What Ukraine taught me about Hungary

Reflections on my trip to Ukraine

György Hámori, Roots and Wings Foundation

Last week, I travelled to Ukraine at the invitation of the National Network of Local Philanthropy Development, to contribute a short session at the annual gathering of Ukrainian community foundations. The trip was short and intense and full of impressions I am still trying to process.

The first thing that struck me was people’s attitude. Even though they work in a country at war, my Ukrainian colleagues did not present themselves as victims. They did not complain. They were focused, professional, curious, motivated as if this were a “normal” conference, despite everything around them.

Coming from a country where victim-hood has been planted deep into both individual and national identity, the contrast was almost shocking. It felt like stepping into a parallel universe where resilience is not theatrical or performative, but simply lived.

A smaller, almost petty observation came earlier during the train ride from Budapest to Lviv. It was a Ukrainian train: clean, organized and kept that way throughout the journey. For anyone familiar with the current state of the Hungarian railways, this is almost unimaginable. Hungary’s infrastructure is in extremely poor condition: decaying cars, century-old components, constant delays, toilets that are often closed or simply filthy.

But the real crystallizing moment came at the border. On the Hungarian–Ukrainian border, the Hungarian police — there is no border patrol anymore — behaved with their usual rudeness. It was the familiar attitude inherited from state socialism: treating citizens as suspects, talking down to people, exercising whatever small power they have on whoever happens to stand in front of them. Listening to officers speak to each other and to foreigners (often in Hungarian…) was painful. Every second word was a harsh curse. The tone was hostile, aggressive, humiliating.

Then we crossed the border. On the Ukrainian side, they simply collected the passports, walked away, and returned them later — no harassment, no raised voices, no performance of power. Nothing.

These experiences — the train, the border, the conference — triggered a long chain of reflections about Hungary, about Ukraine, and about how different histories and political cultures shape the way people carry themselves in difficult times. And that is where the deeper story begins.

Hungary’s victim-hood

As I tried to make sense of the stark differences I experienced, I found myself tracing some deeper Hungarian historical patterns, not to give a full analysis, but to highlight a few structures that still shape how people relate to power, responsibility, and one another.

Few countries in the region lost their historical middle classes, civic leaders, and urban professionals as completely or as repeatedly as Hungary. The first major blow came with the Ottoman occupation, which shattered much of the medieval nobility, clergy and burgher culture. In the 20th century, fascist and communist regimes again eliminated, exiled or silenced what remained of independent professionals, the middle class, intellectuals and civic organizers. The result is what some historians call institutional amnesia: the social groups that normally carry civic life, local self-governance and democratic norms were thinned out again and again.

Unlike the Czech lands or parts of Poland, Hungary did not develop a strong urban bourgeoisie or dense civic associations. Modernization arrived late, fast and from above. Hungary became a state-first society, where central authority — royal, imperial, conservative, socialist or today’s illiberal state — dominated social life. Counterweights such as churches, unions, or local movements never became as strong as in neighbouring countries.

Communism added something uniquely corrosive: political apathy as a mode of survival. Under Kádár, people were offered relative comfort and personal freedom in exchange for withdrawal from public life. The price of a “quiet life” was disengagement, cynicism and the belief that politics is dirty, dangerous and best avoided.

When democracy arrived in 1989, it arrived without a mass movement. Hungary transitioned through negotiations among elites; ordinary people never felt they created the new system. That emotional disconnect — democracy without a demos — left the system fragile and easy to delegitimize.

Layered on top of this are deep patterns of mistrust, clientelism and a nationalism built more on trauma and grievance than civic responsibility. Trianon, and later state socialism, replaced shared civic identity with a worldview centered on loss, betrayal and paternalistic protection. Instead of “we, the citizens”, Hungary developed a politics of “we, the wounded”, where belonging requires loyalty, not participation.

Today’s attitude

One story kept returning to me during the trip. About a year ago, on the anniversary of the 1956 revolution — one of the few moments in Hungarian history when the country genuinely rose up against oppression — Viktor Orbán’s political director, Balázs Orbán, said on a podcast that if Russia attacked Hungary today, we would not resist like Ukraine. We would accept occupation.

It was an absurd and deeply disrespectful statement to make on that commemoration. But what struck me during my journey was that this wasn’t just a cynical political comment. It revealed something structural — something woven into Hungary’s historical muscle memory.

Because if we look honestly, the Hungarian state has, time and again, aligned itself with occupying forces rather than defending its own people. During the Ottoman conquest, large segments of the elite collaborated. In 1944, authorities cooperated with Nazi Germany in the destruction of their own citizens. In 1956, key parts of the state adapted to Soviet power almost immediately after the tanks arrived. Institutional self-preservation routinely took priority over protecting citizens.

The contrast

After travelling to Ukraine — meeting people who live with bombs overhead yet walk with dignity, confidence and mutual responsibility — the contrast became even sharper. Ukraine’s resistance is not only military; it is civic. It has strengthened their self-belief, professionalism and collective commitment. It has drawn society together.

And it highlighted something painful about Hungary: how fragile our traditions of resistance are, and how rarely the state has stood with its citizens rather than above them.

These notes might explain how passivity became a cultural reflex: why many avoid confrontation with the state, why political responsibility feels foreign and why victim-hood can feel more emotionally available than agency. And all this hit me sharply — because in Ukraine, standing in a country under bombardment, I saw the opposite.

At the gathering

There were roughly one hundred participants at the gathering — already more than I expected — and nearly half of them were involved in youth banks. (The youth bank is a model where young people, usually aged 14 – 25, collectively raise funds, make grant decisions and support local initiatives. It is philanthropy, youth empowerment and civic education all at once.)

That in itself is extraordinary. For almost four years, through full-scale war, Ukrainian community foundations have not only continued to operate — they have raised money locally, distributed grants locally and sustained and expanded the youth bank model, which is demanding even in stable democracies. It requires trust, continuity and community engagement, all things one would expect to collapse under the pressure of war. And yet, dozens of teenagers and young adults were there, fully engaged, carrying real responsibility.

The first day was mostly about connecting. There were learning and professional sessions, but the real purpose was to cultivate relationships across the network. The atmosphere was light-hearted, open, full of curiosity. We ended with a Ukrainian folk music group who played traditional songs with a contemporary twist, and very quickly the room filled with dancing.

This made me reflect on something personal. I have always felt a kind of distance from Hungarian folk culture. In Hungary, folk traditions often feel like a costume, performed, reenacted, reconstructed, rather than lived. They never felt part of everyday life. In Ukraine, the patterns, clothing, rhythms and gestures were worn and understood by people of all ages. It may be my romantic projection, but my impression was that folk culture is not a museum exhibit there, it is something people genuinely inhabit. The contrast made me realize how much of Hungary’s “tradition” has been curated, staged or reinvented, and how detached it often feels from the lived culture of today.

On the second day, I led a session for my Ukrainian colleagues — a mix of structured problem-solving, playful cooperation and imagination. Something that required both analytical thinking and spontaneous teamwork. I had no specific expectations. But what I witnessed surprised me in the best possible way.

Participants were exceptionally prepared, not just intellectually but emotionally. They approached the tasks with professionalism, curiosity, and confidence. They grounded their ideas in past experience, yet reached forward, imagining more refined, more resilient ways of doing their work in difficult times. There was no self-pity, no fatalism, no sense of being crushed by circumstances. There was competence, humour, and a strong belief that their work matters.

Respect

What stayed with me most was the energy of the gathering: the sense of belonging, the pride in community foundations, the insistence on agency even in the face of war. No one carried themselves as a victim. They carried themselves as citizens — responsible, capable, committed to rebuilding and protecting what is theirs.

Leaving Ukraine, I realised how rarely I encounter this attitude in Hungary. The comparison was painful, almost disorienting. The self-belief, the dignity, the refusal to surrender to despair. These were not abstract traits, but lived realities, visible in how people organized, learned, joked, danced and worked together.

Thank you to the National Network of Local Philanthropy Development and the great colleagues there, specifically Daria Rybalchenko Nataliia Kovalchuk , Viktoriia Zablotska, Oksana Hodis, Kateryna Syvyryn and Khrystyna Kinash. You deserve all the respect I can offer.

By: György Hámori, Program and Partnerships Manager at the Roots and Wings Foundation. This post originally appeared on György’s LinkedIn page.