The Echoes of Romania’s Past and Its Current Political Landscape

In my attic, there’s a poster by Romanian caricaturist Mihai Stónescu, collecting dust amidst my collection of Polly Pockets and Barbie dolls. It actually belongs to my mother; she reminded me of that some time ago. The poster holds memories of my early adulthood, taped to my bedroom door, starkly stating, “previous: EU-RO-PA,” with “RO” depicted as fading. Below it, after a crucial date, it proclaims “After December 22, 1989: Europe,” signifying Romania’s return to Europe.

Stónescu, bold in his humor, took aim at the authoritarian Kauresh regime, even under constant watch. His artwork captured the aspirations of those in democratic Romania, especially during the 1989 revolution, which was fueled by the hope of a westward turn. A slogan that captured this spirit during the protests was, “copiii noștri vor fi liberi” (Our children will be free).

Now, those same children are poised to vote in a pivotal presidential election this Sunday. George Simion, a far-right candidate with an anti-EU stance, emerged as a prominent figure. He claimed victory in the first round back on May 4. It’s a curious time, I think—will the younger Romanians bring “RO” back to its rightful place?

When I mention I was born during Ceaușescu’s era, many recount their memories of the dictator and his wife facing execution. That revolution remains a vivid memory for many from the late 1980s.

Yet, in the aftermath, chaos derived from young-led protests unfolded. The infamous Mineriada soon followed. The tumultuous transition didn’t leave everyone feeling secure; it led to confusion about their new reality. One moment, a person could be a Communist, and the next, a Democrat—it’s an odd realization of how quickly things can change.

The new leader in the aftermath was a former Kremlin loyalist who swiftly switched his allegiance from Communism to democracy. His government, however, was largely composed of the same figures from the old regime. Ceaușescu may have fallen, but the old loyalists had adapted, and citizens were understandably wary of this continuity.

Protests began to bloom as early as January 1990 in Bucharest’s University Square. Mischaracterizations labeled the demonstrators, often referring to them dismissively as “punks.” It’s a term I can’t help but find familiar; I think of my mother at 30, my grandmother at 59, and their peers who bravely rallied during those tense nights, united in demanding authentic elections, genuine freedom, and the expulsion of the old guard.

My mother recalls an unspoken solidarity among the people. Romania was striving for democracy, and they were determined not to let it be hijacked again. There were no more KGB agents, no more security threats, and no longer the shadow of the Soviet Union. “You represent Romanian conscience on the European continent,” a poet replied to the crowd back then.

The quest for freedom wasn’t without cost, as Romania faced the lingering weight of Russian influence. The old guard wasn’t about to relinquish their grip on power easily, and the protesters often echoed slogans like, “Iliescu nu uita, te hotam la moscova” (Iliescu, don’t forget, your vote is in Moscow).

Day after day, speeches filled the university’s balconies overlooking the square, but soon, hunger set in. Both the new government and the demonstrators knew the stakes were high. Would Romania embrace a western path, or would the scars of oppressive rule prove too deep?

Of all the stories shared by my mother and grandmother about life under communism, I find the Mineriada protests particularly striking. They feel relevant, not just as history but as part of the ongoing struggle against oppressive regimes. The protests of 1990 embodied a suffocating thirst for liberty and self-determination.

Following several weeks of protests, the government decided to dispatch miners to Bucharest, undermined by a hidden police agenda. It was a calculated move by Iliescu, pitting one segment of the population against another. As my mother recalls, “When the miners came, everything changed. Fear settled back over the capital as they overwhelmed the citizens.” Iliescu had learned the art of manipulation well.

Up until recently, younger generations seemed unaware of these pivotal events. Polls in 2023 revealed a surprising sentiment: 48% of Romanians believed life was better under communism.

However, the unexpected success of lesser-known candidate Karin Jojuk in last November’s presidential election and alleged Russian interference has resurrected echoes of the past for today’s youth.

Targeted by Georgescu’s TikTok campaign, a notable 31% of voters aged 18-24 backed Anti-EU and Pro-Kremlin candidates. Nearly two decades after joining the EU, the specter of Russian influence seems to rise anew as gruesome events unfold just across the border in Ukraine. It’s unsettling, really.

Collectively, Romanian society has yet to truly grapple with its history. The victims and the perpetrators, along with those who merely stood by, navigate life side by side.

Reflecting on my own visit to Romania two decades later, I was struck to see my childhood neighbors still around—many former secret police members and party loyalists who appear benign today. The past? It seems mostly forgotten. Moving forward feels necessary, but can that truly foster healing and trust?

I wonder how strange it must be to walk through your neighborhood, interacting with individuals who once informed on you. There are educational efforts underway now, set to begin teaching about the communist regime’s impact from this September onward.

Recently, a flicker of hope reemerged. As Georgek makes strides towards the presidency, many pro-European Romanians flooded back into University Square, echoing the spirit of the 1990 generation. Their placards read: “You need the EU, not the KGB,” and “Your child is free,” referencing an iconic 1989 slogan. Last weekend, throngs gathered again, chanting in defiance of creeping extremism, “Nieto Kremlin, yes Europe.”

Iliescu, now 94, currently faces scrutiny himself, as charges regarding his role in the Mineriada protests loom.

On May 18, Romanians will confront a challenging choice between two visions: Simion, the far-right contender, or centrist Dan. In the initial round, the diaspora overwhelmingly opted for Simion.

I find myself searching high and low for that Stónescu Europa poster. Its absence nags at me, yet it also reminds me of the courage displayed by those who risked it all in 1989 and 1990—a yearning for a Romania unshackled by an oppressive regime.

Will the children of the revolution align their votes with the legacies of their parents and grandparents, or will the shadows of past narratives, overshadowed by selective memory, dominate their choices?

A line from the protest anthem, Punk Hymn (Imnuru Golanilur), resonates: “From all those who have died and fallen, we are again standing up like ghosts.” It’s a ghostly reminder that “RO” can return to its rightful place in Europe.