When I look back on a trip that took place halfway across the world and made me visit more Rusyns in 10 days than I had in the previous 22 years, what I often think about are the moments that helped me better understand our situation. It was a journey that began in the inner highlands of the Tokaj wine-making region of Hungary, progressed to the great peaks of central Transcarpathia, and ended in the rolling mountains of Prešov Rus. Not everything made me optimistic, but not a single day of it was unenlightening.
Before making my trek across the Tisza and into a country now at war, I along with an RLS columnist Vladimir Pukish road first on a train from Budapest to Miskolc, and then hired a taxi driver to take us all the way past Tokaj and into the Zemplen mountains. Tucked away in one of its valleys is a small town named Komlóska. It is the last majority Rusyn village in Hungary. The way to get there is steep and the roads are certainly not traveled very often as we see barely a car in sight.
As we get out of the taxi at the bottom of a long stone staircase to the church, we barely hear a thing. In fact, for another half hour, everything feels as though the people vanished because there is not a person in sight. The church itself is beautiful with its doors cracked open as we get to it, yet everything inside is in Hungarian. Its creation date of 1820 is also marked on the wall with a plaque that shows something to do with Prešov and the year 1903. A cemetery just to its left contains the graves of Rusyns from the previous generations. Every grave here except for an ancient one is now in Hungarian as well.
Eventually, we go up to the house next door looking for anyone and are guided by the priest’s wife to the direction of the Rusyn language school which is now shut down due to lack of funding and enrollment. Except for a few small children that walk by there is still barely any life here in town with a population of around 400. As we continue to walk around we see two young men likely going out on a hunt. I say we should stop and ask them some questions, and with some amazing luck, one of the men is actually the son of one of the main local activists. His dad had been a key figure in making what the Rusyn autonomous government is today.
The two guys say they know they are Rusyn, and that everyone in this town is. When asked if they speak the language, both say no and don’t understand a word. It is a common belief here that they are the descendants of Lemkos who migrated south centuries ago, though there is nothing tangible about the claim. What they say may be correct, but like in the case of the Pannonian Rusyns, there is just no proof. After some more short conversation a man named László Popovics, the man’s father, comes up in his white van and shows us around. Rusyn cultural life here is better than one would have thought. They have their own city council building and at the far end of the town a “Rusin Park” where an event will be held in July. When we got there a couple with their friends had been taking stuff down from their wedding the night before. Here there is also a statue of Rákóczi in front of it, and the street it’s on is named after him as well. These things almost seem straight out of the writings of Alexander Bonkalo nearly 80 years ago.
After this begins a long and entertaining showing of Popovics’ guest house, his wine cellar, and the traditional Rusyn house that is on display near the entrance to the village. All of these are either managed or owned by him. I of course as someone who does not drink at all also downed more homemade alcohol than I had previously drunk in my entire life. A real introduction to the Rusyn experience.
The wrong foreign person put in our position would likely characterize him and everyone else here as the stereotypical village folk (whatever that means), but when talking with them you realize this is but a surface-level observation. They were people proud and knowledgeable about their heritage, even if it was slipping away beneath them. Many from the village were white-collar professionals who would come back from time to time, others had their own businesses or farms that they managed. As we sit in his nice cabin downing wine and treats, the reality of what goes on sets in. Issues with the Rusyn government, the closing of the local school, and other things present a complicated if not also bleak picture for his small town. Regardless of all these projects which are no doubt exciting, the youth itself is not as interested as they had been at the same age. The forces of assimilation are at work like everyone else in Carpathian Rus. By the end of my trip that would feel like an all too familiar story.
We are also told that by and large the native Rusyns of Komlóska and elsewhere like Múcsony are not in the leadership positions of the Rusyn autonomous government in Hungary anymore either. Those that now run the show actually hail from Transcarpathia, and of that group mostly reside in Budapest where their administrative building is. This will be an interesting subject to look into at a later time.
What this place lacks is two things above all else. There is no industry to support young families and not enough local government funding to do what needs to be done in helping further the ethnic identity of Rusyns amongst its youngsters. What the local people have done here is more than just the result of working a job. Just by looking at the work, one can tell it’s from passion. Yet even these efforts are not enough to change the institutional structure of Komlóska. Why there is little support here besides some summer camps? What can be done to turn the tide of assimilation? These questions passed through my head as we listened on.
We have little time as there is no cell reception, and we told the taxi driver we would meet back at 4:30 pm. After some pictures and some more tasty alcohol, we bid farewell and wait for the driver to show up. There is no time to see the supposed Rákóczi castle ruins down a path outside the village. It will have to wait until next time. Minutes turn into almost an hour and we are sure he either did not come or had left because we were a few minutes late to meet by the church again. As we begin our descent towards Erdőhorváti on the main road (a town that is today 6% Rusyn and a place of historical settlement too) a taxi car flies up to greet us. It is the same guy and before long we are on our way back to Miskolc to catch a train.
After a few hours we are back in Budapest, and I have more questions than answers. As a first-ever experience in the physical Rusyn world, it was surely one to remember. After the rest of my trip was finished, I would again enter the world of the Hungarian-Rusyns by visiting the official headquarters and meeting with those in charge. What transpired there, however, and how it gave me greater hope for our situation within Hungary, will be a story for another article. I must talk about the beautiful and confusing land of Transcarpathia first.