sair do capitalismo não significa, absolutamente, substituir a iniciativa privada pela propriedade estatal dos meios de produção, que não resolve nada (a antiga URSS era um capitalismo de Estado). Tampouco significa suprimir toda forma de mercado, significa, isto sim, sobrepor o local ao global, a rota curta ao comércio de longa distância. E, obviamente, tampouco significa abolir a propriedade privada, não devendo esta, por outro lado, se converter num princípio absoluto, como querem os liberais. O terceiro setor já é uma realidade, como as cooperativas e as empresas mutualistas. Para além da falsa oposição entre o privado e o estatal, estão os bens comuns, tais como eram entendidos antes do nascimento da ideologia liberal. Nesta redefinição dos bens comuns é que nos devemos concentrar para pôr em marcha uma economia de proximidade em favor, prioritariamente, dos membros desta ou daquela comunidade. Isso não tem nada de reformismo, pois exige a transformação radical das mentalidades.

Consabidamente, o capitalismo está em crise hoje. Os mercados financeiros pensam e agem no imediatismo do dia-adia, os défices alcançam níveis recordes, o “numerário fictício” flui como água, e o mundo todo está preocupado com um possível colapso do sistema financeiro mundial. A perspectiva não é necessariamente agradável, já que tais crises costumam acabar em guerra.

7.

JAVIER RUIZ PORTELLA: Permita-me voltar à pergunta anterior. Se um revolucionário sectário e radical dissesse que esse enfoque, no tocante à economia, não deixa de ser reformista, não se lhe deveria responder fazendo-o ver que nada de reformista tem, em qualquer caso, tudo o mais? Tudo o mais: toda essa visão do mundo que coloca o dinheiro no centro da vida pública e privada, que então ressumam toda a gosma da democracia liberal e partitocrática, individualista e igualitarista que conhecemos?

Tratar-se-ia, talvez, de reformar, de emendar esse estado de coisas, incluído seu democratismo niilista? Ou a proposta é completamente diferente? Em uma palavra, por que lutamos? Lutamos por reformas ou por revolução?

ALAIN DE BENOIST: É claro que não lutamos por reformas. Pretendemos o que Heidegger chamava de “novo começo”. Isto não significa repetir o que os outros fizeram antes de nós, mas de tomarmos o seu exemplo como inspiração para inovarmos por nossa vez. Substituir a desmedida capitalista pelo sentido dos limites, lutar contra o universalismo em nome das identidades coletivas, substituir a moral do pecado pela ética da honra, reorganizar o mundo de forma multipolar (“pluriversalismo” em vez de universalismo), priorizar os valores de comunidade   sobre os da sociedade, lutar contra a substituição do autêntico pelo sucedâneo e do real pelo virtual, redefinir o direito como equidade em las relações (e não como um atributo de que todo o mundo seria proprietário ao nascer), restabelecer a primazia do político (o governo dos homens) sobre o econômico (a gestão das coisas), devolver um sentido concreto à beleza e à dignidade, reabilitar a autoridade e a verticalidade…: isto é o que seria uma revolução. E até uma revolução ― ousamos dizê-lo ― como nunca vimos.

Fonte: La Gaceta | Autores: Javier Ruiz Portella (entrevistador) e Alain de Benoist (entrevistado) | Título original: Alain de Benoist: “Luchamos por una revolución como nunca hemos visto.” | Data de publicação: 23 de março de 2024 | Versão brasilesa: Chauke Stephan Filho.

 

Saying “Everything for Germany” Is Verboten

From an email list:

Bjöeb Hoecke (center)

Björn Höcke is on trial in Halle because he is accused of ending his speech in Merseburg in May 2021 with the slogan: “Everything for our homeland, everything for Saxony-Anhalt, everything for Germany.”

Someone then found out that the slogan “everything for Germany” was also used by the SA then, which is why these words are banned today. Now Höcke could be sentenced to more than six months in prison for using “Nazi vocabulary” (criminal use of features of unconstitutional and terrorist organizations, Section 86a of the Criminal Code.) And that would mean he would no longer be able to run for the AfD in Thuringia in the fall. Of course, the AfD is well ahead of all other parties in the polls with around 60 percent.

So if “everything for Germany” is punishable because these words were used by the SA, then one can only hope that the National Socialists did not speak publicly about the fact that the “milk is white”. Because then we would have to dye the milk black today so that we don’t commit a crime.

So if the formula “everything for Germany” is punishable, then that conversely means that you can only do politics in Germany if you do “everything against Germany”.

I’ll let you know next week how the trial before the district Court turned out. An appeal hearing is usually possible and would likely go to the highest court. But you don’t know what the system will come up with to prevent this.

Jewish–Hungarian Conflicts and Strategies in the Béla Kun Regime: Review-Essay of ”When Israel is King” (Part 3 of 5)

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7600 words

After the Jewish activism and strategies to gain power that we have seen so far, it is worth critically analyzing in more detail the persistent and unremitting misrepresentations, distortions and, shall we say, manipulations of a certain aspect of mainstream historiography.  The mainstream narrative is that the blatant Jewish presence among the Bolsheviks does not matter, on the one hand, because they “were not Jews,” and on the other hand, if it is strange that Jews were so prominent in the upper echelons of Communist power, it is only because of discrimination by Hungarians (or Russians, etc.), and it is not the Jews who are to blame for all this—so goes the obvious conclusion of this logic. How much does ethnic identity play a role, and how much does ethnic character matter? Or both at the same time? In the following, these and related elements, are presented and, if necessary, refuted.

Jews and philosemites who deny the Jewishness of the Bolsheviks almost always make sure to quote a half-sentence of Béla Kun, who said at a meeting in 1919: “My father was a Jew, but I did not remain a Jew, because I became a Socialist, I became a Communist.” We will touch on the concept of identity-by-proxy later, but for now, let us look at this quote in its context. Below is the full, relevant part of his speech from the National Assembly of the Councils, delivered on June 21, 1919:

Here in this room, my comrades — I say it openly — there are those who are waiting for the dictatorship of the proletariat to fall, to betray it. (Great noise and shouts: “Shame!”) Here sits a slave judge. How, then, is the Red Army to fight, how is the Red Army to be in the mood, when here at the Council Congress and the Party Congress anti-Semitic agitation, pogrom agitation is taking place? (That’s right! That’s right!) I, comrades, will not be ashamed that, as a Jew, I’ll deal with this issue. My father was a Jew, but I did not remain a Jew, because I became a Socialist, I became a Communist, (True! True!), but it seems that many people who were born in other religions, in Christian religions, remained Christian Socialists. (Minutes, 1919, 204–205)

Kun not only does not deny his Jewishness, but literally refers to himself as a Jew, and then it becomes clear that he is talking about the Jewish religion (contrasting it to those born in “other religions”), which he left behind as a paternal legacy, and chose secular Bolshevism instead, as so many Jews who rejected religion did in the past—while still identifing as Jews and being seen by others as Jews. Moreover, Kun is not abandoning his Jewishness here, but on the contrary: he is fretting, from a Jewish point of view, about the fact that anti-Semitism lurks even in their circles because of the common perception of the overwhelming prominence of Jews, and promises to put an end to it. Moreover, he tells the audience that it is the comrades born into the Christian religion (i.e., not Jewish, Hungarians) who are suspect, as if they were not capable of fully embracing Bolshevism, and thus attacks the typically Hungarian Christian Socialists who are attracted to Socialism. What emerges from all this is rather the image of a Jewish Bolshevik, since it is not anti-Christianity, or anti-Hungarianism, that he is targeting (there were plenty of those at the time), but the mere assumption of anti-Jewishness, which he considers all the more important as a Jew, and which encourages him to take a committed stand (with the approval of others), and is, moreover, suspicious and hostile towards Hungarians and Christians, but not religious Jews. It is revealing that we keep hearing only that one snippet of all this, without critical analysis.

Béla Kun (front) with Tibor Szamuely (back, left)

In any case, Kun’s suspicions were reflected in the statement of Béla Vágó (Weisz), a Commissar, who expressed similar views that day:

When that rural farmer, that priest, or that count, makes anti-Semitic jokes, incites a pogrom, and agitates out there in the Hinterland, then, my dear comrades, the decidedly anti-Semitic spirit which was expressed here at the Congress by some of the delegates contributes very excellently to this agitation. Dear comrades! If an old organized worker has the courage or the folly to say that there are people running around in the country who have not even had their sidelocks properly cut off, then, my comrades, we should not be surprised if they agitate throughout the country that Jews are in power, that Jews want to destroy the whole country and that Jewish rule is destroying this poor Christian Hungary. When such a statement is made, when this spirit prevails among some of the comrades, do not be surprised if this spirit, this agitation and this poison are felt throughout the country in this way.

I have just been in a few places, my comrades, where the wildest counter-revolutionary agitation was going on among the peasants. And do the comrades want to know what the material of this agitation was? The material of the agitation was that while the poor man is starving and miserable, the Commissars are always driving around in their cars here in Budapest, while the working class cannot live, the People’s Commissars are living in splendor and prosperity, and those rascally Jewish kids with sideburns who are sent out into the countryside, who are traveling the country, want to take away the wealth and happiness of the poor man. (Ibid., 210)

Later, Vágó-Weisz shared a thought-provoking speech with the audience. It reveals that, borne out of his frustration about anti-Semitism, he had come up with a strategy. The solution to anti-Jewish sentiment was to force the peasants to serve the Soviet Republic:

The land of the peasant should not be taken away, but his hands and feet should be tied in fetters, and he should be forced to serve the Soviet Republic by the force of dictatorship. (Ibid., 211)

And not in just any way, but by making him see the rich peasant as his enemy, and not the Jew—while it is the Jewish regimes who oppress him with dictatorship. Note the train of thought:

Today the rebellion, today the discontent, is against the Jews. The Jew is the cause of everything, the Jew has taken everything from the poor man, the Jew is the cause of the terrible conditions of subsistence of the landless peasantry working in the countryside. On the contrary, I recommend that there should be no room for much criticism, but that one should go straight out into the village and make the poor peasantry aware that their interests are contrary to those of the rich peasantry, because the whole pogrom agitation, the whole counter-revolutionary fire was started by the landowning peasantry.

A voice: And the clergy! (Ibid.)

Vágó-Weisz then adds: “we must go out into the villages and make the peasantry aware that the class struggle between the rich and the poor must break out there too. The rich peasantry is full of food, its larder is overflowing with fat, ham, wine, bacon (True! True!) and the situation of the poor peasantry can be solved no more by the beating and plundering of the Jews than that of the industrial worker” (ibid.). The Commissar, who personifies the Jewish question in an almost caricature-like manner, would thus solve this anti-Jewish “peasant question” by “placing it only on the basis of the class struggle to be waged in the village” (ibid., 212). He notes that the anti-Jewish sentiment is “outrageous and worrisome” and that the Jew-critical voices at the meeting could be made known to the country, thus “contributing greatly to the incitement against the Jews, instead of the capitalists, instead of the rich peasants, against the dictatorship” (ibid.).

On the same day, the apparently non-Jewish György Nyisztor, Commissar for Agriculture, in his speech, said: “I am convinced that if anti-Semitism gets a foothold here, the proletarian dictatorship is dead” (ibid., 216). He also explains that anti-Christianity from their circles generates very considerable anti-Semitism and counter-revolutionary fervor and that it must be communicated “strictly outwards” that such things will not be tolerated by the authorities, with an emphasis on equality:

It’s not enough to say that there should be no anti-Semitism here, but every snot-nosed kid — and I say the same thing — who is not careful and reckless, must be punched in the mouth. (Loud agreement.) Because then, to say that anti-Semitism is spreading, and one snot-nosed kid insults the religious beliefs of thousands and thousands of people (True! True!) we must fight against this if we want there to be no anti-Semitism (True! That’s right!) not only must they be punished, but it must be written in bold letters that in this country there are no Jews or Hungarians, no one in the proletarian dictatorship because there are no Jews, Christians or Reformed, but only Socialists and Communists. (Agreement!) This, my comrades, must be done, strictly outwardly, not only to punish someone but also to write it in big, bold letters so that they can read that we can act against this. Indeed, in the countryside, even today, it is the evils of carelessness, and the insults against religion, that are the cause of the counter-revolutionaries and counter-revolutionary movements in so many places. (Ibid.)

Note the choice of words: the problem with the anti-Christian person is that he is “not careful and reckless,” and that they have to communicate this principle of equality “strictly outwardly”—the aim of which is “to avoid anti-Semitism.” Anti-Christianity is a mere logistical issue, while anti-Semitism is a real problem, the elimination of which is a concrete goal. After all this, another non-Jew, János Horvát, spoke out in response to the complaints of anti-Jewishness indirectly addressed to him above. Ironically, he says of himself that “anyone who has been in prison for sedition and incitement against the Church, who has trashed the Church itself, cannot be an anti-Semite” (ibid., 218), again showing that the above concern about anti-Christianity was entirely a matter of communication strategy.

In the documents, we find numerous instances of concern about anti-Semitism and proposals for solutions to eradicate it, contradicting the mainstream narrative that these Judeo-Bolsheviks were unconcerned with anti-Semitism (and suggesting that they were unconcerned with their own Jewishness). For example, still on June 21, a member reported that a telegram message was intercepted, in which someone was trying to influence a person delivering food, to stop giving it to Jews. As we learn “When the gentleman arrived, the revolutionary tribunal arrested him” for this (ibid., 222). At their meeting two days later, we learn that the “immediate investigation” into the matter concluded that the message sent had called for the exclusion of “provincials,” not Jews, and that someone somewhere may have transcribed it “probably with a counter-revolutionary purpose” (ibid., 257). This shows that even during the time when they had to deal with serious problems, their paranoia about anti-Semitism persisted.

Manifestations of Not Belonging: the Case of József Pogány-Schwartz

One of Hungary’s most prominent rationalizers of the Jewish involvement in the bloody regime of terror in the last few years has probably been the historian Péter Csunderlik (whose ethnic background is unclear). His few supposedly convincing arguments have been published in almost the same form in several places over several years, albeit as a result of separate grants. According to him:

Despite the fact that the members of the Revolutionary Governing Council of Jewish origin who led the proletarian dictatorship for only 133 days (in an atheist and internationalist political movement) had no “Jewish” identity, the (far-right) discourse tradition that consolidated after 1919 was that the proletarian dictatorship was nothing but a “Jewish dictatorship.” However, the high proportion of Jews in the labor movement is not explained by the conspiracy theory of “Judeo-Bolshevism,” but by the fact that, despite the legal emancipation achieved – the Israelite religion became a recognized denomination in 1895 – Jews continued to suffer discrimination in everyday life. For them, joining the internationalist movement gave them the opportunity to leave behind the disadvantage of being “Jewish,” which, in the eyes of many, was an obstacle to their full integration into society. (Csunderlik, 2020)

Csunderlik makes two mistakes here: one is that he still tries to give the impression that Jewry is only a religious community, thus emphasizing atheism in an attempt to obscure the Jewish character of the Bolshevik system, whereas by now presumably everyone understands that Jews are an ethnicity, first and foremost, and only after that possibly a religion (for genetic research, see among many: Hammer et al., 2000; Ostrer, 2001; Nebel et al., 2001; Need et al., 2009; Hammer et al., 2009; Atzmon et al., 2010; Ostrer & Skorecki, 2013; Carmi et al., 2014, etc.). This particular obfuscation was already obvious a hundred years ago. That an “atheist and internationalist” Jew should not have a Jewish identity is fundamentally ridiculous (see MacDonald 2002/1998, Ch. 3), and presumably many atheist Jews would take offense to such a claim. (In line with both adjectives: on the clear Jewish identity of Sigmund Freud and Sándor Ferenczi, see my earlier analysis in Csonthegyi, 2024, just to give an example, but we will also look at the question of identity in more detail later.)

The other mistake he makes is one he is not even noticing perhaps; refuting himself with the same breath. If these Jews were hoping to end their discomfort with “discrimination” by their dictatorship, it takes on the character of a kind of ethnic revenge or at least a Jewish-rooted motivation. If the aim of their dictatorship—or at least its significant motivation—is to “leave the disadvantage of being ’Jewish’,” then surely the aim is to free their Jewishness from constraints: to transform the host country and nation, so that it is not anti-Semitic. This is a distinctly Jewish motivation. The argument is that these Jews somehow wanted to leave their Jewishness behind in all this, but why, in this case, they did not attempt to become Hungarian, rather than transform Hungarians into a nation tolerant of their Jewishness, is the narrative of a confused logic. The explanation is presumably that the Hungarians would not have accepted the Jews as Hungarians either way, so there was no alternative, but to force Hungarians to change, at any cost—even that of a militant dictatorship (which, coincidentally, was ruled by Jews). Whichever way we look at this explanation, the Jewish motivation is clear.

Csunderlik, however, sees this explanation as sufficient: the frustration and alienation caused by the intolerance of Hungarians, is the explanation for the staggering Jewish predominance—as for the rest of his article, he fills it with his horror at the opinions of “anti-Semites,” and we can not but scratch our heads, and wonder; what does it say about these Jews, that discrimination and other potential inconveniences, are driving them to unleash a subversive, mass-murdering dictatorship? “Be nicer to them, or they will slaughter you” is, to the sober observer, a not very confidence-inspiring basis for coexistence. We should be lucky that gypsies, people with sexual aberrations, or perhaps the deaf, and the disabled (because of experiences with similar discrimination) are not building terror squads and taking over our country.

It is also worth mentioning in a few words, that to mention this discrimination in the context of the extremely influential Jewish population, which had an extremely high presence in the elite strata, is perhaps a particularly bold undertaking. Csunderlik’s evidence to this is a 1912 Népszava article entitled “No Housing for Jews.” That this kind of thing was the cause of the Soviet Republic is, according to this historian, a sound theory, but to consider the authoritarianism of the Jews as “Jewish” is, according to the same historian, either unbelievable, or a “conspiracy theory”… Indeed, in his earlier book on the Galileo Circle, Csunderlik (2017, 28) put it this way: “by the early 1900s, the leaders of the Hungarian labour movement were already over-represented among those of Jewish origin, for whom joining the internationalist movement provided an opportunity to leave behind the disadvantage of their ’Jewishness,’ which, in the eyes of many, was an obstacle to their full integration into society.” His reference here is to “the case of György Lukács, who went from bourgeois intellectual to Marxist ideologue.” This is, again, a self-contradiction, since what kind of desire for “integration” made the “bourgeois” Lukács, who lived much better than many Hungarians, decide to participate in a bloody dictatorship that massacred Hungarians? How can we make sense of this? Are not only the Jews discriminated against in the housing advertisements. Are even the well-off intellectuals becoming bloodthirsty, out of some kind of desire to fit in? It is also hard to reconcile this theory with the reality that many of the Jews involved in the events in Hungary have tried to start revolutions internationally. Thus, for example, in March 1921, József Pogány-Schwartz and Béla Kun-Kohn himself were sent from Moscow to Germany—not motivated by a desire to assimilate, but to help the Jewish communists there (Klara Zetkin, Paul Levi, Rosa Luxemburg, Leo Jogiches, etc.) to spark off a revolution. Pogány also worked with the Communist Party USA under the name of John Pepper with his fellow Jewish Communist Party members Maksymilian Horwitz (Valetski) and Boris Reinstein (Draper, 1957, 364).

It is this kind of mental contortionism that results when we refuse to accept the diversity of ethnic characters, and the reality of the group conflicts that have been a feature of human history and in particular the history of the Jews, of which the Judeo-Bolshevik–anti-Bolshevik confrontation is but one example.

However, according to Csunderlik’s article, “the post-1919 policy of legitimizing the redistribution of social wealth through anti-Semitic ideology” invoked Judeo-Bolshevism as a pretext, and “not because of the involvement of Jews in 1918–1919.” He draws this conclusion from the fact that disabled soldiers who sympathized with the Communists were not punished under Miklós Horthy, but it is not clear what the party sympathies of non-Jews have to do with the Jewish question—it’s obvious that the Jews had the power in the Kun regime. It also remains obscure why the author pretends that it is not logical that a dictatorship by Jews is called a Jewish dictatorship by some people, and that they might even be serious, not just out to make money.

Be that as it may, according to Thomas L. Sakmyster (2012, 2) “Hungarian Jews,

who represented 5% of the population of the Kingdom of Hungary, were at the time enjoying a degree of civil equality, tolerance, and access to education that was nearly unprecedented in Europe. By the turn of the century, Jews were graduating from Hungarian high schools (the gimnázium) and universities in numbers that greatly exceeded their percentage in the population as a whole.” This, again, does not fit Csunderlik’s thesis. Indeed, in relation to Pogány, Sakmyster writes: “It was no doubt that their son would take advantage of these opportunities and rise high up from his humble family origins that prompted Vilmos and Hermina in 1896, to enroll József in one of Budapest’s most prestigious schools, the Barcsay Gimnázium. Given the meager financial resources of the family, it is probable that József received at least a partial scholarship.” (Ibid.) All this, it should be noted, occurred at a time when a large part of the Hungarian population was struggling with a shortage of work, and were emigrating to America on a huge scale. “Between 1871 and 1913, nearly 2 million Hungarian citizens emigrated overseas, mainly for economic and existential reasons. Most of them left the country in the first decade of the twentieth century,” points out Dániel Gazsó (2019, 17). It is also worth recalling here the observation of Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821–1881) in his 1877 essay on the Jewish question. After noting that “in the whole world there is certainly no other people who would be complaining as much about their lot, incessantly” as Jews do, he concludes that “I am unable fully to believe in the screams of the Jews that they are so downtrodden, oppressed and humiliated. In my opinion, the Russian peasant, and generally, the Russian commoner, virtually bears heavier burdens than the Jew” (Dostoievsky, 1949, 640, 641). Indeed, none other than Ottó Korvin, who played an important role in the Kun regime, confirmed that his attraction to Bolshevism was motivated by something other than material benefits, or career prospects: “’I was not motivated by any material interest or desire for attention, because under the capitalist system I was able to find jobs much easier than in any Communist world order,’ he will confess later to the puzzled police chief, who, like others, sees him as a fanatic young man” (quoted in Simor, 1976, 13).

József Pogány-Schwartz, People’s Commissar, speaks at a recruitment meeting in Heroes’ Square, April 6, 1919.

Further inconveniencing Csunderlik’s argument, Sakmyster points out the following:

As a young man of considerable intellectual ability and educational attainment, József Pogány had many careers open to him in the first decade of the twentieth century. With the exception of government administration and the officer corps, Hungarians of Jewish backgrounds were free to enter any of the professions, and did so in remarkable numbers. Although Jews represented only 5 percent of the population of the Kingdom of Hungary, in this period they constituted 42 percent of all journalists, 49 percent of all medical doctors, 49 percent of all lawyers, and 85 percent of all bankers. During his student days at the University of Budapest, Pogány seems to have determined that the best way to use his talents in the service of the Socialist movement, to which he had given a fervent commitment, was to become a writer. It did not take long for him to forge a successful career as a journalist with a left-wing orientation. (Sakmyster, 2012, 217)

We can conclude here, therefore, that while surely experiencing varying degrees of hostility from the general population, these highly upwardly mobile people did not, in any way, need—or have to—become pillars of a murderous regime due to “discrimination.” The alienation was certainly there, but the root of that should be explored within the realms of ethnic character and group conflict: difficulties in relating to the host nation and its culture, character, and thus passionately attempting to modify that culture, that nation, to suit their own preferences—the behavior that generated the hostility to begin with.

Despite all of this, however, Sakmyster believes that Pogány was initially fond of Hungarian culture, and it was only the hostility toward Jews during World War I (receiving some of the blame for Hungary’s losses) that alienated him from his “homeland.” This is difficult to take seriously, as anti-Jewish sentiment certainly existed before the war, but the more serious issue we face here is that, by that time, Pogány was already on the trajectory toward revolutionary—nation-transforming—Bolshevism. Worse still: Sakmyster claims that “[i]n leaving Hungary for the last time in the summer of 1919 [when the Kun regime fell] he seems to have decided that if his homeland did not want him, he would sever all ties with it” (ibid., 226). That, according to this claim, it was Pogány of all peoples, who felt betrayed and hurt by the widespread hostility of Hungarians after he just fronted a mass-murdering dictatorship, is fascinating, if true. But this again complicates the applicability of mainstream narratives about Jewish Bolsheviks seeking a kind of assimilation by removing barriers standing in the way of that process. This was, in reality, aimed at removing traditional culture and national character that were perceived as standing in the way of a renewed country, that is safer, and more comfortable, for these individuals (as Jews)—an explanation that actually is consistent with their behavior.

As we can see from all this, mainstream historians struggle to explain—or make sense of—certain aspects of Judeo-Bolshevism, resulting in self-contradictions and generally weak arguments. Refusing to accept the reality of ethnic character and its natural conflicts with differing ethnicities (on the national level, even), leads one to awkward claims like the ones above. We are also once again back to where we were with Csunderlik: if Jews like Pogány create bloody dictatorships against the out-group because the host nation partially blames their in-group for something, perhaps they never actually belonged to the nation, to begin with, and leaving is certainly a good idea. But just like with Csunderlik, Sakmyster also contradicts himself, for he claims that “[i]t was the rise of virulent anti-Semitism during and after World War I that ultimately alienated Pogány and many other Hungarian Jews of his generation. Over the years Pogány had learned to ignore the attacks that his political enemies made on him, but he could not be oblivious to the vicious campaign to blame the Jews for Hungary’s loss of the war and the humiliating peace settlement” (ibid., 225). Contrast that with “[n]or did Pogány, who would write prolifically on all of the negative aspects of bourgeois society, ever take any special interest in the problem of anti-Semitism” (ibid., 3). Perhaps he did not write about it (apart from one known instance the author cites), but seemingly did take “interest” in it if it supposedly motivated him as much as the author claims it did.

Indeed, Pogány clearly advocated for a racially mixed society: “All national, racial, and religious barriers between the proletarians must come down. Wherever there is proletarian rule, the proletarian will find a homeland, even if he speaks another language, even if he is the son of another race.” (Quoted in Chishova & Józsa, 1973, 211). The Constitution of the Kun regime stated in §14: “ The Republic of Councils does not recognize racial or national distinctions. It does not tolerate any oppression of national minorities and any restriction on the use of their language.” This is state-enforced pluralism, where even explicitly Jewish groups are protected. In the Minutes of the National Assembly of the Councils (Minutes, 1919, 258) we read that “not a shadow of doubt can be cast on the text which states that all nations [ethnic groups] living in an allied Soviet republic shall be free to use their languages and to cultivate and develop their national culture.” So the internationalist Jews who had no ethnic identity enacted legislation that would protect Jewish language and culture.

Interestingly, although there were many conflicts between Bolsheviks and Bundists, this policy is very similar to what the Jewish Bund—which has always been considered a nationalistic, Jewish type of Socialism—laid out:

[T]he Bund’s founders concluded that true internationalism must be based not on the erasure or denial of cultural and national differences but on recognition of these differences and the demand for individual and collective rights for all national minorities. Their experience as Jewish revolutionaries and trade unionists showed them that they could not depend on the goodwill of the dominant nationality, including the organized workers of this nationality, whether to defend the interests of minority workers in the present or in the democratic and socialist future. (Gechtman, 2008, 35)

As the author points out, “[t]he Bund’s national program proposed that the Russian Empire, after the democratic and socialist revolutions, must not be partitioned into a number of nation states […] but rather maintained as a multinational state where the members of every national minority (including the Jews) would enjoy equal rights as citizens as well as a limited, non-territorial form of self-government or autonomy” (ibid., 32). Bezarov (2021, 132) describes this fundamental feature of the Bund as “the self-liberation of the Jewish proletariat.”

Celebrating the 30th anniversary of the Bund in Warsaw, 1927 (source: yivoarchives.org)

Jewish Strategies Under the Red Flag

Although Jews were highly influential and disproportionately present in positions of power, open hostility still existed, as well as some resistance to their increase in such influence. Both the “nationalist” Jewish Bund and the Jewish Bolsheviks in Hungary (or Russia), aimed to destroy the dominance of the host nation’s traditional ethnic group over their own country, leading to easier access for them to more power within its institutions—which is precisely what happened, at least temporarily. Noteworthy here is the aim of creating, not nation-states to achieve this “autonomy,” but “multinational state[s].” Indeed, Gechtman (2008, 66) concludes that “[t]he Austro-Marxist and Bundist theories and programs developed in the early twentieth century represented a form of ‘multiculturalism avant la lettre.’ A century earlier than present-day multiculturalists, and at a time when virtually all liberals and socialists opposed the idea of collective rights for minorities within the state.” Regarding this, David Slucki (2009, 114) summarizes that the Bund “espoused a universalist understanding of Jewish life and identity that lay outside the traditional conception of the nation-state. In fact, these two ideas together served to undermine the nation-state in their call for federations of nations, which gave political and cultural power to minorities alongside the majority nations,” which would result in a “federative state that would empower all national minorities, including Jews.” This “fight for Jewish emancipation was tightly bound up with the struggle for socialism” within the Bund (ibid.). Internationalism, transnationalism, or various forms of Marx-inspired socialism effectively functioned as strategies to undermine the power of traditional nations within which Jews lived, and as such, maintaining Jewish identities, and pursuing perceived interests, is consistent with advocating internationalism.

The importance of ethnic character cannot be ignored if one is to draw accurate conclusions about instances of group conflict. It tells us something important that in Hungary it was not, say, the Germanic Danube Swabians (the Donauschwaben, who are also intelligent, urban, and upwardly mobile), or gypsies, who were so drawn to specific types of abstract expressions (through psychology and literature by psychoanalysts, or visual arts by dadaists and avant-gardists, such as the Nyolcak group, etc.), that it was not other demographics—for instance, homosexuals—who ended up forming rather cohesive revolutionary groups. Instead, it was the Jews—and so it was the Jews in many other countries in very similar ways. At the heart of the issue is, therefore, not merely minority status, urban dwelling, alienation, or discrimination, but a very specific Jewish manifestation of those, with specific aspirations. If Jews possess significantly different ethnic characteristics than, say, gypsies, then we can safely assume—indeed, observe—that their individual, as well as group-level, responses and strategies will also differ, leading to a specifically Jewish manifestation of their reaction to certain situations.

For instance, gypsies traditionally pursued a strategy of wandering around the country, and at times exploiting Hungarians, living as nomads and preferring to be left alone. Complaints about the gypsies were widespread, as Francis Wagner (1987, 35) recalled, quoting comments of publicist Kálmán Porzsolt, from the August 6, 1907 issue of the prominent newspaper, Pesti Hírlap, saying: “[A] civilized state has to exterminate this [Gypsy] race. Yes, exterminate! This is the only method.” Wagner also cites Dr. Antal Hermann, Jr., “the son of a liberal-minded, internationally famed ethnographer,” when he emphasized in a public lecture in 1913 that “[t]he nomadic life of Gypsies is full of mysticism, romanticism, stealing, burglary, kidnaping of children, animal poisoning, and murder.” These are centuries-old complaints about this group (e.g., the 1613 work La gitanilla by Miguel de Cervantes [1547–1616] contains similar complaints), and persist to this day. But these are also very different complaints than those directed at Jews (coincidentally, these millennia-old complaints have also persisted to this day, throughout ages, continents, cultures—see: Dalton, 2020; MacDonald, 2004/1998, Ch. 2). While gypsies tended to engage in that type of group-behavior, Jews were more likely drawn toward the domination and transformation of the host society through various means: whether it’s arts, psychology, politics, or sexuality… (For an examination of different diaspora peoples and their group-strategies, see: MacDonald, 2002.) Because of this tendency, early critics of psychoanalysis, for instance, noted the specifically Jewish nature that characterized their subversive activism. The words of István Apáthy, famous zoologist (and also a prominent figure of the eugenic movement) are fitting here. Sándor Ferenczi wrote to Sigmund Freud on January 29, 1914: “[Apáthy] has put himself at the head of the ’eugenic movement’ and from this position has let loose against psychoanalysis—as a panerotic aberration of the Jewish spirit.” (Freud & Ferenczi, 1993, 535) Apáthy’s complaint about the Freudian line was as follows:

Our organization, which must be shaped to serve the cause of racial health, must therefore fight with all its might against the panerotic world-conception. It must do everything in its power to persecute the race-defiling manifestations of the panerotic world-conception in literature, society, legislation and administration—for they are there—and to seek out its nests even in the scientific workshops, from which some of our doctors draw their race-corrupting moral principles, or their lack of principles. (Apáthy, 1914)

Indeed, one can observe a far-reaching fascination among young Jews for subversive, society-transforming movements, be they psychoanalysis, dadaism, avant-garde art, civic radicalism, liberalism, or any other—even Communism. Ferenczi, for example, noted in an October 30, 1919 letter to Freud, that his audience, which was extremely interested in psychoanalysis, was largely Jewish. Referring to the Galileo Circle, he wrote: “The audience was naturally composed of nine tenths Jews!” (Freud & Ferenczi, 1993, 92). This overrepresentation is a condensation of a blatant affection, so the pretense that the Bolsheviks were an atypical little group does not seem justified, as if subversive movements were not popular to any significant degree among Jews. But popular or not, if something has a certain character, it is that character that defines it.

The philosemitic discourse of mainstream “experts” therefore takes on a certain postmodern character when these historians present a Jewish Communist group, not as a Communist Jewish group, but as a Communist group of Communists, since these Jews often posed not as Jews but as the “New Soviet Man”—a globalized entity that their policies were designed to create. According to this view, when Jews were alienated by the intolerance of the host society, their Jewishness was significant, but when they formed movements, or grouped under the same umbrella because of the same alienation, their Jewishness became insignificant and they were now just “socialists” or “psychoanalysts.” This desperate avoidance of the aspect of ethnicity (both as an innate character and social identity, with all its consequences) probably stems from a desire to counter and refute “anti-Semites,” who see ethnicity as significant, and with whom these individuals would therefore find agreement repugnant. Fortunately, not everyone in the mainstream expects us to ignore the obvious.

Jaff Schatz (1991, 33) comments in his classic work on Communism in Poland:

Outside the Zionist camp, the Socialist Bund, most conspicuous in the struggle against anti-Semitism, dramatically increased its influence, despite its radical program, becoming in the second half of the 1930s the single strongest Jewish political party. The radical ideals of the Communist movement attracted a growing number of young Jews. Thus, especially among the young generation, the dark social predicament and lack of feasible perspectives produced political extremism and execeptionally [sic] high political mobilization.

Writing about “The Jewish Support for the Left in the United States,” and demonstrating the enormous Jewish involvement in it, Arthur Liebman (1976, 285) notes that “[t]he left in the United States from the pre-World War I years through the post-World War II period was in large part dependent for its survival on the support it received from persons and institutions embedded in an ethnic sub-culture—that of the Jews.” Later he adds: “The more astute and sensitive Jewish Socialists in the pre-World War I years were also careful not to place themselves and their cause at odds with all of the Jewish religion. They sought opportunities to demonstrate that Judaism, as they defined and interpreted it, was quite compatible if not supportive of socialism. Socialism was presented to the Jewish masses as a secular version of Judaism” (ibid., 291–292). Liebman also points out that “[t]he Jewish relationship to the Communist Party extended beyond that of a political organization seeking a constituency in an ethnic group. Upon examination, it becomes quite clear that in the late 1940’s the Communist Party rested upon a Jewish base. A large proportion of the membership and even more of its officials were of Jewish background,” and thus “[g]iven the majority of Jews in this group, they could not but help set a particular ethnic tone to the CP” (ibid., 306–307).

Indeed, writing about the Jewish involvement in Communism in Great Britain, Stephen Cullen (2012, 15) paints a similar picture: “It was also the case that being part of the communist movement enabled many Jews to look outside of their ghettoised existence, but not at the expense of their Jewish identity or life. Instead, key Jewish organisations, such as Jewish sports clubs and the Jewish Lads’ Brigade were essential institutions in the building of Jewish support [f]or the CPGB. In consequence, this evidence supports the contention of Srebrnik and Smith, that these communists were „Jewish Communists,” as opposed to „Communist Jews.” Henry Srebrnik proposed that “Communism thrived for a time as a specifically ethnic means of political expression, to the point where it might legitimately have been regarded as a variety of left-wing Jewish nationalism.” (Srebrnik, 1995, 136, emphasis in original)

In fact, the heavy presence of Jews in socially influential positions, and their attraction to subversive trends, generates a specifically “Jewish” problem, so even if one were to present statistics showing that the support for such in the whole of Jewry was below 50% (i.e., not the majority), this problem would still remain, especially since many of this “whole of Jewry” are not active Jews—but what proportion of active, intensive Jewry contributed directly, or indirectly, to the success of subversive movements? This is the more important question. As always, one must look at where the power of the movement derives from, and, as in all the cases described here, the power derives from activist Jews. Philosemitic and Jewish historians of the mainstream acknowledge that Jews were, indeed, heavily involved in all this. That they blame the host society for making Jews feel alienated, is beside the point.

This Jewish predominance is not only interesting from a sociological point of view, but can sometimes be of decisive importance, as it was, for example, in Russia also, as maintained by none other than the partly Jewish Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, i.e., Lenin: “Of great importance for the revolution was the fact that there were many Jewish intellectuals in the Russian cities. They liquidated the general sabotage which we had encountered after the October Revolution. … The Jewish elements were mobilized … and thus saved the revolution at a difficult moment. We were able to take over the state apparatus exclusively [исключительно] thanks to this reserve of intelligent and competent labor force — as quoted by Russian scholar of Soviet history, Gennady Kostyrchenko (2003, 58; see also: Slezkine, 2004, 225). Kostyrchenko points out that the Bolsheviks “tried to make full use of the potential for self-assertion and self-expression of Jewry, which had been so long restrained by the tsarist regime, and which contained a tremendous creative as well as destructive energy,” also adding that “the largest was the ’representation’ of Jews in the leading party bodies” (ibid., 57, 58).”

Nevertheless, some say that the Jewish element is “nonsense,” because “it is easy to show that the presence of Jews was politically unessential, be it in Poland, Hungary, or in other countries,” says Stanisław Krajewski (2000), although he does admit the “fact” that “Jews holding high official positions” were “relatively speaking, very numerous” in several countries. Krajewski admits that “I am not a historian but I am a committed Jew and I have ancestors who were communist leaders.” In light of this, it is not surprising that he also blames the host nations for the Jews’ attraction to Communism as due to alienation, discrimination, etc., and that, in his view, these Jews were guided by “noble and selfless intentions.” It is difficult to take such anxious tropes seriously when even in the context of the almost entirely Jewish Republic in Hungary, the role of the Jews is portrayed by some as irrelevant.


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Jewish–Hungarian Conflicts and Strategies in the Béla Kun Regime: a Review-Essay of “When Israel is King” (Part 2 of 5)

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The restlessness of the Jews in Hungary, especially after the “emancipation” of 1867, took on increasingly radical forms because, while some of them saw a future in Zionism, others saw an opportunity not in the creation of Israel, but in the transformation of their host society according to their own needs. As a result, by the end of the nineteenth century, and especially in the early twentieth century, a number of subversive trends, defined in opposition to traditional Hungarian values and character, attracted Jews as a bloc. These included the psychoanalytic movement, Bolshevism, or so-called civic radicalism, with the Galileo Circle as one of its flagship movements, or in artistic areas, for example, the avant-garde Eights (Nyolcak; seven of the eight were Jewish). It was really just anti-traditionalism, thus to call it liberalism would be a mistake, since (as we have seen before and will see below) it had good connections to dictatorial and dogmatic Communism. It is not surprising, then, that the Bolsheviks of Béla Kun simply came to power with the help of such “Social Democrats” and Galileists.

In connection with the manifestation of liberal, or then patriotic, posturing among Jews, Győző Istóczy (1842–1915), a member of the Diet, explained in 1875 what was at stake decades before the Galileists presented themselves as progressive while working with the Bolsheviks: “The greatest self-mystification, therefore, is to believe seriously in the liberalism of the Jews. It is the caste-like element which, by its compact advance, crowds out and eradicates all foreign elements from all the spaces in which it has been able to establish itself—which, by its angular habits, erects an impenetrable Chinese wall between itself and the other elements, habits which, at the same time, express, in most cases, a deep contempt for other elements . . . which, claiming for itself the most extreme demands of tolerance, is itself the most intolerant element imaginable—and which uses liberalism as a means of turning its caste into an agrarian oligarchy” (Istóczy, 1904, 4–5). He added: “by waving the banners of liberalism and democracy, he entrenches himself in all circles where the interests of his caste are in view, and once warmed up in those circles, he begins the operation of driving out the foreign elements” (ibid., 9). Later, on March 11, 1880, he said: “it is my conviction that the Jews will only feign attachment to the Hungarian state spirit and the Hungarian nation as long as the Hungarian element in this country is supreme. Let us lose this, and Jewry will immediately turn its back on us, and even turn against us, as it turned its back and turned against us when the national cause was lost in 1849” (ibid., 80). He was boldly prophetic.

Hungary Transforms

The authors of When Israel Is King, the book at the heart of our present study, the Tharaud brothers, reach the Aster Revolution of 1918–1919 in their story: “Under the auspices of Count Karolyi, a National Council had been formed at Budapest, which claimed to have taken the place of the regular government. This council decided in a secret sitting that it would rid itself of the only man capable of opposing its designs,” and then, with József Pogány-Schwartz (1886–1938) in the lead, “they waited for a favorable opportunity. During the night from October 30th to the 31st, 1918, the revolution prepared by Karolyi and his friends broke out at Budapest” (Tharauds, 2024, 53–54). Pogány-Schwartz  (AKA, John Pepper, was an ethnically Jewish communist who later became an administrator of the Comintern in the USSR.

In connection with the shooting of Prime Minister István Tisza (1861–1918), the brothers mention that “[o]f the five ministers who had taken part in the Imperial Council of July 7th, 1914, he was the second to die by the hand of an assassin. Count Stürgkh, prime minister of Austria, had fallen before him, shot by [Friedrich] Adler, the socialist Jew. Russian Prime Minister Pyotr Stolypin (1862–1911) had a similarly Jewish assassin in 1911, in the person of the anarchist-socialist Dmitry Bogrov (1887–1911), and later the Tsarist Romanov family was executed under the command of the Jew Yakov Yurovsky (1878–1938). Although Tisza’s murderers were probably not Jewish, he was also carried away by a revolutionary fervor that was, to a great extent, Jewish.

In the meantime, a group of Bolsheviks was waiting in the wings, eager to take advantage of the “civic” class as a battering ram. As András Simor (1976, 23–24) outlines in his work, on March 24, 1918, a Hungarian Communist group was formed in Soviet Russia, working alongside the Central Committee of the Communist (Bolshevik) Party of Russia. The leaders were Béla Kun-Kohn, Tibor Szamuely-Szamueli, Ernő Pór-Perlstein and Endre Rudnyánszky. Through Farkas Lebovitz and Ernő Bresztovszky, Szamuely then established contacts with Ervin Szabó-Schlesinger, thus giving a foothold to Leninist Bolshevism in Hungary. The people named here were almost all Jews, with the probable exception of the Freemason Bresztovszky and Rudnyányszky. They had to wait a little longer for their time, but they had every reason to be optimistic, as the Tharaud brothers point out:

In this setting, the Russian revolution appeared as the dawn of that great evening which Israel has awaited for centuries. Tentative as it still was, Kerensky’s revolution opened up prodigious horizons for those Jewish imaginations, who only understand working at a gallop. With the knowledge they possessed, placed in direct contact with their Russian brothers by that long river of Judaism, which passing from Petrograd, by Bielostock, Vilna, and Lemberg, comes down to Budapest, they knew well that it was only a beginning, that the movement would not end there and that in the northern plains unheard-of upheavals were preparing, of which the effect, overflowing the Russian frontiers, would extend to the whole of Europe and upset the entire existing social order from top to bottom. At least, that was what they hoped. (Tharauds, 2024, 68)

The French brothers recall that Károlyi’s seizure of power (with Jews behind him) had carved a revolutionary crack in the Hungarian establishment, and they were already preparing to use this crack to tear down the walls completely: “The next day [late October] there began to appear on the walls enormous posters, imitated from Russia, which, under the Bolshevik regime, were to cover the whole town with bloodred color and with outrageous symbolism” (ibid., 79). Here the Jewish artist movement took its share of the responsibility for the visual part of Bolshevik propaganda, for example, by some of the members of the Nyolcak (Eights) group, of whom Bertalan Pór, Róbert Berény, Béla Czóbel, Dezső Orbán, Dezső Czigány, Lajos Tihanyi and Ödön Márffy were all Jews, the exception was only Károly Kernstok. The Kun regime supported the group, and had they had the time, they would presumably have included the Jewish group in their cultural policy (Rockenbauer, 2018); after all, they financially supported the Berény’s school which was committed to Bolshevism (Barki, 2018).

Posters of Bertalan Pór-Pollacsek, János Tábor-Taupert, Mihály Bíró-Weinberger and Róbert Berény-Bakofen for the Soviet Republic on May 1, 1919. (Published in Rockenbauer, 2018)

It took only a few months for the Bolshevik Jews to simply take the keys to the door of power from the “social democratic” and “civic” Jews without any specific struggle. As Dávid Ligeti (2019, 30) points out, “in essence, there was no turning back since November 1918: the Bolshevization of the country had already begun.” These Bolsheviks were in direct contact with the Soviets, and the government “became a satellite of the Moscow party centre in the strictest sense of the word,” Ligeti (ibid.). Ligeti  also emphasizes that this was foreign to Hungarians: “Without the social and economic crisis caused by the Great War, the establishment of the Soviet Republic would have been unthinkable. The majority of society was not Bolshevized. In fact, the new state power was based on a relatively narrow, mainly urban population. The fact that the regime wanted openly and completely to abolish the old social order met with open opposition, especially among the peasant classes, so it is no accident that the more important counter-revolutionary cores were established in the countryside.” (Ibid., 31) Traditional Hungarians, on the other hand, were the opposite of metropolitan, urban Jewry, broadly speaking.

The Tharauds touch upon this process also:

When they had finished drawing up this manifesto, Kéri [Kramer Pál] and Kunfi [Kohn Zsigmond] returned to Karolyi. He had with him his two special secretaries, Simonyi [Henri] and Oscar Gellert [Oszkár Gellért], both of them Jews. Whether it was due to the nonchalance of a great seigneur, or on account of a conscientious scruple, or a supreme regret for his loss of power, Karolyi did not himself put his signature at the foot of the document. Simonyi signed it for him. It was these four Jews who put an end to the Hungarian Republic and stifled the last efforts of Karolyi’s ambition. (Tharauds, 2024, 119)

Cécile Tormay described it as follows:

In the ceremonial hall of the Hungarian parliament, Lenin’s aide could comfortably unfurl the flag of Bolshevism, sound the alarm of social revolution and proclaim the coming of the world revolution, while outside in the Parliament Square, accompanied by Oszkár Jászi, Márton Lovászy and Dezső Bokányi announced to the people that the National Council had proclaimed a republic. Mihály Károlyi also gave a speech at the resting place, on the stone steps. And down on the square, Jenő Landler, Jakab Weltner, Manó Buchinger, Vilmos Böhm and Mór Preusz praised the Republic. … There was not a single Hungarian among them. And that was the confession of everything! Above, the mask: Mihály Károlyi, below, the real face: an alien race that made its dominance known. (Tormay, 1939, 182)

Lajos (internationally, Louis) Marschalkó (1903–1968), an expert on the influence of Jewry, reacts to Tormay’s comment in his classic work, Országhódítók: “And indeed, it was no longer Bolshevik, Socialist or Marxist rule, but alien racial rule over Hungarians,” and he adds:

Because what happens after March 21, 1919, is not Marxism, not Communism, but a new form of occupation on a “Socialist” basis. But the people who are carrying out this conquest, while proletarians from Dob Street, Nyíregyháza or Kolozsvár, but they are just as much Jews as Ferenc Chorin or József Szterényi. Yes! They will intern the “big Jew” as a hostage if they have to, but the aim is still domination of the Hungarian people. Not in the form of Capitalism, but in the form of “Socialist” world redemption. (Marschalkó, 1975, 180)

The March 21 resolution proclaiming the merger of Social Democrats and Communists was signed by Jenő Landler, Jakab Weltner, Zsigmond Kunfi, the above-mentioned József Pogány-Schwartz, and József Haubrich on behalf of the “democrats”—all Jews, except Haubrich, who is also said to have been a Jew, but it is not certain. The signatories representing the Communists were: Béla Kun, Béla Szántó, Béla Vágó, Ferencz Jancsik, Károly Vántus, Ede Chlepkó, Ernő Seidler, József Rabinovits (Böhm, 1923, 248–249). Jancsik was not Jewish, Vántus was rumored to be, but I know of no proof of this. According to this, of the 13 signatories 10 (perhaps 12) were Jewish—76.9% (or 92.3%). However, similar proportions are found not only for the signatories, but also for powerful establishment figures, as will be seen…

Ágnes Szokolszky (2016, 27. ) concludes that “[r]adical intellectuals, many of them of Jewish origin, were attracted to social reforms and became leaders in the liberal and the communist governments,” and that “Jewish involvement in the short-lived Hungarian Soviet Republic was significant: the great majority of people’s commissars (ministers of the communist government) were of Jewish descent — among them Jenő Varga, an economist and psychoanalyst, who was commissar of finance, and philosopher György [Georg] Lukács, who was commissar of culture.

Measures were taken with an iron fist, including  hostage taking from the civilian population and daily executions by revolutionary tribunals to prevent counterrevolutionary attempts.” The author also points out, in the context of the second Communist regime later, that “[t]he majority of the communist leaders, including the secret police, were of Jewish origin, including Mátyás Rákosi himself. On ground that the Jewish population was exempt from the infection of fascism, people of Jewish origin were trusted by the Rákosi regime and were often put in leading positions.” (Ibid., 38). (Rákosi was a prominent commissar in the Kun government and led the Hungarian government from 1947–1956).  The latter point is revealing, and it is worth recalling what Rákosi himself said in connection to this, for he believed that many Jews joined them not because of their commitment to the Communist principle, but rather because they wanted to gain power: “A new danger is the emergence of Jews who are returning home, who were previously in the workers’ regiments and are now returning home. They are pretending to be born anti-fascists, joining our party. Almost without exception, they have no idea of Communism, but they are intelligent, skillful and soon they are gaining a leading influence in the villages and small towns and in the police.” (quoted in Pünkösti, 1992, 215). Rákosi worries that this threatens the system, and complains that they are considered anti-Semitic because they sometimes expelled Jews who are not partisan enough, but what is important for us here is what this shows: power, not principle, is what drove many Jews.

A newspaper celebrates the new “Hungarian” Bolshevik government, whose personnel kept changing, but in this installation, 14 of the 19 are Jews – 73.6% (gentiles: Garbai, Nyisztor, Vantus, Dovcsák, Bokányi)

The Tharauds (2024, 105) then portray Béla Kun: “sometime after Kerensky’s revolution he became a friend of the famous propagandist Radek, whose real name was Zobelsohn, now a great personage in the Ministry for Foreign Affairs at Moscow, and who was at that time employed to make Bolshevist propaganda among the prisoners.” They describe that Kun was sent to Hungary with money and other supplies to incite the revolution, and that Böhm and Kunfi later visited Kun in prison, after he was arrested: “Böhm and Kunfi went to visit Bela Kun and the other incarcerated Communist leaders in their place of arrest. Laszlo, Korvin-Klein, Rabinovitz, etc., were among the number, all Jews. They caused their friends to be appointed directors of the prison so that the prisoners presently found themselves in fact the masters.” (Ibid., 111) About the establishment of the Bolshevik government, the brothers also write:

Bela Kun conferred the presidency of it upon Alexander Garbaï, an entirely obscure personage, but who had, in Bela’s eyes, the advantage of being a Christian and so masking the Semitic character of this Communist movement. Of twenty-six commissaries, eighteen were Jews: an unwarrantable number, if one considers that there are only 1.5 million Jews among the twenty million inhabitants of Hungary. These eighteen men took the direction of the Bolshevist government into their own hands; the others were mere figureheads. (Ibid., 120)

They bitterly add that “[a]fter the dynasty of Arpad [Árpád], after St. Stephen [István] and his sons, after the Anjous, the Hunyadis, and the Hapsburgs, there was a king of Israel in Hungary today.” (Ibid.) But here we have hit on an important point: Garbai’s appointment was indeed made to be window dressing for an essentially Jewish regime—a common tactic in Jewish intellectual and political movements (MacDonald 1998/2002).

Sándor Garbai’s Compass for Posterity

Thus Sándor Garbai was chosen because he could comfortably fit behind the real leader. In the minutes of the Revolutionary Governing Council, at the beginning of the regime, Vilmos Böhm suggests, openly speculating, that three non-Jews should be appointed to the administration of the capital: Ágoston, Bokányi, and then “a third, an iron worker, should be appointed also; if we form this leadership in this way, we would have a body which is also Jew-free” (quoted in Imre & Szűcs, 1986, 277).

Sándor Garbai (1879–1947) was used only as a mask, and the originally social-democratic politician later looked back on the Bolshevik period rather bitterly. István Végső, a historian, examined the 1172 pages of memoirs written by the former Shabbos goy, who was living in France at the time, for a planned biography and compiled a selection of them a few years ago, focusing on his memories and comments about the Republic and Jews. As Végső (2021, 33) points out, “Garbai was already suspected of having anti-Semitic views between the two world wars. In addition to anti-intellectualism, Vilmos Böhm also sensed ’not without reason’ anti-Semitism in Garbai’s post-1919 manifestations,” and that “1918–1919 was a watershed period in Garbai’s thinking. Apart from a few cases, his thinking before 1918 clearly diverges from that after the Soviet Republic” (ibid.). Indeed, Végső also notes that “[i]n the text, prejudice not only appears but is a constant feature. Its anti-Communist and anti-Jewish sentiments are blatant in the context of the labour movement” (ibid., 44), so Garbai’s insight outlined below is automatically “anti-Semitic” according to the historian, even though it often expresses positive and concerned feelings towards Jewry. Presumably, without such value judgments the collection would not have been published. As Végső points out, “[i]n a good part of the world, political parties after 1945 clearly refrained from anti-Semitic statements, but Garbai’s attitude remained unchanged” (ibid.).

Finally, Végső describes how Garbai recalled why he was appointed President in 1919: “The Board of Governors moved to appoint the President of the Board of Governors. Béla Kun stood up and proposed me as chairman. The reason was that Garbai was a worker, non-Jewish, a social democrat, experienced in the presidency. We communists also support him.” (Quoted in ibid., 104) Later, Garbai notes: “After the Governing Council was formed, Kunfi objected to the fact that there were many Jews among the People’s Commissars. This, he said, gave a bad impression on the Hungarian community. This proportion should be reduced, because 20 of the 28 Commissars are Jews. Kunfi’s comment caused consternation, but the majority argued that this aspect could only be honored later. For the time being, let the work begin with those appointed” (ibid., 106). The majority therefore thought that the large number of Jews was not a problem and that the programme should go ahead. 105 years later, we now know the result of this.

Sándor Garbai (1) with Béla Kun (2) on March 23, 1919.

Writing in Paris on April 6, 1946, Garbai recalls the first days of his regime, and in it the former president shares important observations with posterity:

In the evenings, we often went downstairs to the restaurant where we had dinner and watched the new functionaries who were looking after the cause of Hungary and the fate of the Hungarian people. I must confess, I was amazed at the mass of people that surged up and down the hall. Every day, nearly three hundred people gathered here, whom I hardly knew individually or collectively, although I individually knew the Budapest party functionaries in the Social Democratic Party. Of these people who swarmed here, 90% came from a group of young Jewish intellectuals who had set out to establish their careers with Visegrád Street Communist Party membership cards. I was struck by a shocking sight. I could not have imagined the extent of personal neglect, the unshaven, dirty, muddy looks that I witnessed here. The workers also appeared tired and shabby in the trusted men’s [i.e., Jews] seats, and yet there was something acceptable about them, something generalized, a willingness to be clean. They tried to keep themselves tidy and approach a human standard. The opposite happened. These people wanted to document their belonging to the proletariat by being dirty and neglected.

Béla Kun himself noticed this horse stable standard and loudly warned some of his followers that soap and razors were invented for the people.

My friend Henrik Kalmár and I discussed all aspects of this sad phenomenon. Kalmár told me that he has lived in the Hungária hotel from the beginning and sees this disgusting phenomenon every day. I am also Jewish, Kalmár said, I grew up in the Bratislava ghetto, but I am afraid of becoming an anti-Semite if this continues.

It’s good that it is not seen by others, only us. The mass rush to this power is to the detriment of the times and of the precious Jewish intelligentsia. It is absurd to believe that in a country like Hungary, where 63% are Catholic, 30% Reformed and 5% Jewish, this Jewish intelligentsia, which now sees the time as right to rise to power in the name of the worker, can remain in power. In this country, there was no obstacle to the Jews’ advancement. They could do whatever they wanted. They could be lawyers, doctors, teachers, engineers, industrialists, merchants, craftsmen and workers. But they could be no ruling class. There were few of them for that. The ruling class everywhere, and therefore also in our country, made up of the whole people, and it is against this law of evolution that the Jews now want to seize political power by means of revolution. I am afraid, said Kalmár, that many innocent Jews will pay the price for this hunger for power. For if this fails, an anti-Semitic wave will sweep the country the likes of which we have not seen before. (Ibid., 119–121)

Garbai then says to Kalmár: “The differences must disappear, because an undesirable situation could arise in which a life-and-death struggle between the Jewish and Hungarian intelligentsia would start, yes, in order to maintain their position of power. The effect of this will be that, instead of efforts to improve the situation of the working people, bloody battles will be fought under the slogans ’revolutionary’ and ’counter-revolutionary,’ to decide whether the Jewish or the Hungarian intelligentsia will lead the Hungarian people into the framework of the socialist world to come” (ibid.). All this is in line with the basic thesis of my analysis—although, it should be noted that Garbai wrote this 27 years after the events, so it is not known to what extent it is accurate. Nevertheless, it is in sync with the known past, and in the absence of contrary evidence, there is no good reason to doubt the memoirs of such an important figure. Equally disturbing—and very much in line with my thesis—is the following passage from April 20, 1946 (Paris):

Rabinovits also took over the leadership of the party’s agitator training school, where he enrolled young party members and trained them to carry out organizing tasks.

Party secretary István Farkas noticed that Rabinovits was only enrolling Jewish boys in the school, and questioned him. He said that if he did this knowingly, he would be forced to report to the party leadership because he could not take responsibility for this one-sidedness.

József Rabinovits told István Farkas, with peace of mind, that he was looking after the interests of the revolution when he did this. Only a Jew can be a reliable revolutionary, he said, because he does not belong to any existing organization. He has no national roots, his position is international. World revolution requires such men of international feeling as the Jews are. And the Hungarian proletarian dictatorship is an important link in the chain of the world revolution, and therefore this revolution can only carry out its historic task safely and irrevocably under the leadership of the Jews. Not otherwise. This is also the case in Russia. It must be the same here. (Ibid., 130; my emphasis)

Garbai then recalls how he complained about this to Rabinovits, considering this practice “dangerous” because it “places an excessive responsibility on the Jews.” He continued: “It would mean the emergence of a new ruling class under the aegis of international trust, from which all those who were born and live within a national framework and have national roots would fall out. Do not forget that the nationality of Jewry is in the accentuation of internationalism because the state of dispersion has made this necessary. But I also consider it necessary, in the interests of Jewry, that you do not follow this method, however tempting it may be. If the leadership of the workers’ movement is overrun by Jewry, it will lead to anti-Semitism” (ibid., 147).

Sándor Garbai

Also in Paris, on August 10, 1946, Garbai once again spoke with stark clarity. Historians have been studying the topic for decades, but almost none of them have the courage to put the following obvious fact on paper in such a roundabout way. Rather, an elderly man who was soon to die had to:

It [the revolution] was for a theory [Bolshevism] whose components nobody knew, only the Jewish intelligentsia, the vanguard of the industrial workers, were enthusiastic about it, because they saw in it not only the success of the social revolution but also its own rise to power. It was the rise to power that was the main goal. This was manifested in the fact that the industrial workers were led to believe that they would come to power through change and that they would be the holders of power. The industrial workers, under the influence of party discipline, could not consider that after the change they would still have to do the work, often under worse conditions than before, but the administration of the state was taken over in the name of industrial workers by the Jewish intellectuals and they were the main beneficiaries of the revolution. And anyone who challenged their rights was a counter-revolutionary. The Jews, especially the young element of Jewry, strove with unprecedented tenacity to take power, and lost sight of the double revolutionary direction of the Hungarian Revolution, because of its distorted structure: the liberation of the industrial workers and the coming to power of the Jews, the country cannot bear, one will drag the other down with it, into the abyss, into ruin, into destruction. (Ibid., 216–217)

Garbai also illustrates the anti-Hungarian nature of the Judeo-Bolsheviks with Ignác Schulcz (1894–1954), in connection with his activism in Czechoslovakia:

But Ignác Schulcz demanded that his followers vote against the use of the Hungarian language. He put party discipline above the interests of the Hungarian minority. He didn’t even care that the Hungarian community boycotted the traitors of the Hungarian language, and Hungarian voters turned away from the Social Democratic Party. This anti-Hungarian Social Democratic policy could only develop alongside the Jewish mentality of the political line that Ignác Schulcz represented in the party. (Ibid., 234)

There are plenty more remarks like the above in István Végső’s collection. Garbai’s conclusions about the history he witnessed in the midst of the events are thus extremely devastating, especially as regards the role and attitude of the Jews. While the charge of ’bias’ may seem justified, the same can be said of all the protagonists of history (and of today’s analysts) to some extent. The diary entries, memoirs and manifestations of the protagonists of events are among the most important elements of historiography, but in Garbai’s case, according to mainstream historians, it all comes across as something esoteric and strange, the focus being on the author’s “prejudice,” rather than his “post-judgmental” experience, so to speak.

By contrast, Garbai’s style of writing, and his thoughts on paper, show a clear mind, his criticisms are logical and—as my analysis here is intended to show—entirely justified. Given the blatant extent to which the legally protected narrative of the so-called Jewish Holocaust is based on conjecture and circumstantial accounts (or statements made under pressure, perhaps torture), to brush off the insights of one of the most insightful and active participants in the events as the anti-Semitic grumblings of an old man is, from a historiographical point of view, brazenly arrogant. Perhaps the real bias should be found here (e.g., to accuse Jews of anti-Hungarianism and tribal ethnocentrism—as Garbai does—is anti-Semitism according to mainstream scholarship today, while to accuse Hungarians of anti-Jewishness and ethnocentric motives is the most natural thing to do). Be that as it may, while historians and pundits come and go, Garbai’s writings will remain a compass for posterity.

Bloodshed in the Countryside

In the case of Tibor Szamuely (1890–1919), the Tharaud brothers (2024, 140) give the following account: “He was one of three children of a Jewish family from Galicia that had emigrated into Hungary a short time before and had acquired some degree of affluence in one of the northern counties. He, like Pogany, Bela Kun, and the greater number of the commissaries of the people, belonged to the category of intellectually discontented men who considered that society did not sufficiently recompense their talents.” The nature of the executions is described as follows: “whence news was brought that the peasants had cut a telegraph wire, attacked some Red Guards, or refused to deliver up their cattle and corn. He arrived in the village surrounded by his leather-clad men, who held bombs in their hands. The peasants denounced by the local Soviets were brought one after another before this revolutionary tribunal, composed of a single judge, round whom were grouped Szamuely’s companions. He himself, seated on a chair, his legs crossed carelessly one over the other, and smoking a gold-tipped cigarette, joked and laughed.” (Ibid., 145).

Tibor Szamuely speaks on recruitment day in Heroes’ Square

They also introduce Árpád Kohn-Kerekes (1896–1919), who was Szamuely’s partner in the killing spree and describe some of the executions, which were typically sadistic. Lajos Marschalkó also later quoted “the report of Imre Fehér, Colonel of the Red Army, sent by him to József Haubricht, the commander of the Italian army and the Italian military mission, on the actions of Samuelly’s [sic!] terrorists,” in which he said:

We accuse Samuelly and the terrorists of the following crimes: they have executed many innocent people in excess of their powers. The accused had no right to defend themselves and were executed without interrogation. Their procedure, which mocked any humanism of the slightest pretension, was as follows:

The terrorists, as soon as they arrived in a village, immediately rounded up and beat the male population. Samuelly selected 10 or 15, perhaps more, of them and, without saying a word to the unfortunates, handed them over to the Lenin Boys. The Lenin Boys, like wild animals, rushed at the unfortunate victims and began to beat them with rifles, hand grenades and stabbing them with blades. Blood gushed from the bodies of the men. A great many had their arms and waists broken, and then, standing them on chairs under a tree, they hung a rope around their necks and ordered them to kick the chair out from under them. If the unfortunate martyr was too frightened to do so, they stabbed him with knives until he was dead. (Quoted: Marschalkó, 1975, 182–183, Italics in original)

Marschalkó then refers to the work of the Tharauds: “We cannot take it amiss if Jenő Molnár [reporting the above] did not say what the Tharaud brothers later wrote, that it is so everywhere: ’Where Israel is king.’” (ibid., 188). Péter Konok describes the role of Lenin Boys in this way: “the official and semi-official terror groups (the term they themselves used) of the Soviet Republic were primarily focused on ’defending proletarian power.’ The aim was twofold: on the one hand, to ensure the Red Army’s effectiveness at the front and, on the other, to put down the growing counter-revolutionary rebellions and conspiracies in the rear. On April 21, the Revolutionary Governing Council set up the Committee Behind the Front, which also functioned as a tribunal” (Konok, 2010, 75). Its chairman was Szamuely, and “Political cases were handled by the Political Investigation Department of the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs headed by Ottó Korvin on the one hand, and by the Behind the Front Committee and the Court of Imprisonment, which were independent of it on the other” (ibid., 77). Dávid Ligeti (2019, 33–34) also recalls that “the case of György [Georg] Lukács, who ordered the shooting of eight people as a political commissar of the 5th Division at Poroszló on May 2, is well known.”

Photograph ripped to pieces and thrown away at a headquarters portraying some of the Lenin Boys with their victim (source: Tormay, 1923)

Ligeti also notes that “the role of the three-member panels in the imposition of death sentences was particularly perverse: here the victims had neither the possibility of appeal nor of effective legal defence” (ibid., 32). Szamuely and his associates also expropriated the property of the Hungarians after their massacres. Instead of leaving their property to the possible survivors, or distributing it among the poor, they transported hundreds of cows, bulls, oxen, pigs, sheep and poultry to Budapest by train, as reported in a telegram from Szamuely to Kun on June 10, 1919 (in: Bizony, 1919, 72).

The Bolshevik Jews believed that after Russia, and now Hungary, other countries would be swallowed up one country after another, so there was no such thing as too much cruelty. This belief is exemplified, for instance, in the official Bolshevik newspaper, the Vörös Ujság, issue of April 9, 1919, which wrote: “What is happening in Hungary today is, if possible, of even greater significance than the revolution of the Russian people. We are bringing the proletarian revolution to Western Europe.” (quoted: Chishova & Józsa, 1973, 221). Pravda, in Russian, on April 12, 1919, in its second issue, stated that “[t]he present events mean neither more nor less than that we are carrying the socialist revolution into the sphere of the proletariat of Western Europe, since we are convinced that the proletarian revolution will triumph only if the whole of Europe is on our side.” (Quoted: ibid., 225).

With all that behind us, next we will analyze the manifestation and role of identity, as well as ethnic character, further figures and data, and then misleading historical manipulations will also be answered.

Go to Part 3. 


References

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