Készentleti Rendőrség

"Egy ség, hűség, becsület"

"Integrity, Loyalty, Honor"

This is the motto of the Hungarian Készentleti Rendőrség, or Riot Police - the subject of Wednesday's field studies. We paid a visit to the Budapest headquarters and listened to an informative presentation before viewing some of the tactics and equipment. The basic function of the Riot Police is to keep order during public events. This may be a precautionary duty, as officers are often stationed at sports events in case of rowdy, opposing crowds. Going into the visit, I thought the Riot Police had only one duty - maintain order at times when the public cannot. We've all seen footage of the London riots this past summer. Out-of-control crowds of peaceful protestors trying to send a message, looters fleeing with their arms full, violent opposers crashing glass windows - all being contained by uniformed officers with shields, helmets, and batons.

As we found out, however, the duties of the Hungarian Riot Police lay far beyond containing crowds. There are 14 departments within the Készentleti Rendőrség, with a total of 3,459 personnel. That's the second largest police unit, after the local police. The departments encompass an entire spectrum of duties. There are departments and duties devoted to immigration control, money, assisting transportation of convicted criminals, bomb disposal, passenger train escorts, and many more. The new Tactical Riot Division employs skilled officers to assist the police in tracking down criminals in hiding. The Készentleti Rendőrség have jurisdiction throughout Hungary, as opposed to local officers who can only operate within their city's lines. The misconception I had about these officers duties may be chalked up to language - "Készentleti Rendőrség" does not translate to "Riot Police" exactly, but they are the only words that come the closest.

I was truly impressed with the training process. Every officer must undergo two years of training, then apply to a specialty force. After being accepted into the Riot Police, all new officers are under a mandatory one year probation period. They must train under an established officer, and are only permitted to give orders to civilians if their mentor officer is present. The training periods for officers back home is much shorter. Each state is different, but most academies only train for six to twelve months. Some intensive academy training can be crammed into twelve weeks. I would be interested in learning if the difference in training lengths has any effect - perhaps decreasing the amount of incidents the Internal Supervision Service must get involved in, or even allowing for fewer officers on the streets without increasing crime rates. Would training officers for longer periods allow them to be more educated, more versed in the law, more effective on the streets? Or is it just extra time spent reading, with little effect?

After the presentation, we were led outside to check out some of the Készentleti Rendőrség equipment. We saw weapons laid out on a table, held a protective shield, and walked in the shadows of hulking riot control vehicles. If there was one time I wish my little brother could have been on a field studies trip with me, this definitely would have been it. He would have gone crazy, I don't think he's ever seen anything like these in his piles of tractor and truck books. Some of the vehicles have bulletproof plates within the tires, others were specially designed to prevent people from climbing, and others still had guns and water cannons mounted on the front. We were also treated to a demonstration of various Készentleti Rendőrség tactics. The first video shows the process of escorting someone - criminal, diplomat, extradited convict. the other shows self-defense and restraining techniques, including how to deal with multiple attackers at once. It's pretty amazing to watch, considering these officers are hauling full-grown men over their shoulders like they're empty pillowcases. Check them out, I'm sure my little brother will be amazed.

History of Terror

"It isolated the East from the West; it split Europe and the World in two; it took away our freedom; it held us in captivity and fear; it tormented and humiliated us; and finally, we tore it down..."

Just one subway stop down the street, these words are etched in bronze - a constant education, a constant reminder, a constant memory of what Hungary has endured. I've passed these words a dozen times, even taken a picture in front of the monument, and never really wondered what it meant. Yesterday morning, though, before going into the House of Terror, I took the time to study the tribute. Immense chains are pulled taught on either side. I tried threading my fingers through the metal, reaching in futility for the light on the other side, but my hand just got caught in the rust and chains. All of a sudden, despite the foreboding strength it emits, the monument seems so small. I can circle it in seconds. I can stand on one side, then step to the other. The real Iron Curtain - the one that symbolized an ideological and physical divide - was something that nobody could walk away from.

From the outside, the House of Terror doesn't look particularly frightening. That is, until you catch a glimpse of the word spelled out in the shadows. Terror. Looking up, the word is spelled out in sheet metal, jutting out of the top floor. It offers an eery, stark suggestion of what lies inside. The museum itself, after all, is not just any dusty collection of the era's remnants. The building housed two sets of terrors. It acted as the "House of Loyalty" for the

Hungarian Arrow Cross Party in 1944. In simpler terms, it was the headquarters for the Hungarian Nazis. For the next eleven years, it housed two prominent communist organizations - the Allamvedelmi Osztaly (AVO) and the Allamvedelmi Hatosag (AVH). Essentially, these organizations were different forms of Hungarian Secret Police. They harassed, terrorized, and tortured civilians that they suspected were against Stalin's communist rule over the nation. The violent, merciless reigns during these three eras are all embodied in every inch of the House of Terror.

In the center of the building, an enormous gray army tank sits atop a canvas of still black water. The walls are lined with the black-and-white faces of victims. Even stretching up towards the skylight, all I could see were the gradient shadows of faces surrounding me. It's a fascinating start, considering the pictures have little weight and meaning when entering the museum, but so very much upon leaving it. We wove through the house and history - wandering past Arrow Cross Party uniforms, melting into the Soviet occupation, weaving through communist propaganda and replicas of rations. The walls were dotted televisions, playing the carnage, despair, and destruction on loop. I saw a picture of the Chain Bridge leveled, crumbled in the Danube. I watched a video of a man recounting his time at a labor camp where 5,000 entered and only 113 made it out alive. I saw perfect, clean lines of soldiers, marching in a sweeping block - the grainy footage making history seem unreal.

It was the basement that truly shook me, though. During the double occupations, the building's basement was used as a prison. The cells have been reconstructed, and the images are unbelievably haunting. Even the biggest cell was simply breathing room in the middle of concrete walls. One cell floor was only a few feet across - standing room only. I stepped inside it and could only stay for a second before the choking feeling of panic began to rise on my skin. Another cell was plunged in entire darkness. They used it as a form of torture. Deprivation of the senses inevitably leads to hallucinations, which can force even the strongest-willed to break down into lies and false admissions. Some rooms, I could only step into for a second before my courage crumbled and I had to step out again. Although the cells were a chilling reminder of the torture, that's not what got to me the most. The Hall of Tears, towards the end of the museum, stuck with me the most. Perhaps because it was the most downplayed, still room. There was no music, no videos playing. There were no photographs on the walls. Just a red room, scattered with tall, slender crosses. Each cross held a tealight, so that the entire room emitted a solemn glow. A banner on the wall wound around the entire room. Names - 2,500 names of those who died in the 1956 Revolution - were etched into it. At the entrance, the word "murdered" was stamped on the wall.

The word, so plainly declared, was stirring. I had consciously known during the whole tour that these Hungarian citizens were being killed. They were being worked to death. They were being kidnapped. They were being hidden away in darkness until their own insanity convicted them. Still, it wasn't until I saw the word plainly written out that I realized the hard truth. They were being murdered. There were no facts, no evidence, just a world of terror and suspicion that hovered for years. I have absolutely no grasp - even after visiting the museum - of what some of the people in this city have endured. I have nothing to compare it to back home. There is nothing that has existed within my entire family's history that can even come close to Hungary's dark past. It's a thought that crosses my mind now, when passing strangers on the street. I wonder what they've seen, who they might have lost, and how they have the energy and strength to keep their heads up. It has me looking at Hungary in a whole new light.

(For those of you stuck back home in the dreary United States, you can check out this video for a brief glimpse into the museum. Or, just go to the House of Terror website and take a look around.)

Terror House Tour

House of Terror Official Website

Locked Up Abroad: JSBP Edition

I figured there might come a time when one of us might find ourselves behind bars - just didn't think we would all be crammed in a cell together. Or that Molly would be there, too.

Yesterday, we took a train to Eger in northeastern Hungary. The town is best known for its red and white wines, sold up and down the cobblestone streets. The JSBP hooligans visited for an introduction to the Hungarian prison system. From the outside, the Heves County Prison looks like just another building. It fits unassumingly into the city block, set back from the sidewalk just a bit. If not for the small sign hung out front, I would have never known what lay inside.

After a security check - forking over our passports, stashing all electronics in a locker, setting off metal detectors without actually getting patted down - we followed the prison's governor into a cramped room for a brief presentation. The Heves County Prison houses all sorts - men, women, adults, juveniles, remand. Like the United States, most prisons in Hungary are overcrowded. The current capacity exceeds the official capacity by more than 50 prisoners. In the United States, there are about 750 prisoners per 100,00 of the national population. In Hungary, the figure is only 149. The issue is not more arrests or convictions, however, but longer imposed lengths of incarceration. In the Heves County Jail, most prisoners are locked up for fewer than five years. The stark contrast pointed out by the presentation clearly illustrated the flaws in our American prison system. The United States is a leading, powerful nation, yet we still have 23.4% of the world's adult prison population. (Here's a link to the 2010 World Prison Population List, which offers some pretty amazing statistics, broken down country-by-country. ) I would have never guessed that, while learning about the Hungarian prison system, I would stumble across such an enormous error in our own.

The most startling contrast, however, came when the prison's governor gave us a tour around the prison. I've never visited an American prison, but I do have a bizarre affinity for the show Lockup on MSNBC. Most of the American prisons that I've toured through television are stark, stainless steel institutions. Here, however, the walls and railings were painted yellow. Natural light shined in from a few windows, even with bars across them. In the women's wing, knitted pictures were hung up on the walls. On stools inside the women's cells, there were cushions embroidered with initials - probably the prisoner's work. I kept thinking back to American prisons, and imagining a more bleak scene. Perhaps that's part of the reason, if only just a little, that our prisons keep seeing the return of the same criminals. Like the Governor quoted, if we treat the prisoners like animals inside the prison, we can only expect animals to be released back into society.

We were also permitted to tour one of the empty prison yards outside. As we entered through the enormous block doors, a rottweiler lunged at us from a tiny chain cage. It only drove the governor's point home - if we treat our prisoners like anything but humans, we cannot expect them to fully recover a position as a fully-functioning member of society. In Norway - again, my knowledge is a result of prison documentaries - the prisons are completely different. There aren't bars, cages, barbed wire, and, at one Norwegian prison, guns. One prison located on an island offers farms, beaches, and a soccer field. (Take a video tour of the Norway prison system here - a little bit of an overdramatic portrayal, but the photographs are good.) This progressive prison system yields the lowest reoffending rate in the world - 20%. The focus is on continuing the aspects of regular society in jail, so that prisoners have an easier time returning to the general population. In light of the recent island massacre, however, we must realize that no prison system has the capability to deter crime or reform all criminals.

All in all, I was pretty fascinated by our adventure into the Hungarian prison system. I was impressed by the knowledge and insight offered by the prison's governor, and intrigued to explore the differences between our two systems.

Hacking out the Hungarian Justice System, with Dr. Peter Hack

Only two weeks into our field studies class, and we are already dissecting the Hungarian justice system with a former member of the Hungarian Parliament. Is this real life? Yesterday, we sat down with Dr. Peter Hack. His resume is extensive - twelve years in the Hungarian Parliament, four years as Chairman of the Committee on Constitutional and Judicial Affairs, member of the National Judiciary Council, lecturer at the Academy of Judges, faculty member at the Budapest Law Faculty. His dizzying list of accomplishments might have created an intimidating atmosphere among a classroom full of students, but Dr. Hack was completely humble.

He began by outlining the Hungarian legal system, which is based off of the German model. My attention was captured immediately. This system is so completely unlike our own. The procedure begins when a victim or witness reports a crime. Police have three days to make a decision - either begin the procedure, or drop the case completely. Right away, this seems like it would create an extremely ineffective system. The moment a crime is reported, a countdown begins. Police, especially in urban areas, must be constantly playing a game of double-dutch. Do they take the risk, continue with the case, and perhaps end up wasting their time and efforts down some dead-end? Or do they drop it, potentially robbing a victim of justice and allowing a criminal to remain unpunished? Three days to decide. Do you think you're judgement is good enough to handle a burden this big?

Of course, there is a bit of a built-in safety net. If the police decide to drop the case, the individual or legal entity, whomever the victim is, has the right to go to the courts directly. Back in the States, this would create absolute chaos. People already think that watching a few hours of CSI or Criminal Intent automatically entitles them to aptly defend themselves in court. Integrating citizens directly in the legal and judicial process - while seemingly very "by the people, for the people" - can sometimes create a tangle of uneducated ineptitude. While misplaced shouts of "I object!" continuously interrupt proceedings, the judicial process will remain at a standstill. It would be like me trying to fix the electrical socket that keeps sparking in my room...or Nellie making dinner.

After the presentation, I discussed many more seemingly faulty points to the Hungarian legal system. A few of us were baffled at the judge's responsibilities. It's the judge's task to read all of the documents gathered during pretrial. The judge must learn the case, know all the ins and outs of both sides. Dr. Hack stated that this method increases the relevance of the case, when the defense and prosecution enter the scene. Most of us, however, saw this as a terribly inefficient way to conduct court proceedings. The judge must be wasting valuable time studying up on all these cases, like a student studies for an exam. Surely our system works better, I thought.

It suddenly struck me how narrow-minded I was being. I was picking apart all these little pieces of someone else's culture, someone else's law, and all I could see were the cracks in it's foundation. I like to consider myself pretty open-minded, and found myself embarrassed at my slew of misconceptions about Hungary's justice system. They must be doing something right, I rationalized. Dr. Hack stated that Hungary had 154 murder cases last year. In Washington D.C. alone, the murder rate dropped 9% to 131 murders - and the whole city celebrated. Of course, with such limited knowledge, I can't really grasp what is actually accountable for the discrepancy between the two reports. But the figures alone were enough to stop my judgements in their tracks.

Traveling has always brought out the best parts of me - I get stir crazy if I stay in Maine for too long. Even wandering around in this enormous, fantastic city we're calling home lets me breathe a bit easier. The situations that travel puts me in - getting lost, grappling with a new language, meeting new people - always spits me out as a stronger person. Dr. Hack inadvertently stirred up something that I'll have to work on - not jumping to conclusions. It's a fault that might fit perfectly into our field studies, since we'll constantly be confronted with so many different views, scenes, and situations. I'm looking forward to fixing things.

P.S. So how about Dr. Hack throwing out the statistics about 60% of Hungarian judges being women? How awesome is that! My mother is a judge, and I don't look up to anyone more than I look up to her. She deals with bickering parents in divorce court, troubled teenagers in drug court, lying violators in traffic court, and even child custody matters. She's the strongest woman I know, facing one of the hardest jobs I know. It's pretty empowering to hear that Hungary has so many women in such strong, powerful positions. Get with it, America!

(Here she is officiating my sister's wedding last year. Hi, Mom!)

Trip One: U.S. Embassy

For those of you not in the JSBP - hey mom! that's about it - we'll be taking excursions every Wednesday. They all have a justice studies foundation. This past Wednesday, we paid a visit to the U.S. embassy. (Thanks, Google Images, for making it look like I was there during wintertime.) We sat down with U.S. diplomat Jay Truesdale, who turned out to be from Hopkinton, New Hampshire. I was a bit disappointed at first - I figured maybe we would be meeting someone a little more outside the box. A woman, maybe someone of a different race or nationality than my own. I've heard plenty of well-to-do white men speak about politics and law. Not that I didn't think Jay wouldn't be intriguing, I was just initially disappointed that we wouldn't be hearing from a different perspective.

The moment Jay began to engage us in conversation, though, my disappointment began to dissipate. He spoke with intelligence - yet managed to avoid the haughty, false humility that makes me switch channels when most politicians step on screen. He began by describing the duties and mechanics of being a diplomat. It is a diplomats grave duty, Jay stated, to be the eyes and ears of the American people overseas. A diplomat represents his or her government through other nations' governments. Ultimately, a diplomat must always be aware of the media's churning tide. He must meet with people in every branch of the government, as well as people from every walk of life - heads of companies, university professors, civil society leaders, even poets. Jay was an excellent speaker - he first outlined the basics of his job and of embassies all over the world. Instead of droning on, which he easily could have done, he was concise and well-spoken. The moment he engaged us as students, his old teaching career really shined through. In answering, he told stories. A question about his greatest professional achievement turned into a story about how he assisted the Ukraine in pulling out of what may have been a gravely crippling economic depression. A question about his assignments turned into a story of where he's been, of where he started. A question about the current U.S. ambassador in Hungary, Eleni Tsakopoulos Kounalakis, turned into a story about her grandfather's incredible drive, determination, and strength. Instead of lecturing, he involved us all in learning.

The one aspect that ultimately resonated the most, though, was Jay's passion. At times, he seemed on the verge of incredibly emotional moments. When he spoke of misconceptions about Americans abroad, he was surprisingly moving. Many people view Americans as pigheaded, invasive, and obnoxious. Our responsibilities as American students abroad not only lie in being respectful and open about other cultures, but a certain responsibility also lies in breaking those negative stereotypes. All eleven of us got into this program on our own merit. We are intellectual, observant, enthusiastic students who are interested in learning more ab

out the world than what exists inside our own nation. I think that every one of us has the ability to change even one person's perception about Americans - just as our perceptions of Hungarians will continuously evolve through the semester. Just like Jay - just like the diplomats that work in the embassy every day - we, too, are the eyes and ears of the people back home.

Home, For Now

I'm not really sure how I got here. I still feel like I should be back on campus, celebrating syllabus week and unpacking in Mills. Somehow I snuck in here, though - to all the meetings in Murkland and Huddleston; sent in my dozens of passport pictures; boarded a plane and flew in a direction I've never been before. There is space for me in this apartment, though, and my name is on the attendance list for classes. Maybe I'm actually supposed to be here.

But then I see this out the window, and I feel like I must be dreaming again. This city is unbelievable - every piece of it feels historic. Our street, Benczur Utca, is lined with trees. The buildings rise up on either side, not overpowering or industrial like cities back home. There's more of an art to it here. Stone ledges and wrought-iron balconies decorate even the simplest buildings. Statues dot the street squares. And this is home to me, at least for the next four months.

Words can barely explain how this feels - I can't even rationalize it to myself. All I want is to explore every corner of this place. I want to see the city all in lights, I want to see it in the morning when the sun is coming up, I want to see it when the snow comes down. I want to stumble through conversations with the few Hungarian words I know, maybe even learn a few more along the way. I want to walk all the way home from the other side of the river at night - wait, we already did that.

Most of all, though, I want to all be able to experience this together. Not to get all end-of-the-semester-speech on everyone, but I am already glad I've met all of you, JSBP. Listening to everyone in class today, I can't help but be a little intimidated. Everyone's ideas are so well constructed and thought-provoking. I've always been able to put my thoughts down on paper, but anytime I have to voice them, I stumble. My hands shake, my voice breaks. Even if I'm confident in exactly what I want to say, it still comes out like I'm four years old in a room full of college students. It's an anxiety that's stuck with me through everything - and I hate it. This semester, while others are facing their fears of getting lost or learning the language, I'll be facing a fear that I've brought from home. I hope that in this sort of life - learning both inside and outside of the classroom with the same ten students - I will finally be brave enough to get over this.

Here goes nothing...