RECENT gay rights activism in much of Eastern Europe has been driven by the desire to become eligible for membership in the European Union (EU), which imposes a list of fairly stringent requirements on member countries in the sphere of #human rights guarantees, including adoption of laws banning discrimination based on sexual orientation. Hungary and the Czech Republic provide a study in contrasts in how former Warsaw Pact countries are faring in this transition. I’ve had the opportunity to visit both countries for extended periods over the past two years; and, while I want to focus mostly on the Czech Republic, which is moving ahead nicely on gay rights issues, Hungary provides a corrective to excessive optimism.
Hungary has been struggling in recent years with a law (Section 199) that established separate ages of consent for hetero- and homosexual activity—verboten under EU mandates. This law was in conflict with the nondiscrimination provisions of the country’s constitution (which does not mention sexual orientation specifically) but was widely applied by courts. It was this issue that spurred the first sustained political organizing on the part of Hungary’s gay and lesbian minority, which came together in a group called the Szivarvany (“Rainbow”) Coalition. Revealingly enough of Hungarian attitudes, the group was initially refused legal status on two grounds: first, because it didn’t establish a minimum age requirement for membership; and second, because it employed the term “gay,” which in Magyar has the connotation of “warm,” and that was held to be dangerously misleading for young people! But through the efforts of the Hatter Society of Hungary, the leading gay and lesbian political organization, this double standard was abolished in 2002 and the consent law equalized. It now remains to be seen how effective the courts and law enforcement will implement the new standard and with what effect.
The Hatter Society also publishes a fifty-page document, “Report on the Discrimination against Lesbians, Gay Men and Bisexuals in Hungary.” It is a grim recitation of incidents involving gay people as victims: beatings that were reported to the police; denials or peremptory dismissals from employment; police brutality and harassment. The study reveals that attempts at political organizing are still being suppressed. There are cases in which the distribution of gay-related information resulted in police detention and registration, police raids on gay venues, and surveillance of outdoor cruising areas. The violence perpetrated against lesbians and gay men cannot be documented statistically, because no attempt to solve these crimes is made.
The situation in the Czech Republic, where are there are few reports of anti-gay harassment, contrasts strikingly with that of Hungary—but why? When in Prague I put this question to Dr. Jarmila Cierna of Diaconia, director of the social service organization of the Evangelical Church of Czech Brethren. This organization was the first to establish a gay help-line in Prague back in the early 90’s. Her answer was direct, and it surprised me. Hate crimes, attacks on gays, were not a problem that they had encountered in their ministry. I commented that in the U.S. thousands of such crimes are committed each year. “Perhaps,” she suggested, “this is because religion is weaker here.” It didn’t occur to me until half an hour later, as I strolled in the sunlight of Wenceslas Square, that this admission had come from the official of a religious organization.
I pursued this question with another informant, Kvetoslav Havlik of Gay Initiativa, an organization whose main focus is the enactment of registered partnership rights for gay people. He too replied that there was no violence against gay people in Prague. After a moment he remembered an incident a year or two earlier in which some “skins” had attacked a gay bar in Liberac (in Bohemia). The crime had been promptly and thoroughly investigated, and it turned out the target had not been premeditated. The skinheads were drunk and had determined to cause trouble for the next people they saw. I got a similar response from Marian Bacinsky at Project Sance, which helps street kids and male prostitutes in Prague. Were the “boys” ever physically abused? No, this wasn’t a problem, he assured me. But a former rent boy I interviewed explained there was incidental violence in the form of physically hurtful sex practices, which clients might succeed in inflicting on naïve hustlers.
How can we account for the fact that homophobic violence is virtually unheard of in Prague, even on the part of the leaders of the main gay rights organizations? The answer, I believe, is an extension of Dr. Cierna’s suggestion. The Christian churches are weaker in the Czech Republic as organized institutions than anywhere else in Europe, and the country has the lowest proportion of practicing Christians of any country in Eastern Europe. (Only forty percent of Czechs identify themselves as believing in God. Hungary, in contrast, is a deeply Catholic country.) Both Dr. Cierna and Mr. Havlik spoke of the tolerance of the Czech people, anchored in a strong conviction that someone’s sexual behavior is a private matter that’s not suitable for discussion. Even though most Czechs probably regard homosexuals as “strange” (in Cierna’s word), this does not make it wrong—or even noteworthy. It is this strong conviction in privacy, no doubt borne in part of history as a nation occupied by outsiders (the Austro-Hungarians, the Nazis, the Communists) that makes the Czech wary of imposing restrictions on personal behavior.
Language can serve as a good indicator of attitudes. In Czech there is no current usage that’s equivalent to our words “queer” or “faggot.” In fact, the term that once carried that meaning, Buzerant, is of German origin, and this word has evolved to mean something like “SOB.” The word “homosexual”—which occurs in the name of the Czech Republic’s major GLBT organization—is entirely neutral and does not have the slightly negative connotations that cling to this word in English. Finally, the word “gay” has been imported into Czech, as into many European languages, as a descriptive term without particular political connotation.
A couple of other data points are revealing of gay life in the Czech Republic. A recent billboard campaign to promote the cause of registered partnerships—sponsored by a privately owned company—depicts two young men kissing, with the legend, “It helps somebody, it hurts nobody.” And consider the service motto of the evangelical group Diaconia: “Our Lord Jesus asks not for our piousness, but for our loving energies towards our neighbors.” This is not a message that one would find posted in either the archdiocese of Boston or the Texas Church of Christ.
This does not mean that Czech society has rid itself of interference or harassment. At the bar venues for male prostitution, there have been police raids as recently as 2001. Since prostitution is legal at age eighteen and above, the reason for this activity is intimidation and repression. More than one shakedown was conducted by the Czech equivalent of SWAT teams, called URNA (which means something like “Fast Action Group”) in an Operation called “Aktion Spider.” Foreign tourists were required to show identification and ejected; the boys were subjected to the gross humiliation of being handcuffed and made to lie down on the floor. Since they were guilty of no illegal act, they could not be prosecuted. But the message was clear: male prostitution would now be forced to go underground, out of sight.
But on balance the news remains upbeat. On the legislative front, the Czech parliament is currently considering (for the third time) legislation that would allow registered partnerships for gay and lesbian couples. Thus far, the bill’s passage has failed by only a handful of votes and, as of this writing, its eventual passage seems inevitable.
Alan Brady Conrath is a poet and writer who lives and works in Boston.
