Sign of a distorted self-identity

(Puzser R)

The cross on the Holy Crown of Hungary is crooked. It is hard to explain why, though. We just say it is a Hungarikum. 
There is no crooked cross in the world anywhere. Not on a crown, nor on a temple, not even on a grave. Nowhere. As I know, Jesus Christ was not crucified at an angle of sixty-five degrees. 
But we know the story behind; sometime in the 17th — 18th century the crown was locked into a chest by some jerk and then — just being Hungarians— they lost the keys… No key. No crown. No statehood. And the queen was coming. ‘Now what the fuck we should do!’ The jewel guard, the crown prince, the courtier or whoever called a locksmith — well, he said he was one — to open the lock. This “locksmith” with the best of his skills began to strain the chest and obviously the result was that he screwed it up. Finally, the chest was open somehow and there was the crown in it but they realized the cross was distorted on the top. “Now, what the hell?!” “Well, straighten it, Joe!” “My dick. I won’t. If it remians in my hand, they will know that I broke it!”

But why did not Joe straighten the cross? Because it could break? So what? It can be welded back. It was originally made that way. It did not grow there. Probably, if it had been broken, that could have been the darkest moment of the Hungarian history. There is no cross on the crown. As if God had taken his hands off the Hungarians. (Holy F***!) Ever since no one has taken the risk of that nightmarish 30 minutes of breaking the cross and welding it back. Since 1638 everyone is a Joe. What if God captures that half-hour while the crown does not have the cross? It is terrible to think about it. We better leave it that way. “It was always so, even in my grandfather’s time.” We say. I did not understand why it was crooked either, but the Holy Crown is the Holy Crown, and I am just a Joe, so what do I know? The crown is beautiful. And it is beautiful that way. 
Thus, it occured that something that was fucked up, we just collectively agreed to as if it was all right. No wonder. We do this to everything, everytime. Even though this is not just a thing. In any other country a crown is a symbol of power but not in Hungary. The Holy Crown is the symbol of the whole country. It is our greatest treasure. And we…we are unable to put it right and straighten the damn cross on it. The cross on the crown is a symbol of the adversity of the Hungarians and the distortion of our self-identity, which is our fault and only ours but we never realize it.

No one is ever asking about the crooked cross, although even a squint-eyed person can see it. The average Hungarian does not ask the question because he feels that he has a head of wax, so he just does not walk in the sun. He knows well in the bottom of his heart that this is not so okay, but that has been the crown for a long time, right? What to do with it now? And the foreigners do not dare to ask why it is like that. They feel ashamed for not knowing the reason. There must be a reason, they think, it is just not mentioned in Lonely Planet. They do not even think that it was simply fucked up and no one ever repaired it.

The twentieth century came and we learned to break down the nucleus and then we flew to the moon. The twenty-first century came and the gene map is almost ready. But the cross on the crown is still crooked. Are we still waiting for the right technological conditions? Are we still afraid if the cross breaks, it will not be there until we put it back? So, instead we produce eighteen copies of it; one for each county seat with the same crooked cross. But it is not too late. Every moment is the right moment to act. The upcoming weekend is a perfect time to straighten it. History is still taking place and in three hundred years nobody will remember that it was ever crooked.

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