Half a century after the Romani (Gypsy) Holocaust, Danyi is not asking for any apologies from the Hungarian government.

Not for the two years he spent in grueling forced labor, first under Hungarian fascists in 1944, then under the Soviet army. Or for the indignity of being coerced to play his Stradivarius while fellow Roma prisoners, some weeping, continued to dig trenches. Or even for the return of the cherished violin, given to him by his grandfather and confiscated by the camp guards.

No, all Danyi says he wants is a little extra cash for his troubles. A retired factory worker, he receives a measly $99 pension each month, equal to a nice pair of Nikes in downtown Budapest.

"The least the state could do is to give me enough to buy my coffin," said the smartly dressed 70-year-old, his craggy face breaking into a sad, toothy grin.

Danyi and a small handful of Hungarian Roma survivors were on hand Saturday in Budapest to commemorate the Aug. 2, 1944, liquidation of the Zigeunerlager ("Gypsy Camp") in the Auschwitz concentration camp. Several thousand men, women and children were massacred to make room for new arrivals. By then, the Nazis had lumped together Roma and Jews as "alien, inferior" races best exterminated. Hundreds of thousands of Roma, countless because they were often nomadic and undocumented, perished across Europe. Even the number of survivors is unknown, but when and how they will be compensated has become a hot topic within the Roma community.

The Hungarian government has come under increasing pressure from American Jewish groups and the Clinton Administration to compensate all Holocaust survivors, and fork over property stolen by the Nazis or nationalized by the communists. At the same time, the European Union (EU) -- into which Hungary eagerly seeks membership -- has recently criticized Hungary for inadequate support of its half-million Roma. When Washington or Brussels says jump, Hungary doesn't seem to hesitate.

In June the Parliament, hoping to finally put the issue of Holocaust compensation behind it, passed a second law making everyone who survived the ghettos, labor camps and concentration camps eligible for an extra, compensatory pension. The first attempt, in 1992, was poorly publicized and drew few applicants from the generally uneducated, ill-informed Roma community.

By enacting the new law, Hungary became the first country in Central and Eastern Europe to provide a blanket compensation, though the exact amount to individuals has yet to be determined. For added measure, lawmakers a few weeks ago voted to set aside 480 million Hungarian forints ($2.5 million) for autonomous Roma institutions.

The recent decisions drew mild praise from deeply cynical Roma leaders.

"Hungary is buying its ticket to the EU ball," said Bela Osztojkan, a Roma writer and activist whose uncle and his family were deported and never seen again. "There are certain criteria we have to meet, and the Roma question is one of them."

The EU, for its part, is not entirely altruistic in its admonitions. Observers suggest that if Hungary and other prospective members were not to improve education and work opportunities for the mostly impoverished Roma, EU membership would likely trigger a westward exodus.

Hungarian officials downplay a Western role in steering domestic policy.

"We are somehow lagging behind on the (Roma compensation) issue,"Foreign Minister Laszlo Kovacs told the Monitor. "But finally we've realized this was a debt of the Hungarian government." The Roma appreciate having the West on their side; historically, they've had few allies. Since their arrival in Europe sometime about the 13th century, they've faced various forms of prejudice and persecution, and have been unable to shake the stereotype of being vagabonds, thieves or fortune-tellers.

The Third Reich took the boldest steps to purge itself of the Roma. Beginning in 1933, many Roma were subject to sterilization or internment in ghetto-like camps. According to the Nazi gameplan, they were to be the second question answered, after the Jews.

Figuring the magnitude of Roma deaths across Europe from 1933 to 1945 is mostly an educated guess; estimates range wildly from 250,000 to 1.5 million. While exhaustive research has pinpointed the number of Jewish victims at some six million, documenting the Roma experience is plagued by a lack of wartime record-keeping then and public apathy today, say Roma leaders.

Some Hungarians, for example, are unaware that Roma suffered a fate similar to the Jews. Roughly three-quarters of Hungary's 800,000 Jews were annihilated; the Roma death toll was anywhere from 5,000 to 70,000.

During Communism, public mention of the Holocaust was taboo in the state's effort repress inter-ethnic tension. And while West Germany first began to compensate its Roma survivors in 1953, it was denied to victims in the Soviet bloc because it was believed those regimes would pocket the hard currency. However, the regime's ideology also lent the Roma artificial equality with their compatriots, particularly in the workplace. Privately, though, they were -- and still are -- viewed as second-class citizens.

It is only since the system disintegrated in 1989 that the Roma have been able to muster their first real civil-rights movement. But when it comes to issues such as Holocaust compensation, the Roma find it impossible to match the political influence of international Jewry.

So they count on the Jewish community for assistance, said local leaders. Indeed, the World Jewish Congress is responding. They are speaking up for Roma in current negotiations with Swiss banks to locate assets deposited by Holocaust victims. Cooperation with the local Jewish community is another story, as Hungarian Jews are instead focused on how to revive the remaining community of 80,000.

"We know the Roma also suffered and we're sorry, but that's not the question," said Erno Lazarovits, a board member of the Federation of Jewish Communities in Hungary. "Every minority is busy solving its own big problems, with little time to find possibilities to help others."