Lazy ZsofiBUDAPEST – How do we connect with our national identity when all we hear from the outside is, “You’re not even a real Hungarian”? How can we figure ourselves out as a young woman of colour in a country where all you ever hear in politics is anti-migrant and xenophobic rhetoric? What impact does this have on how we see ourselves—and what can we hold onto, or escape to when reality becomes too unbearable?
The play How I Became Emese seeks to answer these questions, among others. We spoke with the play’s director, fellow lazy woman Dorottya Farkas, about belonging, Emese’s story, and the ever-recurring question of “Should I stay or should I go?”
What’s the show about?
The basic story is about a young Hungarian girl who was born in this country and raised with this culture but happens to be a woman of color, making it significantly harder for her to integrate into Hungarian society. Her environment constantly reminds her that she’s different. And when a tragic event happens to her, resulting in her getting pregnant, things fall apart. Her feelings of alienation and foreignness truly come to the surface. The play explores how Emese deals with these complex emotions.
How does this connect to the mythological story of the ancient Hungarian Emese?
It connects through Emese in the play relating to an ancient Hungarian myth, our origin story, where the protagonist is Emese: the woman who gave birth to Álmos, the leader of Hungarians.
In the original story, Emese dreamt of a large falcon-like bird descending upon her and impregnating her in her sleep. The dream foretold that she would bear a son who would lead the Hungarians to their new homeland.
But I was not interested in the prophecy; what intrigued me was that, according to the legend, this woman was impregnated by a stranger in her dream. Although this is a mythological twist found in many cultures’ origin stories, I thought it was worth asking ourselves—Is this really okay?
Of course, you could say that I’m deliberately twisting things, but I wouldn’t deny that. Why not twist them, you know?
This was one source of inspiration, and the other was Emese’s real experiences and feelings as a person of colour in today’s Hungary.
I thought that what would tie these two together is if Emese imagines that the only way to escape her unbearable reality is to connect with a fictional story and start living in it. This is obviously a delusional state, but it captures exactly what she’s missing. She clings to a fantasy, which, to me, is one of the most fascinating coping mechanisms.
The play is a one-woman show about a young woman, written by women. Did the theme of womanhood come to the forefront during the writing process?
It all began when the Fidesz government’s “heartbeat law”, which obliges women who are seeking an abortion to “listen to the foetal heartbeat” before they can have an abortion, was passed in September 2022. It outraged me so much that I started thinking daily about what would happen if I—as a young woman—accidentally became pregnant and didn’t want to keep the child because I wasn’t ready. Then comes this law, they play me the heartbeat, and I have to decide how I feel. This started the whole process for me, along with the overall direction of the political discourse on women’s role in society, especially in light of the current family policy which pretty much expects women to prioritize bearing and delivering offspring to stop Hungary’s population decline.
Eventually the two main themes—womanhood and inclusion— intertwined, while the issue of motherhood and pregnancy receded into the background.
What emotions came up for you during the writing and rehearsal process regarding the theme of belonging?
What preoccupies both Emese and me is this dilemma of how long we can stay here, in this country. We speak English, we’ve lived abroad, but at the same time, we both feel that it’d be meaningful to do something in or for our home country.
At the same time, being part of the independent theater scene is a struggle. In the current context, there are very few major independent spaces, all working with minimal budgets. I don’t want to keep asking for favours, but right now, that means I often don’t have projects, and that’s very discouraging.
But the other systemic problem is that this whole atmosphere weighs on people’s spirits. You see a general sense of demotivation, even resignation.
This kind of environment doesn’t encourage collaboration; instead, people tend to focus on what’s theirs and hold onto it tight because there might not be another one in the future.
I experienced something similar when I got a glimpse into this world. For example, with Lazy Women, we’re part of an independent European cultural network (Reset! network), which includes several Hungarian members. The Hungarian members often find themselves trying to explain problems to the French or English that are almost unimaginable there. They don’t spend all their time fighting for survival.
Here, you’re in a constant state of alert because nothing is certain. There’s constant anxiety, and you can’t escape it. You don’t feel safe because even what you’ve got today to might be gone by tomorrow. It’s exhausting. You don’t have the energy to work on new projects because your time is devoted to keeping alive what you momentarily have.
What’s even worse is that there’s no educational institution I’d willingly choose anymore, even though I’d still want to pursue further studies. There are hardly any arts universities left that aren’t controlled by the government. That’s why I’m again starting to think that maybe it’s time to leave.
You first presented How I Became Emese in the spring. What feedback have you received?
What excited me most was when people I know think differently about the world, and Hungary watched the play and said afterward that it made them think. This is the best kind of feedback we could have received.
Then there was an interview with us on Telex, a prominent Hungarian online news site, with a very provocative title (“We had this punk idea: why couldn’t the foremother of the Hungarians be a black girl?”), and there was a heated comment thread under the Facebook post. Let’s just say we received a lot of not particularly constructive criticism. While this didn’t surprise me, it was still emotionally challenging for both me and Emese. That’s why I think we need to be mindful of where we show the play so that the creators don’t get too hurt in the process.
Part of it is that we threw all the topics that are specifically targeted in the government’s political communication and represent dividing lines in Hungarian society into one pot, and stirred them up. So, it’s no surprise that many will spit this soup back into the pot.
Unfortunately, due to the political messages of recent years, even talking about being Hungarian and questioning this identity can be seen as “provocative.”
After all, why would you want to talk about this, why question what it is, when we’ve already told you what to think?
I believe that Hungarian identity, national identity and belonging in general, can never be determined from above. It must always come from the bottom and build gradually up to the top.
When can we see the play again? What’s next?
The next showing of How I Became Emese will be on October 19 and 20 at Trafó (tickets here). We’re really looking forward to hearing what this play meant to you. I’ll be available until 5 a.m. at the bar next to Trafó. So come and tell us what you think!
Interview by Zsofi Borsi. Read her most recent articles here!
Read the Hungarian version of the article here.
Photos by László Kőrösi.