The Hungarians were not the first of the peoples subjugated by the Soviet Union after the second World War to try to secure their freedom; nor were they the last. The East German workers' rising in June 1953, brutally suppressed by Russian troops, was the first real flicker of revolt; Prague followed in 1968 and the growing pressure for reforms in Poland from the 1950s onwards was a significant force in the ultimate defeat of the communist system. Leaving aside the East Germans, all three countries, now at the head of the queue for membership of the European Union, were early in staking their claim for a return to democratic standards.
Where the Hungarian revolution, which reached a climax 40 years ago last week, stands out is that unlike the shortlived protests in East Berlin and a handful of other cities like Erfurt and Magdeburg against tougher work norms, it was a rejection of Soviet ideology and the first open attempt in eastern Europe to renationalise sovereignty. In the same way as Alexander Dubcek 12 years later in Czechoslovakia, Imre Nagy, who took over as prime minister after the armed uprising, was a man of the system. However he had been rapidly disillusioned by the ruthlessness of the communist take over after he returned from Moscow at the end of the war.
Already, as prime minister of a reforming government from 1953 to 1955, he had taken steps to slow down the pace of heavy industrialisation and the forcible creation of collective farms. Paradoxically, he was supported by Moscow, then in the throes of post Stalin adjustment, and opposed by the local party elites. When the climate changed in Russia, he was overthrown, ejected from the Communist Party, and became a focal point of demands for change.
But the genie had escaped from the bottle. Nagy himself wanted reform of the communist system, but the social and political changes during the summer of 1956 owed more to popular demand than internal debate in the Communist Party. The spontaneous uprising on October 23rd, led initially by students, bypassed the party intellectuals. Faced with street defiance, the Russians moved, reluctantly at first, into Budapest with their tanks. Violent conflict was inevitable and just over 2,500 people died. Hundreds more, including Nagy, were executed.
For, western Europe, the sight of thousands of Hungarian refugees streaming across the frontier with Austria became a potent symbol of communist oppression. Dublin saw its first popular march on an international issue. But the Hungarian uprising, while showing the extent of opposition to communism, also confirmed the post war division of Europe into spheres of influence, making it unlikely that the West, which had stood on the sidelines, would ever intervene to help a dissident movement.
The lesson was not lost in eastern Europe. One of the first acts of the newly democratised Hungarian parliament was to proclaim its links with 1956. Nagy and the other executed leaders, now rehabilitated, have provided a sense of continuity that has helped to stabilise the transition to democracy.