NICUȘOR DAN, LASCONI, AND THE BURNT-OUT BULB OF ROMANIAN POLITICS

For quite some time now, the USR (Save Romania Union) has been constitutionally incapable of making a sound decision. We are not speaking of those imperfect but workable compromises—no. What we are witnessing is a national marathon of political miscalculation, where each step is a masterfully executed own goal. Once heralded as a force of reform, integrity, and generational renewal, the party has evolved—almost with mathematical precision—into a veritable laboratory of strategic disaster, concocted with a serenity that borders on the sublime.

We have a list. A long one—growing steadily more absurd. Take Elena Lasconi, for instance, who recently discovered the virtues of traditionalism much like a child stumbling upon a broken toy and insisting, with wide-eyed conviction, that it’s “more authentic this way.” With the rhetorical finesse of a small-town council member circa 1993, Lasconi leapt into the arms of “family values” with the enthusiasm of someone mistaking reactionary dogma for ethical sophistication. Progressivism, in her rendering, is little more than a youthful indiscretion; the Coalition for the Family, a new chair in Applied Ethics. The consequences? Internal revolt, departing members, baffled voters—and a renewed confirmation that within USR, everyone is free to do as they please, provided it does not actually work.

Then comes Nicușor Dan, a world champion in PowerPoint-based urban planning and a virtuoso of administrative silence. A man capable of speaking for forty minutes about trams without actually saying anything. The mayor who promised clean air but delivered instead an authentic, vintage dust—collected lovingly from Bucharest’s many abandoned construction sites. In a city slowly sinking under the weight of its own promises, Neicușor is always present—conspicuously absent, yet featured in every bitter joke about local governance.

Next comes Cătălin Drulă—a man powered by a steady current of indignation, though rarely guided by a clear direction. He resembles a civic frustration GPS, perpetually shouting “recalculating!” at every political turn. When in opposition, he’s furious about lacking institutional levers; when in power, he’s furious to find himself constrained by them. Drulă, the minister with the temperament of an activist and the strategic finesse of a bull let loose in a shop full of campaign promises.

And then, of course, there is Dan Barna—the only politician who manages to be sincere, principled, and entirely irrelevant, all at once. He resembles a librarian of progressive values, whose voice no one hears because he insists on whispering while the city burns. Were Barna a character from a folktale, he would be the wise advisor whom everyone ignores until the very end—when it’s far too late, and all the characters are already dead.

All of these figures form part of a cavalcade of contemporary leadership, where the party appears afflicted by a rare strain of self-induced enlightenment. Each time a significant decision must be made—be it regarding candidates, alliances, or ideological direction—a spectral voice, possibly that of Dacian Cioloș with a Belgian accent, seems to whisper: “Let’s do precisely the opposite of what would be logical.” The result? A kind of national illumination—but not the kind that enlightens, rather the kind that makes you rub your eyes and wonder if the lightbulb hasn’t burned out. Spoiler: it has. Long ago. And no one’s replacing it, because apparently, it’s “symbolic.” This isn’t reform; it’s avant-garde improvisation on a budget. From an electoral campaign run with the precision of a ball of yarn unraveled by an agitated cat, to internal scandals handled with academic arrogance, everything in USR seems to be the work of a group of intelligent individuals who steadfastly refuse to learn anything from reality. In a party where everyone considers themselves the absolute genius, there is no room left for clarity—only for egos and long Facebook posts. And yet, no one pulls the handbrake. No internal voice says, “Hello, maybe it’s time to get our feet back on the ground!” Instead, the party functions like a political cult, where every leader is right, every faction has its “vision,” and each is convinced that the only culprit is the electorate, which fails to understand the “complexity of the message.” “Vae victis,” the Romans would say. Woe to the vanquished. But in the case of USR, perhaps it’s more fitting to say: woe to the voters. For no matter how much you want to believe in a decent alternative, choosing USR today is like trying to repair a sinking boat… by pouring water back into it. Hoping that, somehow, it will go deeper, more convincingly. Enlightenment has finally occurred. Only it wasn’t an epiphany. It was a short circuit. A long, persistent, and very, very Romanian one. Signed: A voter accidentally enlightened...