International: He Is My Priest

In Budapest’s state penitentiary last week, Joseph Cardinal Mindszenty waited for action on his appeal against the court’s sentence of life imprisonment. The ruling would be made by the National Council of People’s Courts, Hungary’s highest tribunal. Hungarian officials said that, whatever Mindszenty’s final sentence, he would serve it in one of the country’s “foremost penal institutions.”

Meanwhile the Hungarian Communists continued what they called their “educational enlightenment” of the public, which tried to hammer home the point that Mindszenty was not only a traitor but a coward. There were some Hungarians who fell for the line. Others, who even refused to listen to the radio broadcasts of the trial, believed in Mindszenty more strongly than ever. Said a Catholic worker: “He is my priest. The government could not have strong enough reason to bring him into court.” Said a middle-aged woman: “The Primate’s greatest mistake was his wrong timing in speculating on the collapse of the government.” Most Hungarians were simply scared. They no longer dared publicly discuss the Mindszenty case—or any other political topic. On the Sunday before Mindszenty’s sentencing, priests in their sermons avoided reference to the trial.

But the outside world was not afraid to speak. All over Italy, Catholic Action organized protest meetings; in Milan, 5,000 Catholics fought bitterly with Communist strong-arm squads which tried to break up their meeting. In Italy’s National Assembly, Interior Minister Mario Scelba announced that the government had sent a message of “fraternal solidarity” to Hungarian Catholics. Communist deputies screamed defiance.

The Prince of Peace. The French government officially expressed the nation’s “deep emotion.” In London, Ernest Bevin rumbled: “[The trial] is utterly repugnant . . .” Six thousand Britons jammed London’s Albert Hall, while thousands waited outside in the rain, some kneeling in prayer: speaker after speaker denounced the Budapest trial. Cried one: “Christ is indeed the Prince of Peace, but not of peace at any price!”

In Washington, Harry S. Truman declared that the trial by Budapest’s “kangaroo court” was “infamous.” Said Secretary of State Dean Acheson: “The people of the United States, and of all other freedom-loving nations, are sickened and horrified . . .”

The U.S. State Department was considering action under the U.S. peace treaty with Hungary, in which Hungary undertook to guarantee freedom of religion and expression to its citizens. The House of Representatives unanimously called for U.N. action against Hungary.

The Hills of Buda. U.S.-Hungarian relations deteriorated in a rapid spiral. First, the Hungarian government “requested” Robin Steussy, third secretary of the U.S. legation in Budapest, to leave the country, after charging him with helping Hungarians to escape into Austria.

The U.S. flatly denied the charges. Next day, by “pure coincidence,” Washington declared John G. Florian, first secretary of the Hungarian embassy, persona non grata in Washington. Hungary, in retaliation, requested the recall of able U.S. Minister Selden Chapin, whom the Reds had accused of complicity with Mindszenty.

Nine Hungarian consular and diplomatic officials in Washington, New York and Cleveland resigned in protest against the Mindszenty trial. Catholic pickets, carrying signs denouncing Communist Hungary, knelt in New York’s City Hall plaza, holding their rosaries in pleading gesture. A delegation of demonstrators called on Bela Belassa, acting Hungarian consul general in New York. They were surprised when he said: “I agree with your protests. I am resigning as of this moment.” Mrs. Belassa explained: “My husband has been living in torment . . . The hills of Buda and across the river the plains of Pest; surely we will miss them. But we have learned to love another country, and its liberty . . .”