Globalisation is making the rich world even richer, but billions are locked out – they’re living on the edge between the rich world and the poor. They face tough choices if they want to join the party.

COMMENTATOR (COMM):
It’s especially hard feeling locked out if you’re a ‘minority’ in the heart of a prosperous continent. Do you stick with your roots, or do you break out into the wider world? That’s the dilemma faced by one young Hungarian when he made a breakthrough in his career and a discovery about his past. In communist Hungary gypsy children were often taken from poor families. They were raised in large orphanages with hundreds of other children. Among them was Arpad Bogdan, a young film director who turned his experiences into an award winning feature film. It’s moved audiences in Budapest and abroad.

ARPAD BOGDAN:
My film is about the dilemmas of someone who realizes that in order to face the future he must come to terms with his past. And that’s… that’s something that I still have to do in my own life myself.

COMM:
Today Arpad is in District Eight – Budapest’s Gypsy Harlem. But does he belong here, or is he a Hungarian artist like any other? His life is at a crucial junction. You might think that being known as a Roma or Gypsy director is kind of useful in this neighbourhood. But there’s a downside as Arpad about to be reminded here at Radio C, the Roma station.

TIVADOR FATYOL, Director, Radio C:
When you won every film award going in 2007 the cynics said you got them out of sympathy or positive discrimination, because you happen to be a Gypsy.

ARPAD:
Nobody cares at the international festivals whether you are a gypsy or not. People see a film and they either like it or they don’t. I am proud of my work because it gives people an insight into a world that is mostly ignored.

COMM:
If there is a place in Hungary where Roma culture does play a central role, it’s the Gandhi High School in Pecs. In a country where the largest minority still faces acute prejudice, this school aims to give kids a sense of pride in their heritage. Arpad’s keen to show his film here. But he isn’t sure a Roma heritage is what he wants. His is a ‘Life on the Edge.’

ARPAD:
When you get out from an orphanage you might know you are a gypsy but you can’t really relate to that in a cultural sense because you don’t speak the language, you didn’t grow up in the community and you don’t share any of its values. Other Gypsies accept that, but you’ll never really belong with them… or the whites. You just get caught somewhere in between.

RADOSZAV:
Can we find a file by the date of birth?

COMM:
To find out where he belongs Arpad has to start here at the archives of the Child Protection Agency. Thanks to a recent change in the law everyone can now see their own file. At last Árpád may have the chance to find out who his parents were and why he was taken from them. But there’s a word of warning.

MIKLOS RADOSZAV, Budapest Child Protection Agency:
There are very few success stories. I have to be frank about that. The distance is so great and the cultural gap so wide – so much time spent away from each other in very different environments – that these families can never really be reunited properly.

COMM:
Armed with a few names and dates, but not much more, Arpad goes back to the orphanage where he first stayed. It closed down a few years ago.

ARPAD:
I was brought there at the age of three or four, and I couldn’t understand what all these bars were for – everywhere. I was struck by this prison feeling, the sense of isolation. I felt locked up and I thought I was being punished for something, I just couldn’t figure out what they were punishing me for. ‘Get out of here, while you can! If you’re here your life has been cursed. If you’re still here in a month there is no way out, except one and that is death.’ This was written by one who gave up the fight, but it wasn’t out of weakness or cowardice. It still feels awful just being here. Seeing this again makes me wonder how I made it as far as I have, how come I wasn’t lost forever.

COMM:
In the cellar some crucial documents: they’re about the time Árpád and his six siblings were taken into care. And there are addresses.

ARPAD:
The father had been the only breadwinner in the family, and he was serving a prison sentence… ‘Domestic environment: cleanliness and personal hygiene in the family is unsatisfactory. The parents like a drink. They discipline their children by beating them.’

COMM:
Next stop on his journey is the orphanage on Lake Balaton where Arpad spent most of his childhood. The majority of the kids there were Roma, but in a society that’s long been hostile towards the Roma they were given little help to understand their heritage.

ARPAD:
In the orphanage being Roma had no positive implications for us, but some of the kids were visited by their parents and they brought smells and flavours that were strange to me, and even a little bit frightening; but there was also something exotic and exciting about them – the smell of an open fire, the smell of freedom. But to be honest, mixed in with the magical things that attracted me, there was also the smell of sweat, the smell of alcohol, the smell of poverty – lots of things that were unappealing. Being called a Gypsy is still a pejorative, prejudiced thing in Hungary – even thinking about the phrases I get a lot: you broke out; you rose up; you are different; you are better than the rest of them. It all suggests that if you need to climb that much, just to get to the level of everyone else, you must have had to start somewhere really, really low, in a very bad place. But as an artist and a person I think I owe it to myself not to accept that view. This really has been razed to the ground!

COMM:
The orphanage is gone and developers have bought the land – hard to imagine that there were once hundreds of children here.

ARPAD:
It feels really strange to find this instead of my past. But this place is a perfect metaphor for me: a vast emptiness, a great void. That’s exactly how I feel about my childhood. A few of the kids I used to know here have committed suicide since. Many lost their way, many failed. Back then some teachers kept cursing our bloody gypsy parents. I definitely thought of my origins as a kind of stigma, I knew I couldn’t do anything about it, but should I have to apologise for it all the time? And I think I wasn’t the only one who felt a bit ambivalent about this, I wasn’t the only one there to feel a little bit ashamed.

TOTHNE:
Arpi, you bookworm, how you have grown!

COMM:
Still unsure about whether to find his family, Arpad seeks advice from his former teachers. They’re happy to see their star pupil, but their perception of the Roma hasn’t changed.

FERI:
I knew you would have double trouble when you get out; firstly that you’re from an orphanage and secondly that you are gypsies – you couldn’t deny it if you tried.

ARPAD:
Dealing with only one of those would be more than enough, but both? We were so unprepared you might as well have given us a cyanide pill and said goodbye.

TOTHNE:
Now tell me, since you seem to be upset about something, what did you miss?

ARPAD:
I should have been taught how to deal with not having any parents. Why didn’t I have parents? I should have been taught about what it means to be a gypsy.

FERI:
Well, whenever I see a gypsy in the street I get shivers down my spine. But when I went to the orphanage I saw clean, relatively healthy, well-bred, well-fed kids. Gypsy kids – but I felt no hostility towards them.

TOTHNE:
What would have become of him without the orphanage?

FERI:
Arpad was lucky not to have parents!

TOTHNE:
What would have become of him?

FERI:
Nothing! Okay, they all missed their family, but what kind of family? They would have needed good families, not to see their father beat the mother all the time or see their sisters being sent out on the streets. Because that’s what it was like.

ARPAD:
Should I try to find my parents now?

FERI:
You certainly shouldn’t expect much if you do, you might find horrific circumstances. You mustn’t be horrified. I might try to find them if I was you, but without emotions.

COMM:
Arpad is told that his family no longer live in the village where he was born. But he wants to meet the mayor to find out if anyone remembers them.

ARPAD:
I know there is no Laszlo Bogdan living in this village now…

BODO TAMAS, Mayor of Homokkomarom:
Yes there is! He’s here. I know his ex-wife, his current partner, even his kids.

ARPAD:
How old is this man?

TAMAS:
Around 35, I think.

COMM::
No news of his father, Lazlo – but he has a brother by the same name.

TAMAS:
Have you not met him in a while?

ARPAD:
Never.

TAMAS:
What do you know of your mother?

ARPAD:
I don’t know anything about anyone. TAMAS:
Not even whether she’s alive?

ARPAD:
No.

TAMAS:
Erm… it’s all coming back to me now. I’m sure I can find Laszlo and set up a meeting. He will be happy to se you.

ARPAD:
I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

COMM:
In the local archives, some disturbing information.

ARPAD:
The mother has been obstructing the authorities by fleeing with three of her children to an unidentified location on May 28th 1979. One child, by the name of Arpad Bogdan, born on June 13th 1976 was left behind, locked in the store room. The mother has not visited him since. The child was eventually fed by the neighbours.

KINCES:
That’s specific...

ARPAD:
Yes, very specific. So my mother ran off with three kids and left him… this one... me… behind. I don’t know, this is tough, I think… well I certainly don’t remember being locked up. I don’t know; it’s too much to take in. This was obviously a family in the process of falling apart, with a lot of sacrifice… a lot of thoughtlessness, a lot of irresponsibility. I want to go home.

Let’s get one thing clear. I don’t have any doubts about this. I refuse to see my parents. I don’t care if our old house is here or if anything, anyone else is here. I will not subject myself to this. I am interested in the facts, the documents, but to meet family or even to risk running into them, no thanks. This was all over 30 years ago and it certainly would benefit either them or me to tear it all open again.

COMM::
Back home in Budapest Arpad is trying to cope with what he found. And he’s expecting a call from Laszlo, his new-found brother, who’s picked up word of his visit.

ARPAD:
Hello? Have you managed to find her? Where is she now? I mean our... mother. She’s dead? Oh. It seems my father is the only parent left I can still ask about what happened. And I’ve decided now that I do want to ask him.

COMM:
In Budapest’s prosperous Rose Hill Arpad has come to see his former guardian, sociologist Katalin Forrai. She discovered Arpad when he was 13. And she’s played a key role in his life ever since.

KATALIN:
Are you worried it’ll shake you up?

ARPAD:
I’m not… I’m not sure. It’s not like I’m meeting strangers, who will still be strangers but we might get close one day. These people are my family, my brother, my father…

KATALIN:
You want to know if you should love them?

ARPAD:
Well that too.

KATALIN:
You’ll see… loving relatives is not compulsory.

ARPAD:
I guess not.

KATALIN:
Love isn’t compulsory

ARPAD:
Oh, garlic!

KATALIN:
Why would you need garlic for this?

ARPAD:
It’s a must! To be honest, I’m more worried about my father getting into some apologetic rant.

KATALIN:
So what? I’d worry more about what comes next.

ARPAD:
What’s next?

KATALIN:
Well whether you will see him again, whether he would want to come visit, move in with you, or ask you for money…

ARPAD:
I guess if he had those expectations that would be bad.

COMM:
Back in the village Arpad meets his brother for the first time.

TAMAS:
Let me introduce you to each other.

ARPAD:
The great encounter.

GABOR:
I thought he looked like dad’s brother …

LASZLO:
This is my son. That’s your uncle.

GABOR:
I’m Gábor.

ARPAD:
Hi. Arpad. Why can’t we see where you live?

LASZLO:
Because it’s not mine.

ARPAD:
And what is yours around here?

LASZLO:
Nothing. ARPAD:
Except your kids....

LASZLO:
Yes, my kids.

COMM:
Laszlo was already seven when he was taken into care. He got back in touch with the family many years ago. In the local community centre he fills Árpád in on the details.

ARPAD:
I was wondering why Laszlo senior, our father, was in prison.

LASZLO:
It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.

ARPAD:
Tell me.

LASZLO:
Most of the time it was for fighting.

ARPAD:
Was he a troublemaker? Bad-tempered – picks fights all the time?

LASZLO:
Yeah.

ARPAD:
Do you know him personally?

LASZLO:
Sure I do.

ARPAD:
Is he still like that?

LASZLO:
Not any more, he’s 60 years old now. Look, my dad is my dad, I don’t want to speak ill of him. My mother is my mother, so… I can’t think of anything nice to say and I don’t want to be nasty.

COMM:
Laszlo has vowed never to visit his mother’s grave. So Laszlo’s son, Gabor, takes Arpad to see it.

ARPAD:
Were you here when she was buried?

GABOR:
I was still little, but I really loved my granny and she loved me.

COMM:
Arpad and Laszlo’s father lives in the next village. Arpad’s father, it turns out, has a new young wife and 40 dogs. He doesn’t see much of any of his nine children. But he doesn’t seem to mind getting a surprise visit.

DAD:
Which one are you?

ARPAD:
I’m Arpad.

DAD:
How time flies.

ARPAD:
Yes. It does.

DAD:
Oh, well. [Laughs] It’s been a while…

ARPAD:
Is 29 years ‘a while’? That’s how long it’s been.

DAD:
Gone in a flash.

ARPAD:
Yes, indeed.

DAD:
Shame. I had no idea where you were. Okay, I know that’s no excuse… not that you came to visit, but it was down to me too, I could have found you if I had tried. We could have met sooner. It all fell apart when I was put in prison. Your mother went to town, shacked up with someone. I found out about this and I handed in the divorce papers from my cell. Okay, I’m not saying I wasn’t at fault; it can’t all be one. I made mistakes and your mother has made mistakes too. Had I stayed at home, not been imprisoned, you would have stayed as well.

ARPAD:
How long were you in prison in Sopronkohida?

DAD:
Long time. Six years in that one alone.

ARPAD:
Six years? What… what did you do to get six years?

DAD:
I had a mean punch.

ARPAD:
Maybe you shouldn’t have shown off in those pubs.

DAD:
I always say better be accompanied by a prison guard than a priest, on your way to the cemetery. Isn’t that right?

ARPAD:
That was at stake?

DAD:
Yes.

ARPAD:
So you came back from prison and found that the family had fallen apart. Well, what’s happened has happened.

DAD:
At least you came to find me. I might not have much time left, anyway. As for the past, let’s pull a veil over it. We should look to the future from now on. We should stay in touch. I’m glad I found out about you. Oh, Cabbage! [Grabs Arpad’s head and pulls it onto his shoulder]

COMM:
Back in Budapest, Arpad is getting on with preparations for his next film. And considering everything he has learned about the past. All kinds of stereotypes surround the Roma – Arpad may just have got rid of some of his own.

ARPAD:
I expected a lot worse when I went to meet these people, my brother and my father. I was worried about finding much more deviant, marginalised creatures. But they ended up surprising me. In a way their lives are more rooted than mine is. They have families, they have loved ones and they have a lot more stability than I can even imagine for myself. Concepts like ‘brother’ and ‘father’, ‘family’… they don’t start meaning something overnight. Like my brother said, it was like talking to a complete stranger. I’ve ended up with a few new people in my life, and um I have no idea what role they will play from now on.

COMM:
Post-Communist Hungary and its Roma minority still need time to come to terms with each other. And so do Arpad and his Dad, but at least now they have the opportunity – if they want to take it.

ARPAD:
I looked at my father, into his eyes, and I suddenly felt myself forgiving him. I let him go, along with all the bad things I used to blame him for, and after that I could see him for what he is and I could listen to him. Whether I’ll see my father again… Well… maybe I will, but definitely not on my own. I will have to take someone with me, someone from my own life, someone who can give me a sense of security. I think I would need that to hold onto. I would need to be reminded that okay, that is where I’m from and he’s my father, but I do have a very different life now, in a very different world.

END

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