In the past year and a half, the average American’s mental picture of Ukraine has consisted of tanks, bombed-out buildings, missile launches, and soldiers on battlefields. For most, it probably doesn’t include images of busy markets, friends eating pizza together in outdoor cafés, children playing in schoolyards, and tropical fish swimming in tanks at pet shops. And yet the latter is what I saw when I traveled to Ukraine last month to see what life is like in the country’s little-known Hungarian minority region during wartime. I found a community that, while living in relative peace, suffers the effects of Russian aggression in its own ways, feels uneasy about its status in Ukraine, and is unsure of its future in a place Hungarians have called home for centuries.
Though I had never set foot in Ukraine, the region of Transcarpathia in Ukraine’s westernmost corner was not entirely unfamiliar to me. I spent two years teaching in a high school in a small town twelve miles from the border on the Hungarian side. I had heard much about the Hungarian minority region just across the Tisza River, from colleagues and students at the school who had emigrated from there to Hungary in the years following the fall of the Soviet Union. One particularly striking anecdote that stuck with me was one teacher’s explanation of how her grandparents had switched citizenship five times over the course of their lives without ever having left their village. Born in Hungary, the borders shifted beneath them so that their home belonged to Czechoslovakia, Hungary again, the Soviet Union, and finally, Ukraine.
Ukrainians know this land as Zakarpattia, roughly translated as ‘beyond the Carpathians.’ The Hungarians, looking from the west, know it as Kárpátalja; the ’base of the Carpathians.’ It is the epitome of Central European ethnic diversity. A mixture of Ukrainians, Germans, Jews, Ruthenians, Hungarians, Slovaks, Russians, and Roma have historically inhabited the region. Drawing neat borders in this part of the world, where not just regions but even individual cities have long been demographically mixed, is simply not possible. Redrawing borders is still a sore topic for Hungarians today, over a century after the post-World War I Treaty of Trianon divided up over two-thirds of Hungary’s territory among its neighbors. Transcarpathia belonged to the Kingdom of Hungary for centuries, and the largely Hungarian area of Ukraine hugging the border of Hungary is a consequence of that 1920 decision. Passports have changed, but the language and culture have remained.
I anticipated an ordeal at the border. Something felt almost forbidden or reckless about entering a country at war. I imagined that I would have a lot of questions to answer. My Hungarian contacts across the border assured me, though, that the border guards would gladly welcome an American like myself into the country. Ukrainians view Americans as heroes these days, they said. Though the guard on the Hungarian side wasn’t too sure about it, Americans don’t even require a visa to enter Ukraine. I made it through the Ukrainian border in just a minute or two, no questions asked. I walked with a contact from the region from the checkpoint to her car parked at a gas station. She had picked me up in Hungary and parked on the Hungarian side as Hungarian license plates are no longer permitted in Ukraine. From there, we drove to Berehove, a city of about 23,000 people that is home to the largest concentration of Hungarians in the region. Hungarians know it as Beregszász. Estimates put the first-language Hungarian-speaking population at about 50%, but, in the chaos of war, good statistics are hard to come by. Ukraine, in fact, has not conducted a census since 2001. The general feeling, though, is that the Hungarian population has declined significantly in recent years due to emigration.
In Ukraine, there is a world of difference between the reality of life near the Hungarian border and near the Russian border. The images of tanks and bombed-out cities familiar to the world come from hundreds of miles away. In fact, Berehove is geographically closer to Switzerland than it is to Donetsk or Luhansk. Life in the city appeared remarkably normal for a country at war. Even under foreign invasion, life goes on. Transcarpathia has been the safest oblast in Ukraine since the escalation of the conflict in 2022. I was told that there has only been one missile strike within its borders and it took place in the Carpathian Mountains on the opposite side of the oblast, outside of the Hungarian-inhabited region. The relative security has drawn many Ukrainians from eastern Ukraine to seek refuge in the region, further altering the local demographic makeup. These internal migrants have also brought their companies and capital with them, providing a boost to the economy of an otherwise peripheral and less prosperous area of the country.
While Transcarpathia has borne less of the brunt of war than much of Ukraine, much has changed beneath the appearance of normalcy. Over the winter, energy shortages limited residents of Berehove to just a few hours of electricity per day. Air raid sirens continue to disrupt the city’s relative sense of calm, often several times a week. I awoke a little before 6 o’ clock one morning to their low, ominous humming. Even with the knowledge that the chances of an attack were very slim, the sound blaring across the city gave an unsettling feeling of impending doom. When I checked the air raid app that locals use, the oblast to the east of Transcarpathia, Ivano-Frankivsk, appeared dark red, signaling a heightened threat of attack. The surrounding oblasts were pink—just a tentative warning.
In the square next to the town’s Hungarian-language college, a memorial to local fallen soldiers stood as another reminder that not all is normal. It bore photos of many young faces, some little more than twenty years old. A military draft for men aged 18-60 is in force in Ukraine. For the Hungarians of the region, it is a great source of distress and has come up regularly in my conversations with them. Some men fled during a 24-hour window at the beginning of the invasion. Others, unable to leave the country, live in hiding. And others go about their lives knowing that they may be called upon. At a recent dinner I attended in Budapest, one Hungarian expressed her fear that Ukraine is purposefully drafting ethnic Hungarians to fight on the war’s bloodiest frontlines. Though I’m not sure how seriously to take an accusation of such gravity—which ultimately was merely a rumor—it demonstrates the deep distrust of Ukraine that has developed among many Hungarians. And while Ukrainian admiration for the U.S. has grown, I’ve found that many Hungarians view American involvement in the war with some suspicion, interpreting the U.S. government’s actions in the region as primarily self-interested.
Given the stories I’d heard regarding the draft, I expected that, as a young man, I would make for an odd sight in Ukraine. As it turned out, there were many men on the streets of Berehove and I didn’t notice any funny looks. On my second night in the city, some local contacts invited me to the Hungarian-language theater to attend Marriage¸ a play by Russian playwright Nikolai Gogol that tells the story of a woman who must choose a man to marry from among a comedic cast of suitors. Most of the roles were male, but in the bizarre reality of wartime Ukraine, all but one of the performers was female and actresses played male roles. Several Ukrainian men I spoke to in Hungary both said that they have already lost several friends to the conflict. Signs of war in Europe are not limited to Ukraine. Budapest is covered in advertisements, big and small, showing soldiers and reading, rather ominously, “Are you also ready?” In recent months, I’ve seen similar military advertisements and displays in Finland, the Baltic countries, and Romania.
One week earlier, I met with a Transcarpathian Hungarian family in a small town just across the border in Hungary. Thanks to the Hungarian passports they obtained as ethnic Hungarians, they were able to immigrate to Hungary about a decade ago. As one of the family members put it, “Hungarian citizenship saved our life.” Without it, they would be back in Ukraine and their father would be facing difficult decisions about the military draft. Viktor Orbán’s ruling Fidesz party has prioritized support for the Hungarian minorities living in former Hungarian lands in neighboring countries. The government has funded cultural institutions for these communities, financially incentivized families to choose Hungarian-language schooling, and advocated for Hungarian minority rights on the international scene. In 2010, the first year of a now 13-year uninterrupted period of governance, the Fidesz government passed a lawmaking Hungarian citizenship available to all ethnic Hungarians throughout the Carpathian Basin and the wider diaspora. By 2018, over a million people obtained citizenship through the law.
I often hear Hungarians speak with great fondness of Hungarian regions like Felvidék in Slovakia, Vajdaság in Serbia, and, in particular, Transylvania in Romania. Hungarian traditions and culture have been so well maintained in Transylvania, a territory of two million Hungarians with areas that are still today over 80% Hungarian-speaking, that I get the sense that many Hungarians see it as more Hungarian than Hungary itself. The question of support for these Hungarian communities abroad has largely become a Left-Right political issue. During the socialist regime, the government had little interest in the Hungarian communities abroad, viewing nationality as an obstacle to the international communist movement. Up until regime change in 1989, the Hungarian diaspora in North America and around the world became the foremost defenders of the Hungarian minorities of the Carpathian Basin. Since then, it has largely been an issue taken up by conservative entities such as Fidesz.
Ukrainian patriotism is palpable in Berehove. Ukrainian flags are scattered everywhere throughout the city. I noticed several chalk drawings of the flag on the sidewalk. On one occasion, I saw a boy with his backpack carrying a small Ukrainian flag as he walked down the street. At the hotel restaurant, Ukrainian news played on the television, featuring constant coverage of the war. A graphic of a large Ukrainian flag fluttered behind the newscasters. Frightening scenes from the battlefield appeared on the screen. Drone footage of a man running along a trench through a field looked like it belonged in a World War I movie, not the 21st century. When Russian media was shown on screen, it was accompanied with a large red “Propaganda” warning. At one point, the Ukrainian national anthem played on TV. An older man faced the screen and bent down beside his granddaughter of three or four years of age, and began softly singing along to her.
It makes for an especially confusing time to be a Hungarian in Ukraine. Among the Hungarians from Ukraine that I’ve known, I sense that few feel strong attachment to Ukraine or the Ukrainian identity. That has put them in a more delicate position in recent years. Since Russia’s incursion into Crimea in 2014, the Ukrainian government has sought measures to strengthen the unity of the nation. A key part of that has been promoting the use of the Ukrainian language. The government primarily directed such measures at the large ethnic Russian minority concentrated in the east, which made up roughly 17% of the population in the 2001 census. It has also affected much smaller minorities, however, like the Hungarians, who represent a mere 0.3% of the population. Shortly before that, Ukraine’s pro-Russian government had done the opposite, signaling support for the use of the Russian language in the country’s Russian minority.
The laws concerning language have caused some serious hard feelings toward the Ukrainian government among Hungarians both in Transcarpathia and back in Hungary. Some local leaders in the Hungarian community expressed their concern about a 2017 law on education which includes a clause set to take effect in September mandating Hungarian-language schools to begin conducting a portion of their instruction in Ukrainian. At the play, a screen above the stage displayed simultaneous Ukrainian translations. The young woman sitting next to me commented that she found it silly, considering that it was very unlikely that monolingual Ukrainian speakers would come to plays at the Hungarian theater. Theoretically, a 2019 law restricts the use of minority languages on signage and in public settings. What that means in practice is a bit murky. I was surprised to see many signs and advertisements in Hungarian. I was warned before going to Ukraine to be cautious about speaking Hungarian, as some Ukrainians may not take kindly to it. As a result, in most interactions, I first spoke in English. Generally, I ended up switching to Hungarian because I was not understood, and everything flowed smoothly from there. I didn’t personally experience any hostility against Hungarians during the trip. In fact, what I heard from Hungarians and Ukrainians alike is that, despite the tensions with the government, they coexist harmoniously in the region, as they have for many years. Some Hungarians told me, though, that this has not been the case with some of the new Ukrainian arrivals to the region, who are not accustomed to living among minority communities.
The Hungarian population’s reputation among Ukrainians has soured in the past year. While Hungary has condemned Russian aggression and taken in refugees, the government has taken an unorthodox approach to the war, hesitating to approve sanctions against Russia and weapons shipments for Ukraine. The government’s messaging is that their strategy is about peace and avoiding escalation of the conflict. It’s a gamble that has caused a rift not just with EU members in Western Europe—with whom quarrels are nothing new—but also with longtime allies in the region, like Poland. There is no single explanation for what motivates Hungary’s actions. Some argue that sanctions are not feasible because Hungary relies on Russian energy. Some argue that Hungary doesn’t want to send weapons across the border to Ukraine because doing so would open up Transcarpathia to Russian attacks. More far-fetched theories include speculation of Hungarian conspiracies to reclaim former territory and secret deals between Orbán and Putin to keep Hungarian Transcarpathia safe. The Hungarian government’s discontent with the minority language laws cooled relations years before last year’s invasion. The Transcarpathian Hungarian community finds itself caught in the middle. The growing animosity likely does not bode well for their future.
I received an invitation to visit Transcarpathia’s only center of the Mathias Corvinus Collegium (MCC), a Hungarian youth talent development program serving students from elementary school through university in Hungary and neighboring regions. One of the teachers leading a psychology course told me that, for her, what is so special about the MCC is that the program is just for Hungarians. It’s a place where Hungarian students don’t have to think twice about their language and culture. While it is open to any student who wishes to participate, it is specifically geared for Hungarians, and all the programs are conducted in Hungarian. I gave a presentation to a group of high school students about the Hungarian-American community. I sketched out the history of Hungarian immigration to the United States and talked about Hungarian-Americans who have made a lasting impact on the U.S., like Joseph Pulitzer, Harry Houdini, and John von Neumann. It’s difficult to estimate the size of Hungarian ancestry in the United States. A significant majority of Hungarians who arrived in the United States in the decades following the Treaty of Trianon left because they were from places like Transcarpathia and suddenly found themselves outside the borders of Hungary, strangers in their homeland. When they arrived in America, they were often marked down as Romanian, Yugoslav, or Czechoslovak. For most Americans, European immigration is a story from the past. The poverty, wars, and persecution that led millions of Europeans to board ships to American shores are increasingly distant memories from our grandparents’ or great-grandparents’ generation. In the lives of these Transcarpathian students, however, emigration is a very present reality and a live option for their families and friends.
The 2001 Ukrainian census showed a Hungarian population of roughly 150,000 in the country. Géza Orosz, a deputy mayor of Berehove and himself a Hungarian, told me that he believes that number has been roughly halved. There was significant emigration even before last year’s invasion, as many sought better economic opportunities to the west. Families were often split as fathers—and sometimes mothers too—crossed the border for employment in Hungary or elsewhere in the EU. Although the policy of the Hungarian government is to support the preservation of the Hungarian communities outside its borders, its offer of citizenship—and thus an EU passport—has made leaving an easy and attractive opportunity for Transcarpathian Hungarians. The war, of course, has only escalated the outflow, especially as the military draft led many Hungarian men to flee and keeps them from returning.
One of the questions I’ve been most eager to ask Transcarpathian Hungarians is how they feel about the future of their community. Both among those who have left and those that remain, I’ve found that the sentiment is generally pessimistic. Between emigration and the Ukrainian government’s emphasis on the Ukrainian national identity over minority identities, many feel resigned to the idea that the Hungarian presence in western Ukraine will continue to fade. The fact that those of younger generations are the ones who are much more likely to leave does not help the situation.
One afternoon, I took a guided tour of the city. I had assumed that my guide, a young Hungarian-speaking man, came from Hungary. He explained, though, that he comes from a nearby village in Transcarpathia and, thus, lives with the uncertainty of the draft. Even Transcarpathian men with Hungarian citizenship are not permitted to leave Ukraine if the birthplace listed on the passport is in Ukraine. He led the tour in Hungarian and so my understanding wasn’t perfect. What was clear to me, though, were the signs of the city’s resilience throughout its history.
We visited the grand Roman Catholic church, a Gothic structure that has stood in the city since the early 1400s. My guide explained that the church has been no stranger to attacks over the centuries. A fire set by Polish troops in 1657 destroyed much of the building. And yet, it still stands tall today. In the center of a nearby park, there is a pedestal with a large statue of the Blessed Virgin holding the child Jesus. My guide explained that, during communism, a statue of Stalin stood at that spot. How proud Soviet leaders must have felt to erect such images, symbols of their might and the new communist age. And yet, their presence was only a blip, Stalin’s figure ultimately replaced by symbols of the ancient faith he tried to quash. And while Berehove’s Jewish population was decimated by the Holocaust and the communist government converted its synagogue into a plain concrete theater, a small active synagogue still remains. Berehove has survived conquering powers many times before. Its Hungarian community has persisted through centuries of constant flux. It is a history of perseverance that offers, for Ukrainians and Hungarians alike, a much-needed sign of hope in 2023.
