1989 The Romanian so called revolution part 1 Naked truth chapter 21

If you think it was bad think again

Photo by Val Vesa on Unsplash

DECEMBER 1989 THE END OF AN ERA

Since 1989, Romanians have measured time differently. One year since the revolution, then two, three, ten, twenty... and now, this year, thirty-five. Thirty-five years. Martha couldn’t quite believe it—35 years?! It felt like pinching herself was the only way to ground the thought. Slowly, she whispered aloud, letting the weight of each word settle: thirty-five years since the revolution... the so-called revolution.

Time, for Romanians, splits like history itself: before and after. Much like the world counts years before Christ and after Christ, her nation recounts everything as before 1989 and after 1989. And it still feels surreal.

This December, Martha found herself drawn to Adrian Păunescu, the poet who, through controversy and genius, gave voice to the Romanian soul. She searched online for one of her favorite lines:

"Doamne, ocrotește-i pe români."
("God, protect the Romanians.")

These words struck deeper than ever this year. Given the political turmoil and betrayals of her country, given the relentless foreign political interventions—betrayals that St. Nicholas himself seemed to bring as a “gift” to the people this December—the plea felt both desperate and timeless.

Martha held onto those words, letting them echo through her being. She felt every syllable reverberate like a pulse, a shared grief, a hope, and a cry:
God protect the Romanians.

“God, do not forget us,
We are poor, full of needs,
God, protect the Romanians.

We are poor and full of bitterness,
Our crying is in vain,
God, protect the Romanians.

You poor, rich country,
Much have you lived upset,
God, protect the Romanians.

Crude bitterness has filled us,
Our crying is even more deaf,
God, protect the Romanians.

My holy Transylvania,
For a long time you have been coveted,
God, protect the Romanians.

But our Transylvania is holy,
Ever since we have been on earth,
God, protect the Romanians.” - Adrian Paunescu - “God do not forget about us”

For many, December is a month of joy—filled with presents, ridiculous Christmas sweater days at work, family reunions, festive drinks, and celebration. But for Martha, December evokes a completely different set of memories, feelings, and experiences.

DECEMBER WAS STUDY TIME

Thirty-five years ago, in mid-December, Martha was in her third year at university, buried in books and preparing for her winter exams. Among her subjects was Mechanics of Materials—one of the toughest and most dreaded courses in her program. She hated it but had no choice but to push through, with exams looming at the end of the month.

TIMISOARA

On December 16, 1989, the winds of change began to stir in Romania. It started in Timișoara, where people gathered in solidarity with László Tőkés, a Hungarian Reformed pastor targeted by the Communist regime for his outspoken criticism. By the next day, the crowd had grown, spilling into the main square, where voices rose in unison, chanting “Libertate!” (“Freedom!”). The authorities’ response was brutal. A state of emergency was declared, and military forces opened fire on civilians. Many were killed; others were wounded.

Martha’s memories of how she first learned about Timișoara are hazy. Perhaps it was her father who told her? She isn’t sure. But what she knows with absolute certainty is that nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared her for what was about to unfold.

Nothing was broadcasted on the national TV Chanel or radio channels so information was coming via word of mouth, people who knew people and via “Free Europe” a radio channel broadcasted from Germany, one many Romanians used to listen to in secret.

At the time, she was still consumed with her studies, doing what she had been trained to do her entire life: focus, work hard, and meet expectations. Her world revolved around textbooks, the daunting exams ahead and nothing prepared her for what was about to come.

NOTHING HAPPENS WITOUT BETRAYAL

Looking back, Martha can’t help but believe that Ceaușescu had been betrayed long before December 1989. It seemed clear that everything had been meticulously orchestrated, leaving little room for spontaneity. How else could he have left for a state visit to Iran in the midst of escalating street violence and brutal military repression? By the time he returned on the evening of December 20th, the mechanisms of his downfall were already in motion.

Thirty-five years later, what remains is a heap of scripts and hypotheses attempting to piece together the truth. Every supposed certainty from that time has since unraveled, exposing itself as nothing more than a carefully constructed bunch of lies.

Experiencing such a traumatic series of events—witnessing a regime change seemingly overnight and being bombarded with endless rumors and lies—left Martha deeply skeptical. Each new scenario pushed by the system only heightened her distrust. It sharpened her ability to see beyond political actions, the carefully crafted words of politicians, and the scripts they followed. She learned to question everything, looking for the truths hidden beneath the surface. Years later when she found herself in a Western country she found the same thing. The difference? Compliance and a blind trust in what authorities promote, say, push.

Her fingers are nearly frozen as she types the words. The past has blended with the present. This is how she grew up—cold in the house, with winter heating a rare luxury. Improvisation was key; they'd light the stove and leave the gas on for hours, opening the kitchen door once the pressure was at a safe level. Layering up with clothes, sometimes even wearing a hat indoors, was the only way to survive. It was normal—it was all she knew—and complaining was never an option. Enduring, no matter what, performing, no matter what, was what she had to do. And it served her well in that environment. But years later, she realized that enduring had become her way of life, and it worked against her time and time again.

The almighty Western world… where’s the difference? Here, the electricity costs are prohibitive, and she has to bite her lip, add another layer, and face the harsh reality once again that things are far from better. Still, one has to laugh—or perhaps just take the piss—and carry on.

A cup of her magical brew in her hands ….she can now feel the fingers again and it is time to step back in time.

On the evening of the 18th of December, the three of them were at home. It was a dreaded date. A phone call from her father’s distant cousin brought the news that her grandmother had died. What followed was a whirlwind of arrangements—her parents called their offices and took days off, bags were packed, and early the next morning, they set off for the railway station to begin the eight-hour journey to a small village in the northern part of Moldova. Years later, the same date would strike again, with a cruelty that felt unbearable, a cruelty that would leave its mark forever.

Martha had to stay behind to prepare for her exams. She hadn’t seen her grandmother in eight years and hardly remembered her as conflict and drama impacted on all potential relationships with that side of the family. However, she held onto vignettes, snapshots connected to grandma Dumitra, snapshots from her garden—the morning sounds of the rooster, the majestic walnut tree, the toilet at the end of the garden, the dry corn stacked in large heaps on the veranda, the traditional cooking pots “tuci," the corn husks used instead of wood for cooking, her grandmother’s wide smile, the earth floor covered with colourful carpets, her tiny frame but strong presence, and her dark complexion, much like Martha’s own.

What Martha also remembers and treasures are her father’s words: “You are as generous as your grandmother. She used to give everything to those in need, even the shirt off her back.”

The Ferret used to say, "You’re not generous, you’re just stupid." Years later, Martha sometimes wonders if The Ferret was right.Was she?

To be continued

Until next time, be well!

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