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Asking No Mercy. Editor Obersovszky, pale and taut, made a more eloquent plea: "I want to be a free man, but I do not want mercy or a compromise. I did not fight against the system or the idea, but only against those who besmirched it and discredited it, who shut their eyes, who tried to restrain the development of socialist progress and who played games with our faith. We made mistakes, but our aim and ambition were pure and honest. I do not worry about my own fate. One can get used to prison. But if I go to prison, my family—an ailing wife and three children—will break up. That does not mean I am asking for mercy. If this court has no confidence in me, then it should give me the most severe sentence. For if the court has no confidence in me, I do not want to be a free man." Said the judge, as Obersovszky turned away from the microphone: "You are still arrogant."
Editor Gali was asked how it was that, though ill and half-blind, he had managed to be everywhere on Oct. 23, the first day of the revolution. He peered through his thick spectacles and answered: "In life there is always one day when one can do anything."
For Obersovszky and Gali and six other members of the Domonkos hospital group, the sentence was prison. For Ilona Toth and two of her companions, including the one who helped hold AVH man Kollar, the sentence was death. As the word fell from the judge's lips, there was a gasp from the 400 spectators in the courtroom. The judge threatened to clear the court. Tommy-gun-toting guards edged forward. This was Kadar's Hungary.