A few months before the referendum of April 2003 on Hungary's membership in the European Union, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs set up a toll-free hotline to answer queries and concerns relating to the EU. The most frequently raised questions and the answers given have been broken down into various topics and continue to be posted at the website www.eu2004.hu. Unsurprisingly, the gravest concerns have been triggered by the news that the popular practice of "pigsticking", a key element of Hungarian national identity, which played an indirect role in the fall of Communism, would be prohibited. Thanks to the meticulous bureaucrats working in the Ministry, the list also contains a few items clearly aimed at diverting public attention, such as queries relating to customs administration, industrial policy and taxation. Despite all their efforts (e.g.: "Will legal provisions relating to corporate taxation by off-shore and affiliated companies be modified?"), the questions that truly concern the Hungarian population keep recurring on the website.
During the campaigns preceding last year's referendum, it was inevitable for a jovial official, usually from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or the Ministry of Agriculture and Regional Development, to reassure the audience that pigsticking would remain legal after EU accession. This practice, one of the sine qua nons of Hungarian rural life, has lost much of its original sacral, ritual meaning. Long since, its main purpose has been to provide the family and its relatives with cheap meat. Naturally, it is also the perfect occassion for a family gathering and, naturally, some heavy drinking. Squeamish city-dwellers tend to be horrified at the idea of such a bloody ritual. In rural areas, however, pigsticking not only has its practical reasons, it is also an important social event that strengthens the local community. It is understandable that the rural population does not want to forfeit one of its rare occassions of merriment.
But what are we talking about here? Pigsticking begins after the early morning round of drinking, when the strongest men in the family drive the 2-300 kg porker from the pigsty out into the courtyard. Of course, the animal suspects right away that it is not about to be taken for a guided tour of the surroundings. Therefore, the pig's high-pitched squealing as it is dragged into the courtyard by its tail and ears, its braced feet and the calamity caused when the animal breaks loose and is chased around the courtyard by the men with knives in their hands are all part of the fun. Naturally, the pig cannot escape its fate, and (ideally after the animal is stunned) a slaughterman eventually stabs the porker in the heart. This is always followed by a few seconds of complete silence. Whilst the blood squirting from the pig is being collected into various pots and vessels, you can almost hear the horror-stricken thumping of the other animals' hearts in the pigsty. The killing of the animal and the singeing of its bristles are typically tasks for the men, the women being usually responsible for preparing the various meat products. In many parts of the country, the freshly let blood is used to make a thick soup that is eaten on the spot. The fat and the bacon are stripped off. The small intestines are rinsed through with boiling water and filled with minced meat and offal to make sausages. Of late, the more valuable meaty parts are placed in a freezer.

The only time when this noble tradition was in real danger was during the worst wave of collectivisations in the early 1950s, when meat products made during pigsticking had to be handed over to the authorities. If someone tried to hush up the killing of a pig, and did it "illegally" in the house or in the cellars, they were labelled as profiteers and imprisoned- usually for several years. It was logical, therefore, to conceal any pig from the inquisitive gaze of neighbours, not only when it was killed, but during its entire lifetime. This, however, often led to an unusually close bond developing between the family and the animal. One of the most memorable scenes from Béla Bacsó's film The Witness, which catches that era excellently, is one in which the children sing pioneer songs in the living room to muffle the squealing of Dezső the porker, fighting for his life in the cellars.
Few are aware that the Hungarian passion for killing pigs was one of the indirect causes of the economic and political change of system in Hungary. Up to the mid-1980s, the pigsticking season was limited to January for reasons of hygiene. The danger of unprocessed meat going bad was much smaller in the cold weather than at other times of the year. In 1988, the Kádár regime, being aware of the worsening economic conditions and sensing its downfall, tried to curry favour with the people and, in an unexpected turn of events, suddenly permitted pigsticking all through the year. Not long before that, tight restrictions on purchasing foreign currencies had been relaxed and consolidated customs preferences were provided to families. On a long spring weekend, hundreds of thousands of Hungarians decided to utilise this new opportunity and imported freezers to the value of several hundred million dollars, strapped to the top of their Trabants and other exotic vehicles, from neighbouring Austria. Westerners, watching reports of the bizarre consumer exodus on television, were laughing their heads off; in actual fact, Hungarians were driving the final nail into the coffin of socialism. Ill-considered as these concessions were, the country's foreign currency reserves were effectively depleted and the trade balance was thoroughly upset. The fresh pork landed in the new freezers; less than a year later the Kádár regime disappeared down the drain of history.
Since pigsticking survived the Rákosi era and laid waste to socialism, we can hardly expect the resourceful Hungarians to forfeit it now. They would rather find some way of outwitting the EU's strict pig-killing executives. Thankfully, no tricks will be necessary, since EU integration does not threaten this fine tradition. Regulations only prohibit the commercial sale of household meat products, and, as of January 2003, require that animals be stunned before being slaughtered.
Although nothing can rival the strategic importance of pigsticking, there are other dangers looming over the favourite customs of Hungarians. The regulations applicable to pigsticking also apply to the slaughter of chickens, hens, ducks and rabbits kept on household farms, which is a much more mundane affair than pigsticking. Once again, the problem is not the prohibition of the commercial sale of meat products, but rather the requirement to stun the animals. It is not entirely clear just how the law-abiding housewife is expected to sedate the hapless winged creature selected as the centrepiece of the Sunday soup, before cutting its throat. An anaesthetist cannot possibly be assigned to every chicken; at the moment, knowing what is at hand in a typical rural household, the most obvious solution seems to be intoxicating the unsuspecting animal by mixing a hefty dose of home-made pálinka into its morning meal.
There was also controversy concerning the EU's efforts to reform the feeding of the most important "ingredient" of pigsticking ceremonies: pigs. In line with the principle of economy that is characteristic of rural households, kitchen leftovers (pig-swill) is widely used to feed the curvaceous inhabitants of the pigsties. As of the 1 May 2004, however, this will theoretically become illegal, since this could spread the germ that causes swine fever. A single outbreak of this disease could seriously damage European meat exports. Although no cases of swine fever have been reported in Hungary for quite a while now, farmers resigned themselves to the ban on swill without a grumble. They probably doubt that any authority is going to carry out dawn raids on hundreds of thousands of farms to check whether the regulations are being adhered to.

Generally speaking, what the European Union takes away with one hand, it gives back with the other. The same is true as far as pigs go. Hungarian swine who become members of the EU will have to do without their favourite delicacy. On the other hand, the news spread that farmers would have to buy them toys for the pigsties. This development soon got country folks' playful imaginations going. The letters to the editor sections of farmers' papers and rural dailies were flooded with amusing suggestions on Pig Lego, swine skipping-ropes and rubber cubes for boars. The news, however, proved to be a hoax. The truth of the matter is that pigsties will always have to contain material for the hogs to grub at, in order to provide them with a more stimulating environment. Of course, it is likely that their sense of comfort would increase more significantly if pigsticking were banned, but Hungarian swine advocacy organisations have so far been unable to manage this in their negotiations with the EU.
Another lovable custom in agriculture is the force-feeding of geese. Although geese are voracious animals, there comes a point even for them when they do not want to eat any more. Farmers, however, who would take every care in the world to feed their geese, are often dissatisfied with the result, perhaps because of the exorbitant prices they receive for large goose livers. So they grab hold of the poor anorexic creature, stuff a ball-shaped helping of feed into its throat and gently massage it down its neck. There were rumours that this not exactly humane practice is considered to be a form of cruelty to animals in Brussels, and would be banned. Thankfully, nothing of the sort is planned. The EU only prohibits the mechanical force-feeding of geese; in other words, the barbaric custom of a machine grabbing geese by the neck, prying open their beaks and force-feeding them through a tube into their stomach in order to elicit a beneficial effect on the mass of their livers.
Hungarian geese lead miserable lives. Chances are that whenever they are not being force-fed, their finest down is systematically being plucked from under their wings. The answer provided by the administrator in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the question "Will the plucking of goose down be prohibited?" was characteristic: "The practice of plucking down may be in jeopardy in the long run after accession, since current EU regulations do not permit it." Fortunately, the quote does not end there: "This danger does not exist in the short run. Although the European Convention on the Protection of Agricultural Farmed Animals, signed in 1998, prohibits this activity, an estoppage declaration will be drawn up upon its ratification in Hungary, expected in the near future, which will designate the plucking of down a national feature peculiar to Hungary." So let us rejoice! It's official: the plucking of goose down is a unique national characteristic to be protected, along with the Chain Bridge, Hungarian salami and the Mohács folk masques!

One of the most peculiar issues, which the ministry's website fails to deal with, is regulations concerning the curving of cucumbers for human consumption. This issue was raised not so much because of actual fears, but rather with the intention of ridiculing the increasingly oppressive Brussels bureaucracy. In all likelihood, the unbridled onslaught of the standardising Eurocrats will provide an excellent breeding ground for popular banter. The cucumber curving issue allows us to gain some insight into the bouquet of amusing absurdities lying in store for us. The EU did indeed determine standards for the curving of cucumbers, although only with the purpose of classifying them. The answer given to one of the questions might also come as something of a shock to mushroom growers, when they are confronted with the fact that champignon mushrooms of less than 15 to 30 mm in size cannot be marketed in the EU.
Another popular myth is that the consumption of poppy seeds will be prohibited. The poppy seeds that embed themselves between one's teeth after a hearty portion of delicious poppy seed noodles, poppy seed milk cake, poppy seed strudel or the Christmas poppy seed roll are national traits that are just as characteristic of Hungary as the plucking of goose down. Anyone worried about the disappearance of poppy seeds after accession may set their minds at rest. There are no restrictions whatsoever in force in the EU concerning the growing of poppy seeds for human consumption. What is more, neither does the EU prohibit the growing of the industrial poppy, the basic ingredient of pharmaceutical products containing opiates, it merely requires a licence to grow the plant.
Therefore, no changes are expected with regard to poppy seeds. But many people are asking about opiates. This also appears on the ministry website. The real concern behind its wording is that if the free movement of goods is implemented, then drugs will also flow freely from Western European countries with a pragmatic drug policy into Hungary, a strictly prohibitionist country. The concern is understandable, but unjustified. The trafficking of hard drugs, including opiates, is prohibited worldwide, including the Netherlands. Also, Hungary will only become part of the Schengen zone in a few years' time, so border controls will remain in place for the present. And anyhow, EU accession is not the primary factor that fuels drug-related fears. Rather, it is the lack of information, ignorance and prejudice. So the question here is whether these too are also considered as Hungarian national characteristics that have to be protected.

Euro-sceptic Hungarian milk consumers have every reason to believe that their worst nightmares are about to come true. The marketing of milk with 2.8 percent fat content will be prohibited after accession. This may not seem to be a major issue. Yet in Hungary milk of this fat content has always been the most popular. It will be available for another five years following accession, but after that, milk producers will only be allowed to market the accepted EU standards: unskimmed milk (minimum 3.5 percent fat content), half skimmed (1.5 to 1.8) and low-fat milk (maximum 0.5). If anyone is having trouble coming to terms with the loss of their favourite level of fat content, we can recommend mixing half a litre of unskimmed milk with half a litre of the skimmed variety to obtain the desired fat content. For the moment, this reassuring, though admittedly toilsome, suggestion does not feature amongst the answers and solutions offered by the Ministry.
There are two more types of interesting questions relating to the European Union. The first is to do with utterly irrational fears. "Will Brussels have the power to deploy Hungarian troops abroad?" Since the EU does not have an army, it does not have the power to deploy troops anywhere. "Will the Hungarian labour market be flooded by workers from other member states?" Given the difference between the EU average wage level and Hungary's, it is hardly likely that workers from other member states will find it impossible to resist jobs in Hungary. Nevertheless, it is perhaps worth taking these fears seriously, regardless of their reality, since they are an indication of the lack of informedness on the part of the general public, and also that the changes accession is expected to bring immediately awaken philistine reactions.
The loss of certain aspects of national sovereignty is an inevitable factor of accession. There are some self-conscious Hungarians who hope that this will be offset by striking changes in the life of the continent, caused by Hungary's membership of the EU. According to one such individual, the word "euro" should be written with the accentuated Hungarian spelling (euró) on the notes and coins to be issued in Hungary. The accent would thus serve as a metaphor. It would symbolise Hungarians' European roots and unique cultural traits at the same time. No doubt, hundreds of millions of Europeans would be pondering the uniqueness of Hungarians for days on end. It would probably also bring direct economic benefits by increasing tourism. Who could resist visiting a country that had stood up so admirably for its accents?
Many people would have liked to see more stars appearing on the EU flag after the accession of the ten new member states. The twelve stars on the flag do not even correspond to the number of current members, but everyone must have their due. However, not even a new star would solve the identity crisis of Hungarians, since we still would not know which star is ours. Maybe someone is already drafting a proposal to have the stars in the national colours of the member states, or for the stars to be replaced by the national symbols of the individual countries. If this happens, then Hungarians will be able to rest at ease. Amongst the symbols, we will find our favourite pig, with a knacker's knife plunged into its heart.

Gábor Miklósi
is on the staff of the weekly Magyar Narancs.