Halász Máté, Budapest School P10:

"The Carlo in Paris module—I thought it would be about analyzing a book... It wasn't. It was far broader than to be confined in such a simple way. The lessons weren't just about interpreting the book; we also explored the situation of the Hungarian Roma, the divide between social classes, and inequality. In my writing, you can read about my own significant experiences and thoughts on this topic.

After reading Kriszta Bódis' youth novel, surprisingly, we didn't start by discussing the story. Instead, we took up a new book right away: Roma Labyrinth. This adventure book by Péter Kardos and Gábor Nyári gave me new insight into the situation of the Hungarian Roma, as we could connect with it not as external observers, but as participants. Because of this, I would hardly call Roma Labyrinth a literary work; rather, I see it as a window, a path offering new perspectives. As much as it was only a game, every decision left a bitterness or frustration in me, making me feel that whatever I did, there was no way out. Just like the protagonist in the book might have felt. Although everything depends on our decisions, what if we can only choose from bad options, or we have so few options that the whole concept of making choices becomes questionable? You could call it an adventure or a fairytale, but I believe there was a heartbreaking reality to it as well. As the title suggests, it is very difficult to escape from this world—it is like a labyrinth, and there are people who spend their entire lives in this bleak "story."

To illustrate this sad and unjust situation even further, Fanni had us play a stepping game. The essence of this simulation was that each of us had to draw a role card, which told us who we were, our financial status, and our origin. I was assigned the role of a fifty-nine-year-old homeless man. Then Fanni read different statements, and if they applied to us, we had to take a step forward, for example: "You dine out more than once a month," or "You can pay your gas bill," etc. To immerse us even more in the situation, we had to hold hands while stepping forward, demonstrating the divide between social classes. The session ended with us trying to guess each other's roles based on how far we'd moved.

When the game started, I felt like every question labeled or defined the person we were assigned. It felt as if someone's background, financial status, or education determined their entire identity. For me, the detachment symbolized this—after I was "left behind," I was nothing more than what my character showed, through my appearance or my steps in the game. What touched me most, however, was that the others tried to pull me along, and just as in real life, despite the effort, I stayed in my place. The most shocking thing was that those at the other end of the room literally couldn't even hear me, and only those close to me were curious and asked questions. I'm not saying that the upper social class is entirely indifferent to this world, but the distance between them is so great that just as it might be hard for a fifty-nine-year-old homeless man to imagine a life he's never lived, it can also be absurd for the wealthy to put themselves in his shoes and understand the struggles he faces daily.

After this, the next topic we discussed in class was what someone on the fringes of society might feel. That's when Fanni showed us Franciska Farkas' monodrama A Letter to Brad Pitt. The piece presents the writer's life, her struggles, and her pain in a deeply human way—so much so that it takes your breath away. Franciska speaks of her life, her failures, and her fears in such a natural manner that it seems like the most normal thing in the world, while also making the reader reflect, surprising them, and holding them accountable.

This work inspired me in many ways; the mere fact that someone can speak or write about their traumas so openly is impressive in itself, but the fact that she was able to stand back up after the path she walked, and now works to help others—that is simply amazing.

Finally, as the closing of the module, we met with Fanni's former Roma students. We talked a lot and also shared a pleasant meal. They spoke about their lives, how they fought, how they made their way, both mentally and literally, to where they are today. I got to know both of them as incredibly kind and cheerful guys. The entire meeting made me reflect deeply. There are so many stereotypes about Roma people in our society, yet everything I experienced during those lessons went completely against these prejudices.

So, a question naturally arose in me—why is this so? Despite all my positive experiences, certain stereotypes are still common: Roma steal, lie, and are dirty. There may be some truth in this, but I think that those who say these things do not see into the other side's life, or perhaps they just don't care. Of course, one might say that everyone should mind their own business, but I don't think we can bury our heads in the sand and pretend that the problem doesn't exist, because then it will never be solved. If we reflect a little and view the Roma community through a different lens, we might arrive at a simple, yet deeply sad answer: they do not steal, lie, or have poor hygiene out of choice but because we do not even give them the opportunity to break out of this world. As we shut them into this "prison," we also limit our own perspective and worldview through the very same prejudices.

I believe that we do have the power to bring about change because there are foundations out there fighting tirelessly for equal opportunities for all. I even think that it would be enough if people just looked at the world a little differently and stopped judging others simply because they are not like everyone else. If we can overcome these feelings in ourselves, we could break this vicious cycle and create a world where everyone can make their voice heard, regardless of their wealth or skin color."

June 10, 2024