Mari Mahr



		The clichés of socialist Hungary aremy childhood...they are my youth. The neighbour who was obsessively painting Lenin; the compulsory gardening competition for Young Pioneers that has made pansies my favourite flowers, and the composite images that were forever celebrating the plentiful harvest on our walls at school are all too real memories.
It was in Buenos Aires in 1995 that, entering a lecture hall full of empty chairs, I was reminded of my very first 'subversive' action in the 1950s. In a country where it was prohibited, every week I would accompany my best friend to the local church to attend Sunday School. Typically my only fear was that God might descend and single me out for not belonging.