To Hungary, from New York
Today is Hungary’s National Day — March 15 — commemorating the 1848 uprising when young writers, poets, and students took to the streets, sparking a revolution for freedom, dignity, language, bravery, and the belief that a nation has the right to determine its own future. They shared their revolutionary demands — the famous Twelve Points — openly with the public, printing them without censorship, and ignited the Hungarian Revolution of 1848.
This year, the day feels more burdensome. With elections nearing, many of us sense something absent for years — the chance that after sixteen years, a deeply corrupt and authoritarian system might finally face challenge and possibly be dismantled. For the first time in a long while, the future seems uncertain again… and, surprisingly, hope resides in that uncertainty.
This weekend, my Hungarian friends and I in New York are experiencing a very Hungarian weekend, even though we’re far from home. We cook, indulge in too much food, complain about being full, but continue to eat, debate Hungary’s future, attend a concert, stay up late, and share the entire weekend together — creating a temporary, little Hungary between Brooklyn and Manhattan, 8000 kilometers from our beautiful homeland.
Come raise a glass with us. We are pouring honey-apricot pálinka, the kind that burns a little and then warms your whole chest. To our tiny, stubborn homeland in the heart of Europe, to freedom, to hope, to all Hungarian scientists who carry the world forward without getting any resources from their government. If you feel like it, think about us and send a little luck toward Hungary, we could really use it. Our big day, the elections, is on the 12th of April.
Egészségünkre. 🍑🥃🇭🇺
I’m not a professional translator, but I dared to translate a poem by Sándor Petőfi into English. He is one of Hungary’s prominent revolutionaries. His language is remarkably simple but profoundly impactful — and it might feel more relevant today than ever before.
I AM HUNGARIAN
I am Hungarian, and my homeland is the most beautiful country across the vast lands of the five continents. It is a small world of its own, with countless beauties that cannot all be counted. It has mountains whose peaks reach beyond the waves of the Caspian Sea, and its plains extend endlessly, as if searching for the edge of the earth.
I am Hungarian. I’m serious by nature, like the opening notes of our violins; a smile often appears on my lips, but my laughter is seldom heard. When joy lights up my face most vividly, I sometimes burst into tears in high spirits; yet my face remains cheerful even during sorrow, as I do not want you to feel pity for me.
I am Hungarian. With pride, I gaze across the sea of history, where stone cliffs soar into the sky—your great deeds, my warrior nation. We have also performed on Europe’s stage, and our part was significant; the world has feared our unsheathed sword, just as a child fears lightning in the night.
I am Hungarian. What is Hungary now? A faint shadow of past greatness; it appears and vanishes once more when the hour strikes — retreating into its deep cave. How silent we remain! The faint sound of our lives barely reaches the second neighbor.
And our own brothers are ready with black garments of mourning and shame, ready to commemorate our decline.I am Hungarian, and I feel a burning shame—should I be ashamed of being Hungarian? Here, dawn has not yet broken, while elsewhere the sun shines brightly. Still, I would never leave my homeland for any treasure or fame. I love it deeply, adore it—even in its humiliation, my nation.
You start reading this poem thinking it is about the 19th century, but then, slowly, you realize it isn’t. Some poems age, others wait patiently for history to circle back to them. I believe this might be one of those poems.
If you are interested in more about Hungaran history, the cost of exile, I wrote about this previously HERE and also HERE.
If you want to support my mission that brought me to New York—to shape the future of medicine and healthcare for the better—you can invite me for a coffee to fuel my restless nights of research and revolution HERE.
I rarely talk openly about this goal because it’s so vast that even saying it out loud makes me slightly uncomfortable. Most people think it’s impossible—believing the system is too established, too broken, or too resistant to change. Eventually, many come to accept that some things cannot be changed. However, revolutions seldom begin with the majority. The Hungarian Revolution of March 15, 1848, didn’t start with everyone — only a small group of writers, students, and thinkers who took to the streets and dared to envision a different future.
So I’m not speaking to most people, I’m speaking to those who can hear the music.
You these are my people — those who refuse to accept that someone might die because they cannot afford an ambulance. They are the ones who don’t believe it’s normal for a woman to endure decades of pain while a gynecologist dismisses it, saying, “that’s just part of being a woman.” They know medicine is a calling and that we need to rebuild the profession into one that doctors love again, so patients won’t be afraid to ask questions.
If this resonates with you, you are already part of this story, and if you feel like fueling the next sleepless night of research and rebellion — coffee is always welcome.
