Dear Czechs, You're Next
Romanian Official Openly Admits His Country's Election Cancellation Is Being Studied as a Model by Other EU Governments—Starting with the Czech Ministry of Internal Affairs
The idea that Romania’s 2024 democratic breakdown could serve as a replicable experiment across the European Union was evident to anyone closely observing the reaction—or lack thereof—from EU leadership at the time. At no point did European institutions invoke, reference, or even remind Romania of its obligations under Article 2 of the Treaty on European Union.
It’s not a complicated article:
Article 2: The Union is founded on the values of respect for human dignity, freedom, democracy, equality, the rule of law and respect for human rights, including the rights of persons belonging to minorities. These values are common to the Member States in a society in which pluralism, non-discrimination, tolerance, justice, solidarity and equality between women and men prevail.
Yet when Romania stepped away from the established, “civilized” democratic order, the EU elite behaved as if they had dodged a bullet—failing to acknowledge that annulling a democratic election on flimsy grounds strikes at the very foundation of the democratic process.
In other cases, a perception of democratic backsliding has triggered institutional responses—the EU has opened proceedings against countries like Poland and Hungary on far less substantial grounds, invoking Article 7 of the same treaty:
Article 7 (1): On a reasoned proposal by one third of the Member States, by the European Parliament or by the European Commission, the Council, acting by a majority of four fifths of its members after obtaining the consent of the European Parliament, may determine that there is a clear risk of a serious breach by a Member State of the values referred to in Article 2. Before making such a determination, the Council shall hear the Member State in question and may address recommendations to it, acting in accordance with the same procedure.
In Romania’s case—where the electoral process itself was overturned—Article 7 was never even mentioned.
While the EU’s institutions and heads of state failed to address this concern, others did grasp the gravity of the situation. The Economist responded by downgrading Romania to “Hybrid Regime” in its Democracy Index. Le Monde diplomatique warned of an “electoral liquidation” and a looming threat to the will of the people expressed through the ballot box. In both cases, these are voices that hardly align with right-wing populism.
The tactic of invoking the “Russian threat” to discredit any form of political opposition—regardless of how implausible the evidence—has now become a precedent. What nine months ago looked like a troubling experiment now appears to be studied for replication.
A few weeks ago, Romania’s Minister of Internal Affairs, Cătălin Predoiu—who already held the same position at the time of the annulled election—publicly stated that intelligence services across the Western world are analyzing Romania’s example. More than that: he explicitly named the Czech Republic as one of the countries where the Romanian method is being closely examined in advance of upcoming elections.
"I believe that what happened in Romania last year is currently being studied by all intelligence services in the Western world. Conclusions are being drawn, and countries are taking defensive measures, looking at how Romania defended itself. And here I can say that, in the end, the institutions defended the state. The Romanian state defended itself, protected its citizens, and defended the nation. The law is being applied, and justice will ultimately have its say. That is not something we, as part of the executive branch, should comment on.
But even recently […] at JHA1, my Czech colleague, for example, who is a good friend of mine, approached me and said: 'We also have elections in the autumn, and we're watching very closely what happened in your country.' And people have looked at Romania with great attention and respect, after things became clearer and everyone understood what had happened."
—Cătălin Predoiu, Romanian Minister of Internal Affairs, Vice Prime Minister
(Youtube link here)
This is no longer speculation. We now have the direct testimony of a senior Romanian official proudly explaining that the Romanian playbook is being observed, studied, and possibly adapted by other governments, including the Czech Republic, as they prepare for their own electoral cycle this October.
Now, what exactly could be studied? The emergency decision to annul an election, the Constitutional Court acting ex officio even though this was outside its mandate, and then annulling the entire election—also beyond its mandate—even after it had already validated the first round, was perhaps the most grotesque episode of all. One can only hope the Czech Republic will not sink to that level.
However, what followed in Romania is even more relevant: the activation of a censorship architecture operating under the framework of the DSA, which managed to silence critical journalists and deamplify opposition voices.
The Censorship Architecture
Censorship and speech control architecture may differ from one country to another in the European Union. Romania and the Czech Republic, in particular, stand at very different stages of implementing the Digital Services Act (DSA).
Romania is several steps ahead: the regulation has already been transposed into national law, and a Digital Services Coordinator (DSC) has been formally appointed—the ANCOM (National Authority for Management and Regulation in Communications). The long-established CNA (National Audiovisual Council) also received additional powers with the transposition of the DSA, strengthening its prerogatives to censor video content.
ANCOM has certified two trusted flaggers—entities granted privileged access to report online content on Very Large Online Platforms (VLOPs). One is the Elie Wiesel Institute for Holocaust Remembrance, focused on identifying antisemitic content; the other is Save the Children, targeting content involving abuse or endangerment of minors.
Based on an ongoing investigation I am conducting, there are serious indications that ANCOM is not fully complying with its mandate—particularly regarding transparency, redress mechanisms, and the obligation to mitigate systemic risks—including the executive interference in content moderation and its chilling effect on journalism. There may also be significant shortcomings in the mandatory reporting of moderation decisions, a topic I will address in more detail in a forthcoming article.
So far, it’s too early to say if both trusted flaggers have a clean track record—the information about their flagging activities isn’t public, and no mechanism allows journalists to match moderation decisions to the flagger who triggered them.
However, the enforcement ecosystem goes beyond these two actors, and some of the others involved are operating in clearly questionable ways. Among them are the fact-checkers. During the 2024–2025 election period—a time when Mark Zuckerberg himself publicly criticized the very fact-checking infrastructure financed by Meta—several prominent Romanian organizations operated with clear bias and selective scrutiny, perfectly illustrating the critique voiced by the Meta CEO.
I analyzed this dynamic in detail in a previous investigation, focusing on the case of Funky Citizens, a leading Romanian fact-checker that consistently avoided challenging narratives aligned with its funders or institutional allies. Its work during the election period revealed a pattern of selective fact-checking, and even one particularly consequential case where the organization made a blatantly flawed verification at a critical moment in the campaign—a lie.
It is also established that intelligence services in Romania have means to alter content visibility on Very Large Online Platforms—that would include Facebook, TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, X, and LinkedIn. While such access may be justifiable in matters of national security, it loses all legitimacy when leveraged by the executive to target legitimate political opposition or information of public interest. As with everything involving the Romanian intelligence services, heirs to the almighty Securitate, the protocol used to target content is secret and could vary — from direct access to online platforms, to infiltrating moderation teams, or infiltrating other actors within the censorship architecture.
And of course, we know that there are VLOPs’ moderators—employees or outsourced staff—who have a final word within the social networks—people who act behind closed doors, with whom we can barely ever have an interaction, although it would be priceless to understand what exactly drove them each time they switched a button on some content or some accounts.
In addition to all this, the European Commission may have quietly designated “monitoring reporters” under the Code of Conduct on Countering Illegal Hate Speech Online. In most countries, the identity and scope of these actors remain entirely undisclosed, making the system a black box. Only a few organizations have publicly acknowledged this role, raising further concerns about discretionary enforcement.
Last but not least, Romania activated a Rapid Response System (RRS) during its election period, drawing on signatories of the EU Code of Practice on Disinformation. At least one NGO—Expert Forum—was granted priority flagging status in 2025, effectively receiving a temporary “super-flagger” power during the campaign. This elevated role gave the organization a privileged channel to influence content moderation at speed and scale, but no information whatsoever is available so far about the content they flagged, and there is a general lack of transparency when it comes to their exact activities and funding, in addition to a series of red flags when it comes to their sponsors.
Beyond DSA
This entire enforcement architecture does not operate in a vacuum. Even before its downgrade to “hybrid regime” by The Economist, Romania was already ranked a flawed democracy. The country’s crisis goes well beyond platform regulation.
The independence of the judiciary is often in question, and Romania’s press remains financed by government money and infiltrated by intelligence services—a problem the EU Parliament itself acknowledged when it voted to include protections against such infiltration in the European Media Charter. Yet no structural reforms have followed.
At the top of this architecture stands the Constitutional Court, which played a central role in blocking the candidacy of leading opposition figures, suspending the election process, and enabling new laws to restrict speech.
Last but not least, the prosecution of the pro-sovereignty candidate, Călin Georgescu—on vague accusations of “attacking the constitutional order” and “promoting fascism”—looks like yet another case of abusive lawfare, part of a growing global trend seen from France to Brazil.
Meanwhile, a crucial detail appears to have been conveniently overlooked: the involvement of the ruling party, PNL—the party of Interior Minister Cătălin Predoiu—in financing parts of Călin Georgescu’s campaign through TikTok advertising.
The implication is staggering: PNL amplifies a rival’s campaign, accuses him of foreign interference, suspends the election, and remains in power. To call this electoral manipulation may be too generous.
Czech Republic and the Digital Services Act
The Czech Republic is currently at a very different stage of implementing the Digital Services Act. The regulation has not yet been transposed into national law, yet a Digital Services Coordinator has already been designated: the Český telekomunikační úřad (Czech Telecommunication Office).
As of now, there are no certified trusted flaggers operating in the country. However, there are Czech signatories to the EU Code of Practice on Disinformation—notably, the fact-checking organization Demagog and the news and web platform Seznam.
If Romania’s model is any indication, these actors could soon be granted election-time escalation privileges, potentially gaining fast-track access to content flagging and moderation systems under a Rapid Response System (RRS) framework.
More actors could also be invited to this mechanism, even if they aren’t signatories of EU Code of Practice on Disinformation. All in all, this raises familiar concerns: what safeguards exist to ensure that such actors operate independently of political or institutional influence? How is accountability ensured, especially during high-stakes electoral moments?
The Romanian experience has shown how easily a moderation infrastructure can be co-opted by executive powers to undermine democracy. When platforms, fact-checkers, flaggers, and intelligence services align too closely, the result is selective suppression of legitimate opposition, manipulation of public perception through information control and manufactured consent.
Red Flags Already Flying
Alarming developments in the Czech Republic suggest that the foundations for information control and political conformity enforcement are already being laid—even before the full implementation of the Digital Services Act.
One particularly troubling case involves Martina Bednářová, a teacher currently on trial for comments made during a media literacy class in which she shared her personal perspective on the historical roots of the Ukrainian-Russian conflict. The government prosecutor charged her with denying, questioning, and approving of genocide. The primary evidence: a secret 17-minute recording made on a mobile phone by one of her students.
Regardless of one’s views on the war in Ukraine, this prosecution represents a lawfare against speech—the use of criminal charges to enforce ideological conformity and silence dissenting interpretations in academic settings.
Another troubling episode involves internal dissent within the Information Support Center (StřIP), a unit of the Czech Armed Forces. Military personnel assigned to the center submitted a formal request for legal clarification after being instructed to monitor and document the political views of citizens on social media. Their task included compiling personal data of users expressing critical opinions about the Ministry of Defense, senior officials in the armed forces, and the war in Ukraine. These lists were to be stored in Microsoft OneDrive, in the form of lists and presentations containing the names of these persons and their political opinions. The military staff themselves questioned the legality of this surveillance and data collection. You can hardly find the story in Czech news, but you'll find articles pushing the executive's response, including on Seznam.
Taken together, these episodes suggest an institutional readiness to police speech, criminalize dissent, and normalize surveillance—under the banner of national security and European alignment.
The Calm Before the Storm
It’s the summer of 2025. Many are still on vacation; the Czech elections feel far away, though they are scheduled for October 3rd and 4th. On the surface, everything appears quiet. But as in Romania, executive overreach rarely announces itself in advance—it strikes suddenly.
We’ve already seen how it played out once. And we now know that the Czech Ministry of Internal Affairs is watching that Romanian model closely.
Which means that the very same methods—speech control, shadow-bans, deamplification, deplatforming, judicial suppression, and constitutional acrobatics—may be just a few months away from being deployed in Prague.
Dear people of the Czech Republic, pay attention.
You’re probably next.
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🔍 Since Romania’s annulled elections, my research has taken me deep into the EU’s Digital Services Act. Far from guaranteeing transparency, the DSA has so far revealed itself as a labyrinthine black box of censorship — full of doors leading to more censors, and almost none leading to those who care about transparency, appeals and redress mechanisms for the censored, or truth.
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Justice and Home Affairs Council