Author: andrasthehun

Thank You, University of British Columbia

March 14

The current Ukrainian war reminded me of escaping from Hungary in 1956 and the unlikely admission to UBC in the following year. I am immensely grateful for the understanding and opportunity the University of British Columbia afforded me.

When I came home from school on the last day of October 1956, my mother ordered me and my brother to walk to Vienna. She did not explain why we should leave until months later: she had heard that when The Hungarian Revolution broke out in Budapest, on October 23, soldiers guarding the “iron curtain” (the border between Hungary and Austria) stood aside while the refugees crossed the border.

My brother, 18, and I, 16 years old, left with a sandwich and a name on a piece of paper that my mother told us to call when arriving in Vienna. The name on the slip of paper turned out to be a Jesuit priest, a college mate of my uncle’s at the University of Vienna. The priest picked us up from the refugee camp and settled us in Vienna. Just before the border closed, when the Russian tanks returned to occupy Hungary, my parents and younger brother also left Hungary and joined us. They thought they may never see us again.

We ended up in Vancouver in January 1957. I was 17 years old and hated the thought of going back to high school; I felt suddenly mature beyond my age because of the uprooting from Hungary to Canada via Vienna and Manchester, England. They were going to put me back a year because of my poor English language skills. That was abhorrent to me. I thought of attending university instead. But I was only in grade 10 when we escaped from Hungary; how could I apply to university?

Unbeknownst to my parents, I looked up when registration took place at UBC in the Fall and took a bus there. The admissions officer’s first question was to ask for my high school diploma, which, of course, I did not have. Actually; I had no papers to even show that I had been in high school. In my tortuous English (which I had learned in Manchester and courses at the YMCA in Vancouver) I said that I had not finished high school, but I was confident that I could do the science courses. Like maths, physics, and chemistry. But she said that I needed to have the graduation papers. I responded I would take a chance and if I could not pass the courses, I would just fail. Well, the officer went to the back office to discuss my unique request and after a half-hour; she came back and said that it was my choice and my money if I failed, but they would let me take the chance.

Then, she told me the fee for the semester was $250. Feeling foolish and by now totally embarrassed, I said that I had no money. But I improvised and said that the government, I heard, was paying for the tuition of Hungarian refugees. That, of course, caused another long discussion in the back room. I waited nervously with bated breath. After a substantial time, the officer came back and said that UBC would accept me with no payment. I sighed and my heartbeat came down a few notches. Although I was uptight with my heart pounding, the entire negotiation occurred in a friendly and relaxed manner.

And I did UBC proud; I excelled in all the sciences. My weakest performance was in the mandatory English language courses. I was fortunate to have Professor Woodcock for my English course, who gave me a “P” or pass mark; he was aware of my background and valued the effort I put into learning the language.

So thank you UBC. You were gracious and understanding. And you can be proud, I finished UBC with an architecture degree. I followed it up with a couple of masters’ degrees in the States. And made my career in Canada since 1973.

Without your understanding and taking a chance on a 17-year-old refugee in 1957, I could not have made a successful career, grown a happy family in, and given back in services to, Canada. Thank you!

What if the Russians Take Over Ukraine?

March 10, 2022

The Russian bully is devastating Ukraine by bombing. Atrocities abound: they bombed hospitals, with children inside. It is unfathomable in today’s world what is going on. The type of ground war going on in Ukraine belongs to the past. A hundred years ago, maybe. But today, with the technology and nuclear power that many nations possess, this old-fashioned war is an anachronism. Be it as it may, it is happening and the Ukrainians are putting up a terrific fight to keep their country.

Why? Well, first, it is their country. It is human nature to protect your house, country, your territory. Property is important globally; people fight for their piece of land. That people can deprive you of your property by crude force is wrong.

Second, the Ukrainian people know the Russians from the time they were part of the Soviet Union and their experience had not been a happy one under Soviet rule. There was the collectivization of farms; confiscation of private property; forbidding free discussion except for communist dogma.

Communism following the Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin doctrine had not materialized, as originally conceived in the Soviet Union. For example, the tiny pieces of land, minuscule vegetable gardens farmers could keep for their use, flourished, while the large collectivized farms, the “kolhozes”, suffered a failure. The lesson learned was that people should be rewarded according to their efforts and initiative. When all people are rewarded equally regardless of their effort and contribution, people do the least effort since those who produce more are rewarded the same as those who produce less.

No doubt Ukrainians are against the Russians and what they would do to their country should they take over the country. But what would happen to the average Ukrainian? Suppose you are an electrical inspector working for a small city where you live. Your job is to go out every day and inspect what people do in their homes, to their electrical circuits, and make sure their activities meet the local code. What would happen after that Russians take over? Would you not be doing the same work? The work is important and will continue to exist and therefore your job would be safe and continue. So why would you object to having a Russian-controlled government when your job would remain and your current boss may continue to be your future boss?

Because the ongoing Russian bombing has devastated homes, killed people, and created a terrifying environment. Fierce resistance and hatred have developed towards the Russians.

The only way the Russians can take over Ukraine now is by installing the military to run the country. The current Ukrainian administration will be arrested, imprisoned, sent to reeducation camps, or executed (similar to what happened in Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968). And that will further increase quiet resistance and non-compliance with Russian rules.

In the near term, there will be the reconstruction of roads, of homes, destroyed. The infrastructure for utilities will have to be replaced. The quality of life will decrease because of the rubble and devastation. In Hungary, they rebuilt little of the infrastructure that was destroyed in WWII while Hungary was behind the Iron Curtain.

Over time, from the top government officials down, the administration would turn into a pro-Russian team, advocating loyalty to President Putin. And Russians would control the media and propaganda would work to turn Ukrainians anti-West.

Oligarchs would gradually take over Ukrainian industry, concentrate power and wealth in a few hands similar to what happened in Russia. Resource development would be only for the benefit of Russia, robbing the country of its natural resources similar to what happened in the satellite countries under the Soviet Union (Hungary, Czechoslovakia). Disagreement with government (i.e. Russian) policies would not be tolerated and dissidents jailed.

Since independence in 1991, Ukrainians have embraced western lifestyles. A change going back to the Soviet ways of life would be catastrophic to Ukrainians. Just my opinions.

The Ukraine and Russia. The two existential decisions Ukrainians face. My memory of Hungary in 1956.

March 6, 2022.

Ukrainians are fleeing their country to escape the Russian bombing of their cities in this unprovoked war. Over a million Ukrainians have fled to date. Estimates range up to five million refugees by the time this war ends.

To leave your home, your community, your friends, and your job is an existential decision. By leaving your country, you enter another country, with an unfamiliar language, with a different culture. You have to reestablish yourself and adapt to the other country’s way of life. You may have to go back to school and relearn skills.

A decision to leave your country and emigrate is a life-altering decision with high risks for success: a lot of effort may have to be spent to get back to an equivalent position to what you left behind. It may take years. Some people may never make it: they may not have the skill to learn a foreign language or they do not need their skills in the adopted country.

My father was in his forties when he left Hungary during the Hungarian Revolution of 1956. Having succeeded professionally as a medical doctor and director of a regional hospital, he had no reason to leave. He was a proud Hungarian: proud of the people and accomplishments of a thousand years of history in the country.

My mother’s family lost everything. The communist government confiscated (nationalized) all of their property: a summer home on the Danube river and vineyards on the mountain behind. She had no reason to stay in Hungary.

Under the communist regime, the children of the proletariat, of the blue-collar workers, were admitted to a university. They considered a professional a “bourgeois” and were not part of the proletariat. A university graduate was, by definition, a “bourgeois”, and even though my father came from a farm, his education put him into the bourgeois category.

The communist government owned and directed all economic activity. The government hired and assigned people to specific locations where their skills were required. One of my cousins graduated from dental school and married a fellow dental student; when they finished university, they were assigned to two different cities where dentists were needed.

My parents did not think their children had a future in Hungary; I think that was the reason they left the country. So when during the Hungarian Revolution the border was unguarded–the guards did not know what to do during the 1956 upheaval – father and mother decided to leave the county. For the future of their children. And leave before the Russians returned and closed the border.

The day mother found out that the border was open, she collected my brother Peter, age 18, and myself, after school. I was 16 years of age. She packed some food into a backpack; gave us the name of someone living in Vienna and told us to walk to Vienna. Arriving there, we were to look up the person whose name she gave us. The situation was unreal for Peter and me, and not understanding what was going on, we got on the highway leading to Austria. Hoping that we would get to Vienna somehow. Mother did not know if she, father, and my younger brother John, eight years old, would see us again.

But Peter and I walked and walked and walked. The highway was like an exodus, with people filling up the road. Nobody talked. We hurried, not knowing how long the border would stay open.

The Austrians welcomed us with open arms and put us up in an army camp outside Vienna. After a day, they helped us to contact the person whose name mother gave us. He was a Jesuit priest, and he came in a few days and helped us to settle in Vienna. It turned out that the priest was a friend of one of my uncles from university days. The Jesuit helped Peter enter medical school, and he placed me in a dormitory of a high school.

When the large Russian army returned to Hungary in November, my parents decided it was time to escape from Hungary. Otherwise, they may never see their two older children. One of my father’s patients, the Mayor of the City of Sopron where we lived, helped them. He drove the family across the “iron curtain” in his official, government-owned car. The family reunited in Vienna and pondered the next step.

Right after you make an existential decision to emigrate, you have another life-altering decision to make: where to? You think the entire world is your choice. But to be pragmatic, you consider your trade, profession, and language skills and try to find someplace where you could use these skills.

Another constraint is your financial resources; you have nothing with you except what you wore during your escape and a backpack. With limited resources, you cannot travel too far. (Father had sold some assets and used the cash to buy collectors’ stamps, thinking the stamps took no space in his pocket and could sell them. Unfortunately, the stamps he had were worthless.)

A potential opportunity is a relative abroad who could help you get established. Or, friends in the diaspora of your country. And that is usually the first choice. Mother contacted her brother living in Manchester, UK, and asked for help to move there. We stayed in Manchester for a couple of months evaluating the possibilities in England, then my parents moved to Vancouver, Canada, in 1957, where my mother had a sister, a public health nurse. Canada appeared to have great potential to start a new life.

Father had to redo his studies and pass the Canadian medical exams, which he did in two years. It was difficult to do so at his age, but he persevered. And then he was a “resident” in St. Paul’s hospital for a couple of years, often with twenty-four-hour shifts. Not a peaceful life when you are in your mid-forties. Mother took a job as a dishwasher to help with money; she had never worked outside the house, being born into a privileged family in Hungary. But my parents had grit. And the children attended university; the youngest one was in high school.

Reading the news, I empathize with the Ukrainians; I have been through what they are going through now. Many Ukrainians send their family out, hoping to join them later or perhaps hoping to have them return should the Ukrainians win this war. Not a likely possibility; the Russians have much more military power and Putin’s vision appears to be the political order of decades ago.

The Ukraine and Russia. My Memories of Hungary and Russia

February 25

As Russia is pounding Ukraine, I thought of my early childhood in Hungary. Hungary was under German occupation and the Russians pounded Budapest in 1944, advancing on the German army. I was four years old. We covered all the windows at night to avoid lights that the coming bombers could see. And we rushed down into the basement of the four-story apartment building for protection should the bombing destroy the apartment building where we lived.

During the days, the “Green Shirts”, the Hungarian Nazis, came visiting our apartment looking for Jews. But the Germans were losing the war to the Russians, who came at night and bombarded Budapest.

I was old enough to be scared, but not old enough to understand what was going on. Complicating our situation was mother being Jewish. Although she took on the Christian religion, the Nazis went after all of Jewish origin. And father, a Catholic, hid mother’s family members in the corner of our living room behind the china closet when the Germans came looking for Jews; I was told to shut up and say nothing to the Nazis searching our apartment.

Then my father was sent on a military train to Ukraine by the Hungarian Army to serve as a medic. He was an MD. The rest of us – my mother, my brother Peter and me – stayed at a military camp in Szatmarnemety (now it is Romania). We had a soldier assigned to guard the family, who played with Peter and me; when the sirens shrieked alerting us to the upcoming Russian bombing raids, the soldier threw us into a hole in the ground and covered us with a piece of plywood. Then we waited until the siren’s undulating sound indicated it was safe to come out and the soldier would lift us out. But sometimes we had to wait a long time because the Russian pilots often returned and strafed the camp at a low altitude. It was extremely noisy, dark, lonely, and terrifying in the hole with the strafing.

The Russians occupied Hungary in late 1944, after the Germans were defeated. Shortly after, my father was transferred to Sopron as director of the regional hospital and the family accompanied him by train from Budapest to Sopron. The Russians divided Hungary into zones; Sopron was in the border zone, accessible only for Hungarians working and living in the zone. We crossed into the border zone, close to the Austrian border; two soldiers armed with guns stood on the steps of the last coach of the train to make sure that nobody jumped on, going into the border zone. When trying to escape from Hungary, people tried to reach the border zone first, hoping to escape to the west.

A huge number of people tried to go west but were stopped on the way at Russian checkpoints at all major highways or perished trying to cross the “Iron Curtain” between Hungary and Austria (a strip of land half a kilometer wide, mined, fenced, and with watchtowers and guards with dogs patrolling).

We never talked about politics. The secret police, the AVH, kept tabs on everyone and one never knew who were the informers or moles. People kept disappearing at night never to be heard from again. A friend of my father’s lived in an apartment across from us and disappeared one night. We never talked about him.

My father sometimes was called at night to tend to people shot up trying to swim across lake Ferto into Austria. The lake straddles the Hungarian/Austrian border and a wire fence in the water stopped people from swimming across to Austria.

And there were long line-ups for meat and eggs and food because of rationing. The Russians took Hungary’s agricultural and industrial output. They also nationalized (confiscated) all property that our family had.  

I learned to fix electrical devices and discovered that I could make the “People’s” radio (the only legal radio in Hungary at that time) to receive foreign channels by changing the rheostat. The “people’s” radio brought in one channel only, the official voice of the Hungarian Communist Party. It was illegal to listen to foreign radio channels. I was in my teens and thought it was clever of me to make these radios into receiving “Radio Free Europe”, the “Voice of America” and the BBC. But since it was illegal to do so, I worked on it alone without letting my parents know what I was doing. And then I listened to “Radio Free Europe” at night, in my bed, pulling the covers over so nobody would know it.

I feel sorry for Ukraine and its people. The consequences of the Russian army’s occupation were something I had experienced. I hope they survive.

What is Community Engagement in Ottawa

February 24

What is Community Engagement in Ottawa?

We called it “citizen participation” in the late sixties in Norfolk, Virginia, where I worked for the City of Norfolk as a city planner. Urban renewal was in vogue and I had to liaise with community groups in the inner cities where urban renewal took place. The program replaced dilapidated homes with public housing.

To help to identify what the residents of the inner city wanted in their neighborhood – in their homes and open space surrounding them–we played interactive games. We had paper cutout benches, models for housing types and asked for their preferences. We tried to develop a plan from their input. That was called “citizen participation”. To get federal program funding, we had to show and describe how we worked collaboratively with the inner-city people (mostly African Americans) in Norfolk, Virginia.

I have often wondered if and how the City of Ottawa would invite the public to comment on upcoming developments in our neighborhood. My curiosity increased with my discovery that over 3000 apartments units in highrise buildings have been proposed in our neighborhood in the last few years. Construction has already started on some of them.

 Where will all these people come from to fill these new units? And who will pay for the infrastructure required by the increased demand for roads and utilities? Who is the target market for all these units: families, singles, retirees? What effects would all these proposals bring to our traffic? To our water and wastewater systems, and electrical grid? Would our taxes go up to pay for the new infrastructure required or do developers pay for the increased demand for these services?

So it pleasantly surprised me when I saw an ad in my local community newsletter in Ottawa. The City of Ottawa, it said, was accepting applications for “community engagement” to review neighborhoods’ development proposals. What better way to understand plans for our neighborhood than to take part with the city in reviewing these proposals So, I jumped on the opportunity and applied.

The response to my application came a few days later, advising me: I have to belong to the local community association; sign a “non-disclosure” agreement, and that I’ll need some training provided by the City. Instead of providing training, I expected the City to find out what skills I would bring to these reviews. I sat back, awaiting info on my training.

When cleaning up my old emails yesterday, I came across my exchange with the City on the application I submitted ten weeks ago. Wow! I followed up and copied my local City Councillor on my response. That did the trick: I received an email from the city the day after explaining that their “priorities have changed” and that is why I have not heard from them. But someone will follow up this Spring. Does that mean that they have one training program in the Spring? Or that they do not need volunteers anymore?

More importantly, does the City want “community engagement” or just check boxes to reflect “political correctness”? I suspect the latter: the email I received from the City to my application ends with three expressions; “Thank you” “Mercy” and “Migwetch”! The first two words are standard in a bilingual city with English and French. But the last word got my interest. It is in a native language meaning “thank you”. OK. We are politically correct, the City occupies Algonquin lands and I suspect the native language word is an acknowledgment of that.

But only five percent of the Ottawa population is of native origin. The same percentage of the population is Chinese, Arabic, and Asian. Will we see “thank you” notes in City of Ottawa letters in Chinese and Arabic and Hindi as well to acknowledge other major ethnic groups? Just a question.

However, my more serious concern is the commitment of the City to “public engagement” – it has now been three months since I applied in response to a request by the City for “public engagement”. It looks like it will be another three months before there is a “training” session. The sluggishness and response to my inquiry lead me to believe that the City is more interested in checking boxes than receiving input from citizens on development proposals. Just my opinion.