László Borhi’s book examines the history of the Nazi and communist dictatorships in Hungary between 1944 and 1953. The end of World War II in 1945 is generally considered a turning point in twentieth-century history. Borhi, however, challenges this conventional interpretation, arguing that in Hungary—as throughout Eastern Europe—the defeat of Nazi Germany did not bring an end to the reign of brute force and hatred. Instead, oppression continued under Soviet domination. The book provides a detailed analysis of the nature of Nazi and Stalinist oppression and explores the similarities between the two regimes without equating them. A fundamental characteristic shared by both systems was that they tended to bring out the worst in people rather than their best.
The structure of Borhi’s book is clear and easy to follow. The first two parts present the history of Nazi and Arrow Cross atrocities, while the much shorter third part offers insight into the dark realities of the communist dictatorship.
The question arises whether it is still possible to say anything new about the nature of these authoritarian regimes. Although the general history of the period has indeed been described in depth, Borhi offers a nuanced and sophisticated interpretation that invites readers to reconsider—or at least to refine—their understanding of how such regimes functioned. Traditionally, the behavior of society under dictatorship has been interpreted along the binary model of collaboration versus resistance. However, Borhi moves beyond this simplistic black-and-white framework. As he argues, under conditions of oppression there is often no clear distinction between collaborators and resisters; the two roles may overlap or even become interchangeable. In such systems, people’s decisions are chiefly determined by the imperatives of survival and self-preservation. What is more, adaptation undertaken for the sake of survival itself helps to maintain the oppressive regime.
Given its subject matter, the book is built around hundreds of individual case studies. Its primary sources are the testimonies of Holocaust survivors, recorded in Budapest by the National Committee for Attending Deportees immediately after liberation. These witness accounts are complemented by the records of the postwar People’s Courts, which prosecuted those involved in the implementation of Nazi and Arrow Cross terror. The principal sources for the chapters on communist oppression are the files of the Hungarian state security services. In preparation for his book, Borhi went through an enormous body of archival material—most likely amounting to tens of thousands of pages—while applying consistent and rigorous source criticism. He is fully aware of the limitations of eyewitness testimony and the ambiguities that surround some of the individual cases he discusses.
Throughout the book, the author deliberately focuses on the behavior of individuals because, as he argues, individual choices would often constitute the dividing line between life and death. Under oppressive regimes such as Nazism and Stalinism, Borhi questions, what are the factors that determine the way individuals act? In other words, to what extent is decent or morally responsible behavior possible under a dictatorship? The author’s answer closely echoes the conclusion reached by Austrian psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl: “Even in the darkest times, one option was left open: not to join the haters, the choice between doing good and evil” (275).
Borhi does not shy away from describing the brutal treatment Jews were subjected to in the ghettos and during deportation. Yet he also shows that although their room for maneuver was limited, civil servants, police officers, and gendarmes still had opportunities to assist the victims. Some would find a way to smuggle food into the ghettos or deliver letters to imprisoned Jews, despite the fact that such acts were strictly prohibited.
Even in the German concentration camps that functioned as extermination lagers, there were some guards who, within the limits of possibility, attempted to ease the situation of prisoners. When the war was over, it was often their subordinates who testified in their defense.
An important insight offered by the book is that prisoners themselves became part of the machinery of terror, albeit to varying degrees. This pattern was reinforced by the internal hierarchy of the camps, at the bottom of which stood Jewish prisoners, who frequently encountered antisemitism from other prisoners. Even among Jewish prisoners, however, a certain hierarchy emerged. Those who had been held captive longer often regarded the newly arrived with hostility. Genuine solidarity could rarely develop among the prisoners because one person’s survival often came at the expense of another’s.
In late fall of 1944, not every member of the Arrow Cross militia who helped sustain the reign of terror in Budapest was willing to kill. Borhi describes the internal dynamics of Arrow Cross groups, demonstrating how peer pressure drew even those who had initially wished to avoid involvement into acts of murder.
Although Borhi emphasizes that free will can never be entirely extinguished, and that there is always a possibility to make the right decision—or at least to choose the lesser evil—the case studies also reveal that the boundary between perpetrator and rescuer was often blurred. Page after page, readers come to appreciate the extraordinary complexity of individual cases and the many ways in which the actions of those involved can be interpreted. The book’s greatest strength lies precisely in demonstrating how difficult—perhaps even impossible—it is, looking back from the distance of long decades and enjoying the comfort of a relatively peaceful political context, to pass judgment on ordinary people of those days who were forced to make inconceivable choices. One of the most striking examples is that of a businessman, Oszkár Brunner, who joined the Arrow Cross movement and committed murder to protect himself and his family. At the same time, witness testimonies confirm that he deliberately employed Jewish workers to shield them from certain death. Brunner thus embodied a profound moral paradox: he was both a war criminal and a rescuer.
This book is no easy read. To follow nearly 400 pages of detailed accounts of murder, torture, and other acts of violence is challenging even for historians well-versed in the study of totalitarian regimes. Yet, confronting the deepest depths of human cruelty is not merely harrowing, it is also profoundly instructive. It compels readers to abandon the simplistic notions of perpetrators and victims. Borhi’s work is therefore not only an outstandingly well-researched and excellently written work of history but also a volume with an intense philosophical dimension and a fundamental moral message for all.
