There were millions of victims of communism, and humans suffered in dozens of nations on almost every continent. Still, when I think of the evils of communism, I think first of a particular place and time: Hungary, 1956.
I was a graduate student at the Sorbonne in Paris that fall, studying French literature and history, attending class now and again but doing most of my research in the cafes and clubs of the Left Bank.
And then in late October Hungarian students my own age launched a revolution in the streets of Budapest that within a few days brought down the communist government and set Hungary on a path toward freedom and democracy. At least, we thought so.
I cheered the awesome bravery of the young Hungarians who inspired a nation and forced the communist leadership to step down. But my joy was short-lived. On November 4, Moscow moved to crush the Hungarian Revolution.
I saw the photos of students -- Freedom Fighters -- battling the invading Soviet troops and tanks with World War I rifles and Molotov cocktails. I heard their voices on AM radio. Calling for help. Calling on America to hear them; to save them.
I waited in vain for the U.S. government to take action. But the only response was words, a pro forma UN resolution. Budapest was far away, apparently, and the Soviets meant business, murderous business.
