European Psycho (draft 1)

The situation in Romania carries fundamental lessons about the disfranchisement of people and the capture of institutions. It also sets a battlefield for an epic war between globalism and sovereignty.

I’ve been observing Romania for quite a long time. My first visit was in 1995, I moved here in 1999, and 15 years ago, I settled in its countryside. My bond with this country began with the warmth of its people—a sentiment echoed by countless foreigners who visit, discover the Romanian people, and stay. I’ve witnessed Romania’s major milestones: joining NATO, and entering the EU. I spent 2005-2009 creating social documentaries and publishing a translated newspaper with a leading local media group.

The 2000s in Romania were electric. Bucharest buzzed with energy, a semi-chaotic city celebrating its integration into the Western world while grappling with its multifaceted identity—Balkanic, Carpatic, Central European, Christian, Oriental yet European, open to the Black Sea and its neighbors. Meeting journalists and activists felt like witnessing the promises of 1989 come to life. Transparency and accountability were the buzzwords.

Optimism was high: many believed the PSD’s (social democrat party) grip on institutions would weaken, and the reign of local barons would crumble under fearless journalism. Scandals were being exposed, journalists were bold, and civic projects were flush with funding. Some friends, backed by Soros’ Open Society Foundation, encouraged me to seek funding for my social documentaries. I didn’t, but the flow of resources made it feel like people had a real chance to build something meaningful.

Around the time my local media partner was dismantled by its shareholders, my wife and I moved to the countryside to pursue a more independent life, as we were relying on the unstable income from film and writing projects. Fifteen years later, I’m convinced staying in Bucharest wouldn’t have given me the same insight into how this country slid into its current mental meltdown.

My disfranchised Romania

We moved to the Romanian countryside—a bucolic, backward area where horses and cows still roamed the village. Every household raised a pig slaughtered for Christmas, grew vegetables, and distilled alcohol. As a Frenchman shaped by mass consumption, I was struck by the small fields, untouched by intensive farming, and the vibrant biodiversity—birds and insects in numbers rare in the West.

The people felt like a glimpse into a France that no longer exists: close-knit communities, strong social ties, and families sticking together, building homes side by side. Romania’s 94% homeownership rate reflects this resilience—people clung to their homes, however modest. We lived that same spirit, moving into our unfinished, self-built house in 2009, ready enough to face winter.

Since then, this “Romanian paradise” has been steadily wrecked, and understanding this is essential to grasp what has happened to Romania.

A Romanian writer—one of the few rational voices in the hysterical storm following the rise of outsider and now-favorite populist candidate Georgescu—captured the essence of this decline. In an article, Vasile Ernu described visiting the countryside of Moldova, Romania’s culturally Romanian neighbor, during the pandemic:

“During lockdown, I discovered peripheral urban areas that ignored the restrictions. At first, I thought it was distrust of the virus, but it ran deeper—a defiance of the state and its institutions. They saw themselves as abandoned: ‘Where have you been for 30 years? Why should we obey a state that abandoned us? Now you come to give orders? We owe you nothing—our social contract is over. Your laws apply in the center; here on the periphery, we’ve managed on our own for 30 years and will keep doing so.’”

This deeply resonates with me, I have spent the COVID crisis in the countryside and witnessed a blend of rural common sense and defiance against the state, and I had felt the lack of a social contract with the center way before this crisis.

The state’s abandonment was evident everywhere: in dismal doctors’ and teachers’ salaries, crumbling infrastructure, and the lack of healthcare investment. The closest hospital to my home is in such a dire state it would terrify any Western visitor. People were more afraid of falling into the hands of the doctors than of getting sick.

Secondly, the only way for many to improve their status was to leave. Some commuted daily, enduring three to four hours of travel to work in the city. Most gave up raising animals—cows and horses disappeared one by one. Others took a more radical step: they left the country, joining the Romanian diaspora, now comprising 15%~20% of the population. As one hard-right party put it, it’s “the biggest diaspora ever in peacetime.”

Abroad, they became “the immigrant” within the same EU bloc where they are citizens—taking on petty jobs or grueling, back-breaking labor, often ill-prepared to demand their rights and isolated in foreign cultures. They lived like divers holding their breath, enduring until they could return home.

This wasn’t immediately obvious to me—I had spent a good part of my life traveling, where every destination felt enriching. But traveling with money to enjoy food and culture is vastly different from emigrating out of necessity. Many Romanians went abroad in “commando mode”, staying just long enough to save money, then returning to buy a car, build or improve a home, or pay for medical care. That is, if they were lucky to not have their salary stolen by crooks intermediaries.

A recent Politico article offers a comprehensive overview of Romania’s economic landscape, highlighting Bucharest’s transformation from one of Europe’s least developed capitals into a significant economic hub. Notably, Bucharest’s GDP per capita, adjusted for purchasing power parity (PPP), now surpasses that of Paris. This stark contrast between the capital’s wealth and the rest of the country mirrors disparities usually seen in emerging markets of the Global South.

When the COVID lockdown began, the Romanian diaspora became nobody’s citizens. As ill-advised—or ill-intended—politicians willingly halted the economy, this invisible mass of individuals struggling to make a living “in the West” suddenly became a massive, visible cohort trying to return home. In Romania, no matter how bad things got, they could figure a way to survive. In the West, they faced the prospect of being kicked out without a meaningful safety net.

Much like Vasile Ernu tried to explain to a surprised, educated crowd that there was a country beyond their bubble, I have often found myself explaining this part of Romania, seemingly on the verge of secession. Especially to foreigners who wondered why so many Romanians rejected the COVID narrative, leading to such low vaccination rates.

My explanation was simple: Romanians have a deeply ingrained reflex to spot government propaganda. And during COVID, it looked like one massive propaganda circus: doctors dancing in promotional videos, churches closed, spineless artists complicit in the messaging, media outlets paid to spread the narrative, and posters everywhere glorifying “our heroes”, the doctors—people every Romanian in the countryside had been forced to bribe at some point.

Secondly, many people questioned how even basic biological facts they’d learned in school were now being dismissed as fake. Despite the decline of the education system, it still stems from a decent foundation, as in most former communist bloc countries. When people realized that even after recovering from the virus, they were still expected to get vaccinated or face social exclusion through the COVID passport system, much of the public discourse became, very fortunately, inaudible. To many, it was clear: the elite was up to something.

It’s important to understand that resentment toward the “elite” was deeply rooted from the supposedly classless communist era. The intelligentsia, apparatchiks— higher-ranking members of the Communist Party and the Securitate—were, in reality, the privileged elite. Today, for reasons I’ll elaborate on later, many of those individuals and their descendants make up the new elite. During the COVID crisis, people couldn’t ignore that this same group was lecturing the “plebs” to accept a vaccine that didn’t prevent transmission, didn’t prevent illness, wasn’t necessary for children, yet was imposed on them—despite later being shown to have a negative benefit-risk balance for kids.

I may be stating the obvious, but if you come for someone’s kids, their parents, or their neighbors—and people in their village see that those who fall ill or, worse, die, are the ones who took the shot—it’s not going to end well.

Last but not least, Romanians are very Christian—one of the most Christian nations in the world, surpassed only by East Timor and the Vatican in the share of believers. Fortunately, Orthodox Christianity is highly decentralized in how it connects with followers. Singular voices— duhovnici (special priests or monks with a gift for guidance and understanding personal struggles)—often hold more influence than the Patriarch himself.

This decentralized faith was pivotal during the crisis, offering solace and strength as people faced the trauma of lockdowns, fear of the virus, and the uncertainty of a crumbling world. It became a North Star when everything else seemed to fall apart.

After the COVID crisis came rampant inflation, driven by massive monetary injections during lockdowns then exacerbated by the war in Ucraine and the backfiring of sanctions against Russia, particularly on energy prices and their devastating impact on European industry. This triggered a second wave of suffering for “my Romania”—the one outside Bucharest.

Inflation hit hardest on lower incomes, where food expenses dominate household budgets. The impact was severe: Eurostat data, as reported by Politico, shows food prices skyrocketed by 75% over six years, while overall prices rose by 50%. Both figures outpaced the EU average, dealing a heavy blow to the standard of living.

(screenshot from Politico article)

This led to widespread food insecurity. While statistics might not fully account for the auto subsistence economy—where people rely on their vegetable gardens and livestock—one thing is clear: those who had shifted to a more mobile lifestyle, whether commuting to cities or working abroad on short-term missions, could no longer produce their own food.

Between 2018 and 2024, the share of people unable to afford a meal with meat, chicken, or fish every other day rose from 16% to 23.3%. These are real people slipping into poverty, eating less than they need, and their voices must be heard.

This part of the story is the obvious backdrop that any serious media outlet should have covered: disfranchised people, rising costs of living, exploding inequalities, a boiling resentment stemming from the lockdown policies.

Not the end of the story…

The story could end here: any candidate capable of representing these disenfranchised people would naturally find success. Questions of “how”, “when”, and “where” would simply become topics for expert analysis. Demographic dynamics would be examined through statistical and sociological studies. The traction of messages or ideological positions would fall under the scope of political and sociological scrutiny. And the medium chosen for campaigning would be explored in media and social media research.

But we cannot stop here: the entire country has plunged into a brutal collective psychosis that has swept everything away.

To put it plainly: a horde of individuals from the mainstream media, on social network and in the streets erupted in outrage at the emergence of a voice representing the disenfranchised. They began spreading their indignation by smearing the candidate—and anyone supporting him—as a “pro-Russia” or “anti-NATO”, “anti-EU”, resorting to slurs about education, hygiene, or worse. If this phenomenon had been limited in scope, I might have dismissed it as a trivial tantrum from a small privileged class sensing a loss of power. But it’s been everywhere, weaponized, and impossible to ignore—I have to address it.

Meanwhile, every thoughtful observer has spent the last two weeks questioning the true nature of these events, asking: who is behind this? Who is pulling the strings? Normally, a handful of people spinning theories wouldn’t matter. But for reasons deeply rooted in Romanian history—and which I must unravel—this question has consumed every serious mind.

Finally, after nearly two weeks of collective turmoil, a clear conclusion suddenly emerged about the battle unfolding in Romania. Understanding it holds immense significance for the West and beyond.

But first, we must recognize that when we talk about Romania, we’re discussing a very unique country whose distinct history over the past hundred years has set the stage for the massive collective mental meltdown we are witnessing today.

Romania’s background, the Totalitarianism legacy

At the end of WWI, Romania’s unification in 1918, known as the Great Union, brought together all Romanian-speaking territories and heralded a golden age of prosperity. During the interwar years, the Iron Guard (Legionari), a radical and mystic nationalist movement, gained influence. Amid looming threats from the Soviet Union, Romania was forced to cede Bessarabia and Northern Bukovina in 1940 under the terms of the Stalin-Hitler Pact. Shortly after, King Carol II abdicated for his son, Mihai, while General Ion Antonescu assumed dictatorial powers—initially in alliance with the Iron Guard.

The alliance between Antonescu and the Iron Guard quickly collapsed. The Legionari instigated violent anti-Semitic pogroms, including the notorious Bucharest Pogrom. In 1941, after the Iron Guard’s rebellion, Antonescu crushed the movement, consolidating his power and establishing a military dictatorship.

Leading Romania into World War II as an Axis Power, Antonescu waged war against the Soviet Union alongside Nazi Germany to reconquer lost territories. His regime brutally targeted Jewish communities, particularly in Moldova and Odessa, after reclaiming territories previously ceded to the Soviets, accusing them of Soviet sympathies. His regime also targeted the Roma minority.

On August 23, 1944, as Soviet forces advanced, King Mihai led a coup against Antonescu, deposing him and aligning Romania with the Allies. Nevertheless, Romania found itself on the “wrong side of the Yalta deal”, left exposed to Soviet domination in the post-war settlement.

Communism in Romania is often viewed as a foreign imposition, largely enforced by the Soviet Union after World War II. Initially a marginal political force, the Romanian Communist Party (PCR) rose to power with Soviet backing, establishing one of the Eastern Bloc’s most oppressive regimes.

The early years of communism in Romania were marked by the infamous “Pitesti Experiment”, a brutal reeducation program aimed at breaking the spirit of political prisoners. Among those targeted were individuals deeply rooted in faith, who were subjected to horrific, degrading, and grotesque torture. Prisoners were forced to mimic religious rituals using excrement, among other inhumane practices. Some of the victims, known as the “Jail Saints”, became revered as spiritual figures embodying moral resistance in the face of unimaginable cruelty. Work camps were used to mentally break political prisoners.

Under Nicolae Ceaușescu’s leadership, the PCR achieved unprecedented control over Romanian society, with the Securitate, the omnipresent secret police, at its core. By the 1980s, the Securitate was recruiting 20,000 to 25,000 new informants each year, infiltrating every layer of society. Informants and traitors could be colleagues, neighbors, or even family members. This atmosphere of suffocating paranoia effectively silenced all dissent.

The 1989 Revolution, though marked by the bravery of individuals who fought and died for freedom, is widely regarded as a coup orchestrated by the “second line” of the Communist Party and the Securitate. Theories persist about a secret deal between U.S. President Ronald Reagan and Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev, suggesting an organized regime change. Regardless, the outcome clearly shows that the revolution was hijacked by members of the old elite—those outside Ceaușescu’s immediate circle but deeply embedded in the regime. These “second knives” ensured that power remained within the PCR and Securitate networks. Figures like Ion Iliescu, a former high-ranking communist official, became central to the new political order.

This transition allowed the structures of the old regime to adapt and persist, embedding themselves within the new Romanian state and its institutions. The shock therapy economic reforms of the 1990s, especially privatizations, enabled blatant theft of national assets, further solidifying the influence of these entrenched networks.

Fast forward to the early 2000s, Romania’s intelligence services underwent significant changes in their practices, particularly during Traian Băsescu’s presidency. While Băsescu’s anti-corruption campaign initially showed promise, his regime increasingly used the intelligence community to target political opponents and rival interests. The Romanian Intelligence Service (SRI) became deeply embedded in the judicial system, ostensibly supporting investigations but often circumventing due process and leaking information to the press. This period marked the resurgence of the intelligence services as a powerful and opaque force within the state.

One of the most alarming aspects of the intelligence services’ resurgence emerged a few years later with revelations of their infiltration into the media. In 2014, prominent journalist and lead anchorman Robert Turcescu publicly admitted to being an undercover intelligence officer, sparking a national debate about the role of spies in shaping public narratives. Around the same time, SRI director George Maior openly lauded the presence of intelligence agents in newsrooms, validating long-held suspicions: Romania’s fourth estate had been infiltrated and weaponized as an extension of executive power.

The idea of an independent press, vital to democracy, was deeply compromised. While in the West we might often lament the media’s complacency toward political power, the reality here is far grimmer: state agendas, interest groups’ objectives, and political PR stunts have almost entirely supplanted genuine journalism.

If I could make one appeal, it is this: Romania must remove intelligence operatives from the press, as urged by the European Parliament in its 2014 Media Charter, and visibly flag all content produced by such individuals. Every article or social media post linked to their activities should carry a clear warning—much like the labels applied to state-funded media on platforms like Twitter/X. A meaningful public dialogue is impossible when the Fourth Estate functions as a tool of the state.

Listening, spying, and gathering intelligence are legitimate roles for an intelligence agency. But turning newsrooms and their social network echo chambers into tools of state control is a profound violation of democratic principles.

The question is not whether Romania wants to remain part of the Euro-Atlantic community—it unquestionably does, as does nearly everyone, including populists, despite efforts to discredit them by labeling them as anti-EU or anti-NATO.

The real question is whether a Romania dominated by its intelligence services has ever truly met the standards required to be part of the Euro-Atlantic community.

And let me stress this: removing Romanian undercover agents from the press also means removing those who act or have acted in the international press and flagging their content.

I hope this extensive overview of Romania’s traumatic history sheds light on the triggers behind the widespread paranoia following outsider Călin Georgescu’s unexpected lead in the first round of elections. Garnering approximately 23% of the vote, Georgescu surpassed main candidates such as PSD’s Marcel Ciolacu and USR’s Elena Lasconi, both around 19%, and AUR’s George Simion at 14%.

After some drama involving a recount, the Constitutional Court dismissed a contestation and issued a final decision validating the first round of election. The final round was scheduled for December 8, pitting Mr. Georgescu against Ms. Lasconi, representing USR—a party historically linked to some 2000s-era Soros activists, closely tied to certain interest groups within the intelligence services, and allied with Macron’s LREM in the European Parliament.

Offsided media and the TikTok Blitzkrieg

This outcome has unsettled many, as old traumas resurface, pushing the nation toward a state of hysteria and paranoia, with the media suddenly mobilized to ensure the right candidate prevailed.

Most of the press suddenly started playing a “sum of all fears” card, which does little to steer people toward a reasonable approach to the situation or help them identify those who can offer one. On any given day, often within the same article or Facebook post (Facebook is the romanian public square—yes, this is part of the problem too), Georgescu was labeled as Legionar, Antonescian, antisemitic, pro-Russia, Iliescian, anti-EU, Securist, Putinist, Ceausescian, and even Zionist. He’s portrayed as embodying every conceivable fear, regardless of the contradictions.

The media refused to acknowledge that Georgescu has clarified his criticisms of the EU and NATO, stressing that his stance is about negotiating better terms from within, not leaving these organizations. Furthermore, such a move would be far beyond the President’s authority, requiring parliamentary approval, a public referendum, and constitutional amendments. In essence, the media’s predominant fear of exiting the Euro-Atlantic community is, from the outset, completely unfeasible. It’s sheer hysteria.

In a way, this can be explained by the existential threat these events posed to them. As Professor Paul Dragoș Aligică aptly noted:

“If social media proves that it can replace the role of propagandists (or, more precisely, if the function of propaganda can be carried out simply by bypassing traditional media platforms), this entire immense class of individuals and infrastructure is faced with a colossal historical and technological obsolescence.

Thus, it is crucial for them, at this moment, to demonstrate their “propaganda credibility” and their ability to conduct active measures. This is a struggle between traditional propaganda, delivered through conventional media, and TikTok and other new social networks.

I repeat: for them, this is an existential matter. An entire class and structure of individuals specializing in various forms of support for these mechanisms—a complete trophic chain spanning from “experts”, “NGOs”, “institutes”, and polling companies to studios and newsrooms—are now facing an existential threat.

If these media outlets fail to reaffirm their propaganda credibility, they will be forced either to reinvent themselves to fulfill the normal function of media—informing, analyzing, and educating—or to disappear. Hence the disarray we are witnessing.”

Although not entirely unknown—having served in Romania’s environment and foreign affairs Minitries and at the United Nations, and being a recurring potential Prime Minister candidate considered by President Băsescu and later proposed by the right-wing patriotic party AUR to President Iohannis—Călin Georgescu’s campaign had been largely under the radar. With limited access to mainstream media, minimal presence on Facebook, and a primary focus on TikTok, he remained an enigmatic figure to those outside that platform.

A significant opportunity for transparency and competitive debate was missed when Georgescu was excluded from the only candidate debate hosted by Digi24—a Romanian equivalent of MSNBC, firmly aligned with… the establishment.

A few days before the vote, I noticed a dramatic spike in Google searches for Georgescu on Google Trends. While intriguing, I wasn’t sure it would translate into a landslide.

The night before the vote, I logged onto TikTok and was stunned by an overwhelming flood of personal messages supporting Georgescu. It felt strikingly reminiscent of the Trump re-election videos—you know, those clips of people proudly flaunting their “I Voted” stickers while doing the Trump dance to YMCA.

By Saturday and Sunday, the surge in Google searches had become staggering. It was an electoral Blitzkrieg, months in the making, culminating in a barrage of viral messages unleashed in the final days and even hours before the vote.

Looking back at the posts featuring Mr. Georgescu, his messages were simple, direct, and perfectly tailored for the TikTok audience. They revolved around themes like peace, energy sovereignty, food sovereignty, boosting the added value of local production, and restoring Romania’s international standing—topics that were catchy, straightforward, and easy to grasp.

Occasionally, longer statements took on a tone that might feel unsettling to a typical Western European observer, weaving in ideas of God, dignity, eternity, light, “exiting the Matrix”, and an eclectic array of buzzwords. Statements like, “My annihilation would be the annihilation of the Romanian people” [by the system], cast him in a messianic light, tying his personal fate to that of the nation.

To add to the mystery, his declared campaign financing was… zero. The press began digging up old videos, but their circulation may have only amplified his reach while further enraging an already indignant elite. Puzzling statements such as, “The time has come, before the end of the ages, for us Romanians to know that we have been on this land since the creation of the world”, might have played to his advantage despite their oddity.

One of the most outrage-inducing statements may have only solidified everyone’s stance:

“The one who fights for God and the nation will never be defeated. The Romanian people have never lived as slaves but through Ștefan cel Mare, Mihai Viteazul, Horia, Avram Iancu, Cuza, Kogălniceanu, Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, Marshal Ion Antonescu, and many, many other heroes. Through them, national history has lived; through them, national history speaks—not through the lackeys serving globalist powers who temporarily govern Romania today.”

Lastly, Georgescu’s endorsement of the Romanian translation of Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s book on Anthony Fauci, for which he wrote the preface in the Romanian edition, solidified his credibility among those seeking a connection to the Republican revolution in America and yearning for retribution against the COVID lockdowns and mandates.

Technofacism

All the fears converged within the Euromaniac outraged crowd—a mix comprising the USR base, progressive activists, and the usual urban elite who have been the primary beneficiaries of EU integration.

Instead of trying to understand the situation and connect with those reluctant to rally behind their candidate—mockingly dubbed the “Kamala of Câmpulung” (a satirical critique of Elena Lasconi, the mayor of Câmpulung)—they chose to radicalize. They resorted to shouting slogans about staying in the EU (despite the fact that leaving was never on the table), smearing opponents, and spreading falsehoods.

This party has become a haven for civil society figures and networks that once benefited from Soros funding — people who, over time, shifted ther focus from advocating for ethnic minority rights and press freedom to adopting the now-familiar “woke” tantrums, centered on combating “hate speech” and silencing their opponents.

But beyond all this, there’s a troubling sense of caste-like, upper-class entitlement that has fostered toxic behavior among individuals who might otherwise be expected to act with moderation. Many of the posts that went viral within their bubble from 2018 onward are grossly inappropriate.

To provide some context, their initial momentum stemmed from the traumatic Colectiv nightclub fire disaster in 2015, where 64 people tragically lost their lives due to poor safety standards and inadequate government response. This tragedy gave rise to the Romanian #RESIST movement, which began as an anti-corruption protest in Bucharest’s main square, calling for the resignation of PSD Prime Minister Victor Ponta—and ultimately succeeding in forcing his resignation. At first, it appeared to be a reasonable movement aimed at tackling systemic corruption. However, even then, the infiltration of anticlerical activism was beginning to alienate some potential supporters.

Later, in the first month of 2017, they gathered again to protest the newly elected PSD government, which was attempting to pardon many of its convicted members—allegedly claiming they were targeted by weaponized secret services. Regardless of the validity of the claims on either side, it was striking to witness a crowd mobilized to topple a freshly elected government.

It was at this point I realized something was off. Some of my contacts, both former and current activists, openly celebrated news that schoolchildren were chanting “PSD - the red plague” (“PSD - ciuma roșie”) in their classrooms. This immediately brought to my mind the indoctrination of youth under totalitarian regimes.

From that moment on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the RESIST/USR center-progressive crowd had become intoxicated by their own power, losing sight of basic principles of humanity. They seemed to embody Nassim Taleb’s idea that a tiny radical minority can impose its views on the majority, particularly in an age of technological overhauls. A case can be made that this represents a new phenomenon: a center-progressive movement of the priviledged supporting technocracy over democracy—a technofascism (for lack of a better term).

A particularly shocking incident occurred in 2018 during a protest by elderly people against the dire conditions they endured due to inadequate pensions (a protest supported by the PSD). Some counter-protesters from the #RESIST movement threw 1-leu banknotes (worth around 20 pennies) at the elderly demonstrators, laughing and photographing themselves as an elderly man bent down to pick up the money. A USR representative shared the image, which quickly went viral.

Later, during the pandemic, the same group—many of whom had been part of my circle since the 2000s—began sharing racist pro-lockdown jokes targeting the Roma community. Interestingly, the sovereignty movement, with the exception of Ms. Sosoaca, does not flirt with racism, in contrast to some similar movements in the West. In fact, AUR is well-regarded within the Roma community, particularly for its stance during the pandemic, protesting lockdowns and mandates.

However, this support led USR backers to adopt the term HAUR—a derogatory and racist slur that mocks an allegedly Roma accent while reinforcing stereotypes about the Roma community’s association with metal collection and gold jewelry. The word aur means “gold” in Romanian and also serves as the acronym for AUR, the Alliance for the Union of Romanians.

One especially infamous meme depicted a Roma man at a protest, joking that he would be asking for the reopening of theaters, which had been closed due to the lockdowns. To fully understand the implications of this, one must recognize the underlying prejudice and mockery.

Without this context, it’s difficult to grasp how those who claim to be defenders of the EU—a political project deeply significant to many Romanians—are simultaneously fueling such profound resentment.

These individuals are stoking resentment among those who were hit hardest by the lockdowns, excluded from the economic benefits of EU integration, or alienated by the imposition of a woke ideology understood and embraced only by the urban upper class. The curtailment of freedoms during the pandemic, coupled with the subsequent push for “hate speech” policies—often enforced through Facebook’s censorship—has only served to deepen the divide.

Nowadays, within the same crowd, there is a constant stream of insults and smears aimed at the “uneducated” and “unwashed” TikTok population that voted for Georgescu. It feels like Hillary Clinton’s infamous “deplorables” moment playing on repeat, with no one stepping up to confront these entitled individuals or offering them the mirror they so desperately need to reflect on how violent and dismissive their behavior has become.

Just a few days ago, a former international Romanian journalist (that is, possibly an infiltrated asset) questioned how Romanians in the diaspora could overwhelmingly vote for “anti-EU” movements, claiming they were the “biggest beneficiaries of EU membership.” This is yet another perfect example of the caste-like mindset and the denial they live in. As I explained earlier, Romanian emigrants are not the beneficiaries of the EU—the people in Bucharest are. For those living in the periphery, life hasn’t improved significantly in recent years. The decision to move abroad, lose roots, and often leave children and parents behind to work like slaves in places where they can barely afford anything is hardly a privilege. The only privileged ones in this story are the Bucharest elite—the ones now lecturing, from the higher status they’ve gained on the backs of the rest of the country, that these people shouldn’t vote wrong and should instead focus on eating brioche.

All in all, the cynicism and calculated manner in which this microcosm orchestrates its attack on the peripheral, disenfranchised population is the true inspiration behind this article’s title. I cannot say with certainty what psychological profile fits Georgescu, and while I won’t deny the possibility of sociopathic tendencies in some nationalist figures, particularly Ms. Sosoaca, the “European Psycho” of my story is the persona of the deliberate, cold-blooded, so-called pro-EU propagandist. This is someone who pretends to champion the EU—despite it not being under threat—solely to ensure that the disenfranchised remain excluded from the political conversation. This activist smears a popular, democratic movement by branding it as “anti-EU” and “pro-Russia”—labels born entirely from their own distorted imagination.

Now let’s return to the bigger questions about the forces that brought us to this point.

Theories….

Over the past two weeks, every serious person I know has been trying to piece together what really happened. Some of them are journalists with deep knowledge of intelligence services history and organization. Given Romania’s history—with the Securitate, the stolen transition, and the unresolved scandals involving infiltrated agents in newsrooms during the 2010s—the least credible explanation was that Georgescu’s rise was merely an organic TikTok stunt.

The drive to escalate the war in Ukraine has been relentless since Trump’s election. Biden has authorized the use of missiles requiring NATO soldiers to operate, Macron in France and Starmer in the UK have floated the possibility of deploying ground troops, potentially using Romania’s NATO bases, while Trump has pledged to broker peace. Meanwhile, Russia has responded with RCBM strikes on Ukraine. In such a tense context, it’s naturally hard to believe in a Cinderella story surrounding Georgescu.

Nevertheless, there is a small opening for that naive theory. Notably, Georgescu’s campaign during this period was modest, limited to a handful of podcast interviews. In stark contrast, the sovereigntist party AUR deployed significant resources, flooding markets with newspapers, flyers, and books, while their leader, George Simion, tirelessly engaged with the public on the ground in a Trump-like campaign style. They even ran a medical caravan, seeing over 20,000 patients, and they also built houses for people in need—a strategy to show commitment in areas where the State had been “missing in action”.

Despite AUR’s substantial investment, Georgescu managed to “growth hack” into their target audience through TikTok, effectively piggybacking on the groundwork laid. Compounding AUR’s difficulties was a smear campaign branding them as Russian assets and falsely accusing them of colluding with the left-wing PSD. Additionally, the Constitutional Court’s disqualification of a nationalist candidate—Ms. Sosoaca, who had been a persistent critic of AUR—likely alienated voters who might otherwise have supported Simion.

A few communication stunts during the first 10 days after the first round of elections only heightened the perception that Georgescu might be an opportunist. One widely circulated story claimed he would appear at a book launch and debate alongside RFK Jr. and Tucker Carlson. From the start, I told friends and contacts it was likely fake news.

This narrative quickly evolved into a social media growth hack, with accounts confidently announcing RFK’s attendance at the event. Adding to the intrigue, Brad Parscale—the strategist behind Trump’s first campaign and the controversial use of Cambridge Analytica data—was also rumored to be involved.

Were we witnessing a calculated replication of the Trump playbook, adapted to Romania and amplified through TikTok? Or was this just a meticulously crafted sham?

While this explanation for Georgescu’s rise has some merit, it fails to address the glaring question of why the intelligence services didn’t see it coming. If I could detect the phenomenon on Google and TikTok, how could the heirs of the Romanian Securitate not? It seems highly suspicious, to say the least.

It’s not my place to validate one theory over another. Conversations with some of Romania’s most seasoned journalists—veterans with 35 years of experience—suggested that what we were witnessing was likely the handiwork of intelligence services. The real question was: which ones?

Russia, the usual suspect, didn’t appear to be directly involved in Georgescu’s campaign. On Monday, October 24, just after the first round of voting, the Defense Council (CSAT)—which includes the sitting president—stated there was no evidence of interference. Yet, by Thursday, October 27, conflicting messages emerged. The CSAT alluded to “various interferences”, while the STS, responsible for monitoring communications and cyber threats, confirmed that no cyberattacks or outside influence had been detected.

Speculation quickly spiraled, with many pointing to a possible internal struggle between Romania’s intelligence agencies—SRI (homeland security) versus SIE (external intelligence)—or even factional infighting within the agencies themselves. When, three days before the second round of elections, the CSAT attempted to definitively implicate Russia in a last-minute communiqué, it failed to persuade serious observers of the alleged security threats.

Another theory suggested a calculated Trump strategy behind the recent developments. According to this narrative, Trump aims to back the newly elected pro-sovereignty president in Romania and possibly a pro-sovereignty government, depending on the parliamentary majority.

On the surface, this theory provides a plausible explanation for the intelligence services’ monumental failure to anticipate the Georgescu phenomenon. Perhaps they didn’t miss it at all but instead deliberately allowed it, deferring to the United States as the global hegemon. Except... Trump isn't in charge yet.

If local intelligence services seem baffled or offer half-hearted, questionable evidence—suggesting they are largely clueless about the forces backing Georgescu—the idea of a friendly intelligence operation starts to seem plausible. The British and French, led by leaders opposing Trump’s vision, rely on Romanian NATO bases for their strategies, not a good suspect. The U.S. intelligence community is still under Biden’s control. That leaves only one “reasonable” option to carry out Trump’s plan. A leaked call from Israel’s Diaspora Minister to Georgescu, right after the vote, reported in the Israeli press and protested by the Romanian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, could lend further weight to the theory that Trump’s ally provided a service to help relieve the U.S. from the Ukraine burden and refocus on Middle East operations. It’s just a theory, likely fueled by the paranoia that everyone was caught up in during those days.

Setting aside the theory of “friendly” foreign interference—since no credible evidence ties Georgescu to significant Russian election meddling, and there’s no real smoking gun with fingerprints—the only other plausible explanation is that he could function as a kind of Manchurian candidate, perhaps even unaware of his true purpose. At this point, we’re veering into the realm of science fiction.

A serious clue about the nature of M. Georgescu comes from a statement by former President Băsescu:

“He is a purely Romanian product. I’ve seen other media charlatans claiming, ‘Oh, he’s a Russian agent!’ He is not a Russian agent. This person grew up within Romanian institutions—in the Ministry of Environment, in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He was sent to represent Romania at the UN in an environmental committee, appointed by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, not by anyone else. So, he wasn’t groomed by the Russians; he was trained in our institutions.”

An important detail that left many clueless was the discretion of American diplomacy on this matter. Initially, and only after a few days, the U.S. ambassador in Bucharest made a general comment that didn’t sound like a rebuke, leaving room for the theory that there may have been some form of tacit consent from the U.S.

Just 10 days after the first vote, on Thursday the 5th, three days before the final round of elections, multiple statements from the U.S. State Department—including comments from Spokesperson Matthew Miller, Secretary Antony Blinken, and six former ambassadors—attempted to sway the vote in favor of Georgescu’s opponent, Ms. Lasconi. This move mirrored the infamous 2020 statement by 51 intelligence officials who dismissed the Hunter Biden laptop story as Russian disinformation—a claim that has since been thoroughly debunked. (So erroneous was this assertion that President Joe Biden felt compelled to issue a pardon for his son this week).

In less than 24 hours, on December 6th, the Constitutional Court—a court that can only act when formally asked to issue a position—decided to take action on its own initiative and, after a few hours of discussion, annulled the entire electoral process, while the Diaspora was already voting (the Diaspora can usually vote sooner). This shady decision could only take effect if published in the Official Monitor. One day before the vote, we fond ourselves in a situation where only information circulating in the press and on the internet can justify the suspension of the vote.

In a matter of hours, for the first time, a direct reaction from the Trump camp emerged, with his son, Donald Trump Jr., commenting on Twitter about a “Soros/Marxist attempt at rigging the outcome & denying the will of the people. She’s going to lose, and they know it.”

In this context, the earlier theory of a Trump-backed plan becomes even more compelling. At the same time, it reveals a potentially desperate reaction from the U.S. Democratic establishment, with certain factions of the intelligence services far too affiliated with them, as well as elements of the Paris, London, Brussels, and Davos intelligentsia.

To raise the stakes even further in the Romanian election, it’s not just that one side wants the war in Ukraine to escalate while the other has promised to end it. Romania also holds critical information about Hunter Biden’s activities. This includes a $3 million wire transfer from convicted businessman Gabriel Popoviciu, likely tied to Biden’s alleged corruption in Romania during Obama’s vice presidency.

We can only expect the worst in the next month and a half, until a Trump administration begins implementing its plan to strike a deal with Russia and Ukraine to end the war and pressures Romania to declassify information about Hunter Biden’s activities there.

At the same time, if this signals the emergence of a potential pro-sovereignty agenda in Romania, it raises serious questions—questions about the principles and foundations of what a true pro-sovereignty policy should entail.

The Case for Sovereignism

The rise of Trump has often been interpreted through a left-leaning lens, frequently drawing historical parallels to 20th-century fascist movements in Europe. This narrative relies on past experiences to label and compare — it doesn’t capture the full complexity of the phenomenon. Scholars and commentators who seriously engage with populism and its relationship to the working class in the United States often challenge this interpretation, offering a more nuanced understanding of the forces at play.

For instance, Frank Edwards’ The People, No and Matt Taibbi’s articles, such as Who’s the Working Class Party Now?, offer deeper insights into the shifting dynamics of political allegiance among “the little guy.” Michael Tracey’s on-the-ground interviews during the US election cycle further illuminate the preferences and frustrations of working-class voters. These works suggest that the populist wave cannot simply be dismissed as a rehash of old ideologies; instead, it represents a broader realignment of political and social movements.

Discontent resonates across diverse ideological spaces. Figures like Taibbi, Glenn Greenwald, Tulsi Gabbard, and other old-school liberals have voiced dissatisfaction with the establishment’s narrative. Libertarians such as Dave Smith and Josie Glabach, along with tech entrepreneurs like Elon Musk, Marc Andreessen, and Peter Thiel, have also expressed anger at the Democratic Party. Not to mention Republicans like Vivek Ramaswamy and J.D. Vance, who promise an end to government overreach and the political meddling of the three-letter agencies.

Acknowledging this dynamic does not require full alignment with Trump or every sovereigntist movement. However, it demands recognition that this phenomenon is not merely a relic of the past but a reflection of present realities. Something is happening, and it cannot be ignored.

Importantly, a major European reform is on the horizon. Last year, significant debates unfolded in the French Parliament following the European Parliament’s vote to amend the EU Treaty. The most alarming proposal is the removal of the veto right for EU member states. This is critical because, until now, the EU has not been a federation. Member states have agreed to transfer parts of their sovereignty only on specific issues where a unified, harmonized approach across Europe is presumed to be more effective. However, the EU is not a super-state, and each member state has retained the right to veto policies that fundamentally conflict with its national interests.

Losing the veto would mean a clear loss of sovereignty, allowing a simple majority of Western states to impose their views on Central European countries. Worse still, this “endgame treaty” essentially acts as a blank check, specifying that future arrangements would not require national approval.

In Macron’s France, the national parliament swiftly adopted a symbolic stance favoring these changes—a move I consider monstrous. The debates were notably engaging, with both right-wing and left-wing populists voicing strong opposition. Arnaud Le Gall of La France Insoumise criticized the suppression of the veto/unanimity rule, stating:

“Such a change is presented as a technical necessity: it is about moving forward, always moving forward, without concern for the direction taken. The problem is that, at present, there is no sovereign European people. The rule of unanimity in the Council is therefore the only guarantee that the sovereignty of states, and thus of peoples, is respected.”

To put it in American terms, imagine if NAFTA evolved into a bureaucratic body that could override U.S. laws, the Constitution, and Supreme Court decisions.

Ah! And of course, no First or Second Amendment for the Europeans.

On top of that, a significant portion of the European legal framework never reaches the European Parliament in any meaningful way. The part that does has already been shaped by some of the 12,000 registered lobbyists, as well as additional non-EU influences that bypass lobbyist registration through diplomatic channels. Ultimately, it must be approved by the unelected bureaucrats of the European Commission. There are serious concerns about democratic accountability and the erosion of national sovereignty.

The principle of sovereignty—where power resides with the people—has been central to the modern nation-state. This idea fueled the U.S. emancipation from British rule and the French Revolution’s overthrow of monarchy. From these foundations, and with strong French influence, nation-states emerged across Europe in the 20th century. Today, however, the EU’s growing ability to bypass direct democratic input undermines this core principle. The idea that unelected Eurocrats could implement policies without approval from European citizens is profoundly troubling.

The Commission, deeply rooted in globalization ideology, has prioritized creating a trade area, often at the expense of workers and farmers. It has also become a prime target for institutional capture, exemplified by opaque dealings such as the Pfizer vaccine contracts. These issues barely scratch the surface; further scrutiny of military industry deals and military aid for Ukraine would likely reveal even greater concerns. Notably, military aid—a competence never formally transferred to the EU—has been unilaterally championed by leaders like Ursula von der Leyen, with support from major arms exporters like France, Germany, and Italy.

At the heart of this problem lies a theft of sovereignty—power taken from the people and used for the benefit of unelected elites and big corporations. This is fundamentally a governance issue, one that has been most vocally addressed by populists.

Unfortunately, on one hand, populist rhetoric often descends into fear-mongering, vengeance, and even hatred — they sound like Trump… But as Salena Zito aptly put it in The Atlantic, “The press takes Trump literally, but not seriously; his supporters take him seriously, but not literally.” The same can be said for many populist movements.

On the other hand, opponents of sovereignty drown out meaningful discussions by pushing reductive narratives. Sovereignist movements are often unfairly mischaracterized as synonymous with Russian influence, Russophilia, or EU/NATO rejection. This framing, repeated relentlessly in both local and international media, serves as a deliberate effort to discredit both right-wing and left-wing populist movements.

One thing the media hardly explains is that Romania’s sovereignist movements are diverse, each with its own methods and tendencies. Simply shouting “Russia-Russia-Russia” at them is not a serious approach.

The Sovereignism Landscape in Romania

The most prominent of these movements, with a candidate initially expected to reach the second round of the presidential elections, is the AUR party. This alliance brings together the civic unionist movement, the conservative movement, and the anti-lockdown movement. Let’s break it down.

• Unionists push for the reunification of Moldova and Romania, a division stemming from the Stalin-Hitler pact. They hold a deep-seated disdain for Russia, perceiving it as a historical adversary to the Romanian people.

• Among conservatives, there are various shades, ranging from Orthodox traditionalists to modern pro-Trump supporters. Their defining moment came with the 2018 referendum to enshrine in the constitution that marriage is exclusively between a man and a woman. From their perspective, the concept of same-sex marriage is a recent invention that was not even here when they joined the Euro-Atlantic community. It began to spread in the West after Romania’s accession to the EU and NATO, deeply conflicting with Orthodox religious values.

  This perspective often leads to accusations of being “Putinists” due to their anti-progressive rhetoric. Critics argue that their stance mirrors Russian President Vladimir Putin’s framing of LGBTQ advocacy as a sign of Western decadence. However, such claims are as absurd as branding any Christian conservative a Putinist. Many of these conservatives actually distrust Russia, viewing it as fundamentally evil, as it has not clearly rejected its communist, atheist, and totalitarian legacy.

• The third category—the anti-lockdown faction—often reject the idea of Russia as an alternative to the Davos elite. They’ve noticed that Putin has followed many of Davos’ recommendations: he vaccinated his population, supports the 2030 agenda, and more. In fact, his invasion of Ukraine, which coincided with the unraveling of the pandemic narrative, didn’t sit well with most anti-globalists. Fortunately, with Trump now in office, major critics of the “health dictatorship” era—such as Elon Musk, Robert F. Kennedy Jr, and Jay Bhattacharya—are being appointed to key positions with the promise of bringing transparency to this period.

In short, the AUR party is Trumpist in many ways. They view NATO as a defensive alliance and show no sympathy for the warmongering clique of Bush, Cheney, Clinton, and Biden. They’re certainly not calling for Romania to leave NATO, as that would leave the country vulnerable.

(As a side note, I’ve always believed the Russians had little interest in Romania, but Ukraine’s disappointing military performance, despite NATO’s resources, is concerning. While Poland has heavily fortified its military to stand up to Russia, I am concerned that Romania could easily collapse without a solid defense strategy. Relying solely on NATO for protection might turn out to be a dangerous denial of the brutal realities of ground warfare.)

There are three other sovereigntist factions, one led by the theatrically provocative Diana Sosoaca, who made headlines in the European Parliament a few months ago by wearing a muzzle. She often engages in outrageous, caricature-like behavior. Initially aligned with the progressive-liberal USR party— she posted her support mocking an Orthodox pilgrimage (a recurring theme among USR followers)—she later shifted to a sovereignist stance within AUR, only to be excluded due to her inflammatory rants. Her mother leads a Masonic lodge, while Sosoaca herself frequently rails against Jews and even applauded the Russian invasion of Ukraine in front of their embassy in Bucharest. She is a circus act that attracts unhinged conspiracy theorists (perhaps we need a term for the “conspiracy moronic troll”, as opposed to the serious critics who challenged the COVID narrative and disproportionate measures). All in all, she serves as the perfect figurehead for those who view sovereigntism as a return to the 1930s or as a sociopathic movement. Barred from participating in the election by the Constitutional Court, her exclusion has created a void and fueled further anger.

Next, a new party, POT, entered parliament last Sunday. (Yes, the Romanians held parliamentary elections between the two rounds of the presidential election, which, as a friend put it, is an idea worthy of Nero.) This party is marked by younger candidates than AUR, with a leader, Anamaria Gavrilă, a former AUR member who wanted to run on her own. From before the presidential election, they declared strong support for Georgescu and have focused on themes that resonate with the youth.

Finally, there’s Georgescu himself, already described earlier in this text. As I explored the conservative rhetoric within Romanian Sovereignism, it’s worth noting that he unsettles Orthodox followers with his unique approach to incorporating religion into the discourse. Although he reaffirms his Orthodox faith, his rhetoric often aligns more with new-age, holistic views that resonate with the slightly superstitious Romanian masses. This, however, starkly contrasts with Orthodox rationality and the numerous works on patristics—studies of Church Fathers like Saint John of the Ladder, to name just one—that provide a coherent, rational, and stable framework far richer than Georgescu’s quackery.

So, the many disenfranchised people of Romania now have plenty of voices representing them. After years of neglecting their part of the country, it’s too late to correct course. Moreover, having been robbed of their second round of elections, the situation is highly tense. It’s only a matter of time before pro-sovereignty voices come to power in Romania. The main question is—will the warmongers leave them enough time to do so?

The Third Wave

Romanian Professor Paul Dragos Aligica recently highlighted a dilemma affecting the entire West: 20th-century ideologies no longer explain current trends. The traditional left-right divide has practically disappeared. The left, once the champion of the working class, has now alienated it, focusing instead on an urban elite with degrees. The right, once blindly pro-business, now includes whistleblowers and vocal critics of corporate power and lobby-driven institutional capture. Vaccine mandates have fractured society along lines that aren’t left or right, creating deeply concerning issues for anyone opposing the European agenda of pushing COVID vaccines on children as young as six months.

Indeed, the current state of the world feels like absolute chaos, where personal red lines no longer align with old ideologies but can still be perfectly molded into a direct marketing strategy.

That’s likely why Georgescu’s success stems primarily from an incredibly effective online campaign, regardless of whether state or private powers were behind it. He’s reached a silent majority by delivering the right message to angry, disenfranchised individuals. It’s reminiscent of the Yellow Vest movement in France, where people, tired of being ignored, donned yellow vests, began gathering, and started speaking to each other, bypassing traditional left-right divides and suddenly becoming visible to the world. The appearance of this TikTok crowd mirrors the role Twitter and Facebook videos played during the Yellow Vest movement, shedding light on political repression and police violence that traditional mass media often ignored or downplayed.

These platforms have become critical tools for circumventing media gatekeepers, offering raw, unfiltered glimpses into events on the ground. The real question is whether this can evolve into a broader worldview, because while “political direct marketing” is powerful, it’s just a tool. It still leaves us as isolated personas, each with our own thematic “posses.”

It feels like Toffler’s Third Wave theory is finally unfolding before our eyes. The Information Revolution isn’t just a buzzword to sell new IT services and hardware—it’s reshaping the world. As Professor Paul-Dragos Aligica points out '“the cleavages have shifted, and we don’t yet have realigned theories to explain the world”.

Technology is obviously a double-edged sword: it can be wielded by an extremist minority to amplify their reach, but it can also empower citizen-journalists to expose the truth. It can be weaponized by governments to control speech (as seen in the Twitter Files from the pre-Musk era), or it can be harnessed to promote free speech (such as Musk’s efforts to liberate Twitter and the many free speech advocates gaining traction within the Trump camp).

Technology can offer Europeans a glimpse into the American debates on free speech on platforms like Twitter/X, but it can also be exploited by unelected bureaucrats in Brussels to control speech within the EU. It can facilitate attacks on civilians in Gaza, yet simultaneously allow the world to witness and condemn the ongoing ethnic cleansing and genocide. It can shine a light on those advocating for the rule of law, humanitarian laws, and UN resolutions on Palestine, while also being weaponized to silence Palestinian voices (as seen in Amnesty International’s report on Facebook censorship).

Can we navigate this new age without falling into mayhem or being enslaved by bureaucrats, tech oligarchs, or even an AI? The revival of the Nation-State seems inevitable as the most viable structure to protect society from the encroachment of global corporations and the technocratic push against sovereignty. However, this revival must come with strong safeguards and checks to ensure it does not transform into merely another layer of control, but instead becomes a framework that upholds democracy, freedom, and the will of the people.

Years ago, as I was showing my wife Macron’s brutal political repression of the Yellow Vest movement (thousands injured, 30 losing an eye, 4 dead), her reaction was that if the EU wasn’t saying anything about it, this is what awaited the rest of us - as it did during the lockdowns.

Now that “the system” has performed a coup against the Romanian people, with no protest from EU institutions and no sanctions against Romania for violating European values, we can only wonder if this is what lies ahead for the rest of the European countries.

Stéphane Luçon