‘România Mea’

The sign on the left picture reads: ‘Our children will be free.’ (1989), whereas the one on the right picture reads: ‘Your children are free.’ (2024) /Source: Scena 9

The morning of November 25, I woke up to one of the darkest days in the recent history of Romania. A far-right, fascist, pro-Russian independent candidate won the first round of presidential elections. More than two million people voted for him. This is not a piece of news; it does not aim to inform or to make sense of what happened. I will not expand on the decades of corruption that has led the people to desperation, indifference, and deeply cultivated hatred for the Romanian political system. I won’t talk about the alleged illegal social media campaign that has taken political scientists and electoral polls by storm. That is not my purpose, yet this snippet of context is necessary to understand what I am about to say.

Anger is too simple of a word to encompass how debilitating it is to watch news updates from back home. An amalgamation of sentiment—fury, sadness, frustration, longing—has been tugging at my heart since that morning from dusk ‘till dawn. Its flame burns brighter with every picture of people protesting in University Square. The same place where, not even four decades ago, people chanted ‘Freedom!’ and rose against the dictatorial regime that chained them for half a century. People gave their life in the same square for one unifying goal: to take down a regime that has taken everything from them—their spirit, their voice, their lives. There was nothing more perplexing to a Romanian in 1989 than the idea that they were, at last, free; that they need not live in a constant state of debilitating fear. I was lucky enough to be born years after the fall of communism. Yet, its legacy is still a fresh, bleeding wound for Romania. My grandma still shushes me when I make a critical claim against politicians in public, momentary terror flashing in her eyes. My parents always fill our fridge to the brink, a painful reminder that there was once nothing in it for weeks.

I have only seen pictures of the 1989 revolution and heard snippets from my grandparents. It is enough for me to gather that history repeats itself, only now we fight with everything in us so that we do not, once again, fall into a dark path with no escape. A 1989 sign whose slogan reads ‘Our children will be free’ parallels a similar sign that reads ‘Your children are free’ in 2024. Both then and now, there are people from all walks of life, flooding our main boulevards as they make their way with banners in hand. Their voices crack, yet their eyes hold a determination that beats in tandem with my heart. Now, I witness a type of history I thought I would only read about in books. Writer George Santayana encapsulates it perfectly: ‘A people that does not know its history is condemned to repeat it’. And I believe the biggest tragedy of contemporary Romania is its struggle to remember their past and recognise the ominous signs plaguing our society.

Nothing rattles me to the core more than seeing the Romanian flag with a distinctive hole in the middle, symbol of the revolution, being flown once again by the same people who fought, survived, and lived through the revolution. These people have survived because of a single, impenetrable sentiment: hope for their future. I can only imagine the heaviness in their hearts as they once again embark on a journey they hoped would never have to face again.

My heart aches with desperation, my eyes dry from bursting into tears over and over again. The air is charged with tension and trepidation. Romania is on the brink of a historical turn and that burden rests heavily in the heart of each Romanian out in the street protesting, raising awareness, and standing in solidarity. I am terrified and I am lost. But there is one thing guiding me through this period, the same unifying force Romanians have fought for until their last breath: hope for a better, brighter tomorrow.