Hungarian Prime Minister Peter Medgyessy has suddenly discovered himself in a looking-glass world, in which the reflections being cast come from the days of communist control. The problem is that when a bright young technocrat under the communists, he filed reports to the Hungarian secret service on colleagues. For five years to 1982, he was actively engaged in counterintelligence, which, in communist days, meant the harsh suppression of anything that threatened the communist hegemony. Somehow, this rather important fact about his past had not been pointed out during his push up the political ladder, and Medgyessy himself had chosen not to reveal his earlier, murkier career.
On this point alone Hungarian voters could be forgiven for wondering about their premier’s political judgement. It seems barely credible that Medgyessy could have imagined that some political enemy would not dredge up this unedifying period in his past. The premier’s reaction was to admit the allegations. He then however sought to turn the issue by supporting wider disclosure of the names and activities of all those who were secret police informers. As the Hungarian law currently stands, only public figures, such as politicians like Medgyessy, have no automatic protection from exposure. The premier might possibly here be aiming a threat at those whom he suspects of exposing him. In any other light the move might seem bizarre.
However, the story has taken an even odder twist, with Medgyessy threatening to sue a newspaper which, following on from his admission to being an informer from 1975, now claims that as early as 1972, he was reporting to his spy chiefs on the political reliability of colleagues in the Ministry of Finance.
When the bad news first broke, Medgyessy’s coalition junior partners, the Free Democrats (SZDSZ) threatened to withdraw their support, but decided to stay in the government after Medgyessy’s admissions. They might have to review that decision if the allegation that the premier was busy spying on friends and colleagues long before 1975 prove to be true.
The unpleasant fact about this whole business is that what Medgyessy did was hardly exceptional. Throughout the old Soviet bloc, there were extensive networks of informers. In East Germany, the Stasi secret police took this process to such a level that willingly or unwillingly, most citizens at one time or another reported on each other, including sometimes, even family members on family members. The effect of this endless surveillance was corrosive. Many informers were easy to spot. But many more were not. It became impossible to trust colleagues and only a fool would not be suspicious when he found he had unexpectedly made a new friend.
Though they all once promised to throw open their country’s security files, most post-communist governments have backpedaled, perhaps out of fear of embarrassment or perhaps in the genuine concern at the divisiveness that full revelation could bring about. What they should understand however is that without free access to all the facts, suspicion among the public will probably in the long run be far more damaging than any shameful stories that will emerge from the archives.
