Dragons in the Swampy Castle - Rethinking Behaviour in Hungarian Schools
Dragon Reimagined by Melì —
Bold colours, wild shapes, and a dragon that guards the dreamers. Shot at the Gödöllő Castle Festival 2025, Hungary.
The Bigger Picture
The quality and methods of education in any country are always fascinating to explore. When you are part of the system, thinking about it consciously and critically can shape society and help us raise children who not only find their path in life but also develop the flexibility to thrive in different environments.
Education becomes equally intriguing when you move to a new country and want to understand what awaits. In today’s article, I want to take a closer look at elementary school in Hungary—particularly at something called the magatartás jegy. This is a grade that reflects how well-behaved children are. Similar to many other countries, Hungary has a dedicated system for evaluating and appreciating children’s behaviour.
So, whether you simply want to understand what’s going on in Hungary, or you are already here and wondering what on earth is happening—whether you feel like venting, reshaping your opinion, or figuring out how to survive the system—stay with me. Together, we might just uncover one or two new thoughts that offer a fresh perspective.
A Bit of Background
My younger son just started first grade, and during the very first parent meeting the lead teacher enthusiastically introduced a behaviour appreciation system. It was already hard for us parents to follow—and we’re around 30, with various degrees—so I immediately wondered: how much of this would the children actually understand?
Here’s how the system works: each day, the children colour a petal on a flower to show how well they behaved. Yellow is fine, red is fine, orange is not so great, and if you reach green, you’re in trouble. But that’s only the beginning. Behind this petal system there is an even bigger game: a huge drawing of a castle with a swamp and a dragon beside it.
The goal is for children to remain in the castle’s turrets. If they misbehave a little, they descend to the first floor. More trouble? Down to the ground floor. If they are really, really naughty, they end up in the swamp’s dungeon with the dragon.
By the second week, my son had already collected a few green petals. He’s not particularly naughty—just lively, full of energy, likes to move around and chat a bit. Nothing extreme. Still, yesterday he came home sad: he was in the swamp, and he had no idea why. Later, I spoke with another mum, whose child was also in the swamp, equally clueless about how they had landed there.
And so we began to wonder: why such a complicated behavioural system for first graders? Children who are just starting school life, who still have no textbooks, no real sense of “class,” no nap time like in kindergarten—and suddenly, on top of it all, they must navigate this elaborate behavioural ladder.
Two Worlds Colliding
Since I was half raised in Hungary and half in the Netherlands, I carry two very different perspectives inside me.
The Hungarian side—the one shaped by a more fearful school culture—immediately panicked: “Oh my god, just try to stay at least on the ground floor! Poor child, don’t get into trouble, because if the teacher doesn’t like you, you’ll be marked for years.”
Then my Dutch side kicked in. Suddenly, I could see school as a nice, fun place to go—but not a place where you need to identify with every single part of it. Sometimes you agree with the teachers, sometimes you don’t. What really matters is what you get at home, and how you realise yourself. A system that feels unfair, even humiliating, can also be something we talk about, debate, and put into perspective. And if you don’t take it too much to heart, perhaps it’s going to be okay.
From Story to Analysis
As I moved from my initial emotional reaction toward something more analytical and constructive, I discussed the situation with my weekly mums’ group. Together, we realised that having your child’s name placed in a space doomed to be “for bad children” is nothing less than public humiliation.
The entire system is structured around labelling children as bad. It’s not based on reward, encouragement, or even playful re-framing. Imagine if, instead of a dungeon, the swamp were a spa—a place for rest, reflection, and recharging. But no: the message is humiliation, punishment, darkness, and rejection.
This runs against everything we know from modern psychology about how children learn and grow. Negative feedback systems like this don’t build better behaviour; they inhibit learning—the most counterproductive outcome possible in a classroom.
Yes, Hungary has moved away from physical punishment, and I believe that teachers deserve to be heard and respected in class. Children must learn basic rules: don’t hurt one another, don’t disrupt the lesson. But we must also be realistic about what can be expected from a class of 29 six- and seven-year-olds, with only one teacher in charge.
What Can We Do About It?
It’s always nice to vent, and it’s good to be analytical—but for me, the most important question is: what can we actually do about this?
Do we write to the teacher and explain the benefits of a positive reward system?
Do we send an angry email about public humiliation?
Should we look up our human rights?
File a formal complaint?
Or—and this is the approach I find myself taking most often—should I place my trust in my children?
Placing Trust in Children
So once again, I choose to place my trust in my children. If you look around in the world of living creatures—mammals, who are so close to us, or even plants—you see that life is about constant adaptation and finding ways to survive.
I don’t believe it is any different in human society. Children, too, learn to adapt, to test the boundaries, to figure out how to survive and thrive in the systems they find themselves in. And perhaps our greatest role as parents is not to shield them from every flawed structure, but to support them as they learn to navigate and grow stronger through it.
Rewriting the Narrative
For us, Swampy has become the place where you can take a mud bath. It’s where you can party with your friends who ended up there too. Nothing more. The important part is to keep your values, participate in the lesson, and avoid disturbing others as much as possible.
What I tell my children is this: think of the swamp as a positive place. It’s like a spa where you can relax, enjoy a mud bath, and take a moment to think about what happened in school. It gives you a chance to recharge before you return to the castle.
By rewriting the story this way, I give my son space. If he really was a little naughty, he can reflect on it—but without carrying the weight of public humiliation. I also make it clear that the teacher is not the enemy. She is trying to keep the class going with the tools she knows. These are the systems she grew up with, and her environment didn’t know better.
But now we know there are better ways, and I can offer one. On his level, in words he can understand, I help him build a narrative that isn’t false, that doesn’t deny reality—but shifts perspective. In doing so, he has the chance to keep his integrity, protect his mental health, and grow stronger.
Holding Space and Choosing Trust
At the same time, I find this story extremely upsetting and, frankly, backwards. And I believe it is our responsibility to draw attention to such issues—not only to complain or attack the teacher, but to question systems that do more harm than good.
I truly believe this teacher wants to create a structure where children understand where they stand, and within her own capacity she is doing everything she can to make her class work. But I also believe in positive reinforcement. If research consistently shows that certain methods help children thrive, then it matters that we notice, and that we move toward them. That is what progress looks like.
At the same time, we cannot expect overworked teachers to always be open to new ideas. Respecting someone’s system does not mean I must accept it for my child without question. As a parent, I get to decide how I help my child make sense of the world, and how I prepare him for the future.
There are moments when I cannot write to the teacher, cannot lodge a complaint. In those moments, I let things follow their course—at least for a while—to see how the system develops. Because maybe, just maybe, the teacher herself will come to feel that this wasn’t the best approach. We don’t know yet; we have only just begun.
Giving space, patience, and the benefit of the doubt is often the wisest choice. And I have the space to hold precisely because I trust my child, and because together we can create an alternative narrative—one that is kinder, healthier, and ultimately more constructive.
A Child’s Perspective: Shrek in the Swamp
Fun fact: all through the weekend my son had been talking about Shrek, which he last saw two years ago. I couldn’t figure out why—until Sunday evening, when it finally clicked. He had been sent to the swamp at school, and in his mind he immediately connected it to Shrek: the jolly ogre who is helpful and kind.
It struck me that my job was done before I even started. Without me rewriting the narrative, he had already found one. The swamp was not humiliation. The swamp was Shrek’s home. And I couldn’t have been prouder of him.
Over to You
What’s your opinion?
How would you use positive reinforcement?
Have you had any traumas with negative reinforcement?
And what’s your take on it?
I’d love to hear your thoughts.
🖋️ Author’s Note
Melinda Meszaros is a writer, photographer, musician, and language teacher based in Budapest. Her creative work blends storytelling, social awareness, and personal reflection through her project Lenses & Lines.
