May 1 is celebrated globally as International Workers' Day. In democratic countries, this day honors the struggle of workers for their rights: the right to strike, the right to union representation, an 8-hour workday, and a 5-day workweek. In authoritarian and dictatorial regimes, however, the focus is solely on "work," which is touted as the highest virtue through which individuals are expected to use their talents for the collective benefit. In practice, this often means increasing productivity with minimal rights, and sometimes even for free. This was certainly the case in Romania during the Communist era, between 1945 and 1989. The following article recounts a true story of May 1 celebrations during Nicolae Ceaușescu's rule, akin to a modern-day Kim Jong Un. It is a story experienced by Angelo and George during their adolescence, on May 1, 1987, under full dictatorship.
Where It All Began
The idea of celebrating "Labour Day" first emerged in France, where it was observed on January 20, 1793. However, this celebration was short-lived. In early May 1886, clashes between striking workers and police in Chicago, United States, resulted in deaths and injuries. Subsequently, in 1889, the Second Socialist International designated May 1 as a day to honor the struggle for workers' rights.
Misappropriation of the Meaning of May 1st
At the end of 1917, the Bolsheviks seized power in Russia and established a communist regime. Communism, as conceived by Marx and Engels, promised an ideal society, often described as Heaven on Earth. However, Lenin and his associates viewed communism primarily as a means to achieve and maintain power. A few centuries earlier, Lenin might have proclaimed himself 'God's Anointed' to gain authority; by the early 20th century, the divine had been replaced by 'communism' as the ultimate source of legitimacy. In this new communist regime, workers were supposedly granted all rights (at least on paper; in reality, their conditions were often worse than those faced by slaves in antiquity). Consequently, May Day could no longer be observed in its traditional form, so an alternative focus was needed. Lenin decided that the day should celebrate the rigorous and unrelenting work toward the ultimate and perpetually promised victory of communism. This approach later became standard across all communist countries, turning May 1 into a celebration of intensive labour—meaning producing more in less time, and with ever more austere conditions.
May 1 during the Communist Era
The Romanian Communist Party was installed as Romania’s ruling regime by the Soviets at the end of World War II. Once in power, the Romanian communists adopted and enforced the same May Day celebrations as their Soviet counterparts. This remained the case until the 1970s, when Ceaușescu's "cult of personality" began to dominate every aspect of public life. By the early 1980's, May Day no longer celebrated workers and their contributions but rather extolled Comrade Ceaușescu and his "precious directives." We were constantly bombarded with claims that these directives boosted production, enhanced workplace efficiency, and revitalized the economy. The reality, of course, was far from these grandiose claims.
"Precious Directives"
Ceaușescu assumed power in 1965 and, within a few years, became the country’s absolute ruler, a ruthless dictator. Following a visit to China and North Korea in 1971, he demanded the establishment of a "personality cult", which was swiftly implemented by the government and the Party. Believing himself to be the smartest and most capable individual in the country, Ceaușescu began issuing directives on how everything should be done. Over time, these directives became increasingly numerous and detailed, encompassing even the smallest technical and managerial aspects. Though often useless and counterproductive, they were fervently praised by the propaganda machine of the Romanian Communist Party and were dubbed "precious indications." Most of these directives targeted the industrial sector, particularly the production of engines, machine tools, and similar goods. This reflected the Soviet vision of a "communist society" that would surpass "capitalism/market economy" through industrial development, especially heavy industry—a concept aggressively advanced by Stalin, the tyrant of the Soviet Union. The emphasis on industry in Romanian society was also evident in the grandiose May Day celebrations, which showcased the central role of industrial production in the regime’s vision.
The Festivities
On paper, May Day was a holiday meant for rest and leisure. In reality, however, it was a day when many people were required to participate in organized events. Each county capital hosted its own celebration, but the most grandiose and extravagant festivities took place in Bucharest, in front of Ceaușescu and his loyalists. The demonstration route ran from the Roman Square (Piaţa Romană in Romanian) to the Victory's Square (Piaţa Victoriei in Romanian) and finally to the Aviators' Square (now Charles de Gaulle Square). The official grandstand was located in Aviators' Square. As they passed in front of it, participants were expected to shout slogans of praise for Ceaușescu, maintain a steady rhythm, and hold their placards, flags, and models of machinery and equipment high. The event served as both a demonstration and a parade.
Participants in the Parade
The parade begins with middle and high school students, dressed in their school uniforms adorned with all the appropriate insignia and medals. They carry placards and flags representing the country and the Communist Party. As they pass in front of the official tribune, they are required to shout slogans in praise of Ceaușescu. Following them are the workers, forming the largest group. These workers come from numerous factories across the Capital and carry models of their machinery or the products they manufacture. They do not shout slogans, as their role is to avoid drowning out the announcer, who uses triumphalist language to describe the achievements of each group. For example: "The workers from the Combines Enterprise (Intreprinderea Semănătoarea in Romanian) are now passing in front of the official tribune. They have produced twice as many combines as in the same period last year, thanks to the valuable instructions from Comrade Ceaușescu, which led to this increased production." Only at the end of this announcement do the workers shout "Uraaaaaa!" Athletes bring up the rear of the parade. They carry only a few flags and placards and do not shout slogans. Instead, they perform elaborate choreographies, including pirouettes, human pyramids, and various acrobatics. It all feels like a performance meant to amuse the ruler, much like jesters of old.
The End of the Demonstration
Once the participants had passed the official tribune, the demonstration concluded, and they were free for the rest of the day. Many headed to specially set-up stands and terraces where they could enjoy various rewards for their participation (though the items had to be purchased). Others went to parks or green spaces where barbecues were set up and beer was sold. As the day drew to a close, people gathered in front of their televisions. The event was broadcast live and replayed late into the night. In the final years of the Ceaușescu regime, this was one of the rare occasions when television programming extended throughout the day (usually, broadcasts were limited to just two hours in the evening, from 8 to 10 PM). People tuned in to see their acquaintances, neighbours, relatives, or colleagues—or even themselves—on screen. This provided a small sense of enjoyment and human connection, but it all began with the march.
The March
Participants gathered at designated meeting points—such as in front of schools, high schools, enterprises, or sports clubs—since all members of these organizations were expected to take part. Refusal was not an option; those who declined faced severe penalties, including salary cuts, job demotion, reassignment to undesirable positions, or even harassment by management. Once everyone assembled, they marched in columns towards Roman Square, regardless of the distance, which sometimes exceeded 10 kilometers. Despite the grueling march, there was a silver lining: some participants, particularly the bolder ones, managed to "disappear" along the way. Among those who were granted permission to buy cigarettes or water, or to use the restroom (and who "forgot" to return), as well as those who slipped away when supervisors were distracted, the number of absentees was significant. However, none of these escapes compared to our "great escape" from the May 1 demonstration of 1987.
The meeting
It is September 15, 1985, Bucharest, Mihai Viteazul High School, 9th grade, J class. I, Angelo, was already in the classroom when the door opened and the principal entered, accompanied by a boy. He asks him to go and sit where he can find a place. George comes to the last row, sits down next to me, looks at me and salutes me and... that was it, brotherly love at first sight. It was the beginning of a beautiful story that continues today, 38 years later and despite the 18,000 km that separate us physically. It's a story based largely on what George and I have lived through, the obstacles we've overcome and the difficult times we've been through together. Especially those during our adolescence spent in the communist hell of the last years of the Ceaușescu regime, which was the worst period of communism in the history of our country. It is a relationship built while mocking the "communist values" of the era, as we did so from the first months of school, despite the punishments we received.
The Sanctions
Under Ceaușescu's communist regime, failures and bankruptcies were nonexistent; thus, expulsion from high school was out of the question, even for "black sheep" like us—who were top of the list in this regard. We were to be kept in school at all costs until graduation, regardless of our behaviour. However, the school administration and teachers could make our lives miserable through various punishments, and they were certainly not shy about it.
By the end of the first quarter, George and I had already accumulated a low "conduct" average. This was crucial for our future because prestigious universities and, above all, the Party "Schools" were reserved for those with exemplary conduct records. But we weren’t concerned with becoming "promising cadres" of the Communist Party. In Ceaușescu's Romania, jobs were plentiful, so we saw no reason to conform to their communist rules. As our defiance continued into the second term, the "High School Party Organisation" (similar to today’s School Board, but with a political and ideological perspective) decided to escalate matters and imposed the penalty of "harassment." Yes, you read that correctly—"harassment" was the official punishment for those who didn’t adhere to "communist ethics." This measure required the cooperation of classmates, who were manipulated into becoming accomplices in the regime's oppression. However, this tactic didn’t always succeed and could even backfire. In our case, it was a spectacular failure: our classmates chose to support us rather than join in the persecution orchestrated by the teachers and the communist authorities.
Our Colleagues—Our Allies!
The truth is, we were in one of the most "difficult" classes, made up of students who were challenging to control and manipulate, largely because many came from intellectual families. However, whether out of caution or disinterest, they preferred to distance themselves from us and our "criminal" behaviour. The communist leadership of the high school misunderstood this attitude, interpreting it as a sign of disdain for us, particularly since we came from working-class families. They pressured these students to harass us.
Despite being only 16, George and I had already developed values of "honour," "glory," and "freedom," partly inspired by the "metal" music we had recently begun listening to. We struck a deal with the most influential students: rather than harass us, they would join us in our "adventures," sharing in the benefits that came with it. In return, we promised that, should any investigations occur, George and I would take all the blame, portraying them as naive victims manipulated by us. The May 1, 1987, demonstration marked the first epic moment in a series of "deviations" from the era's "communist values" (which we will recount in several posts on this blog). It was the beginning of our own "Great Escape."
The Beginning
It all started with an announcement made during a "political education" hour—one of many strategically placed between two hours of mathematics, which prevented us from organising a "mass missing in action". The Communist Head of the high school, Comrade Mincu, entered the classroom and informed us that we had "volunteered" to participate in that year's May 1 demonstration. When several classmates tried to protest, she silenced them with a stern threat of punishment for 'serious offenses' if they refused to attend. She then proceeded to extol the honour the Party was bestowing upon us by giving us the opportunity to parade in front of Ceaușescu and other state and Party leaders. During the break, everyone flocked to us, with some girls in tears, begging us to help them avoid this obligation. We already had some experience in this area, having previously coached them in tricks for avoiding classes that bored us or sabotaging school practice sessions (which we will cover in future blog posts). This time, however, it would be more challenging, as we needed to be present at the beginning to ensure our attendance was recorded. Our goal was to find a way to "disappear" along the route from the high school to Piața Romană, the parade's starting point.
The Plan
Let's be clear: our meeting was a catalyst for both of us. Prior to that, we were more or less "ineffective," but together we applied the rule from a famous Romanian song (Hora Unirii, in Romanian): "Where there are two, power increases, and the enemy diminishes." This principle proved invaluable as we devised a strategy to make an entire class of 40 students disappear over the few kilometers from our high school to Roman Square, all while being under constant surveillance. After several days and countless brainstorming sessions, we finalised our plan. It was straightforward. First, we were supposed to deal with the placement. Our class was positioned at the end of the parade column. We would need to appear compliant during the first half of the route to ensure the supervising teachers thought everything was in order and grew complacent. Then, it was about positioning.
George and I would lead the class, staying at the front. This way, we would be visible, giving the impression that everything was proceeding smoothly while drawing less attention to the rest of the class. Lastly, we needed a distraction. We would have three of the most physically developed boys flanking us, creating a barrier that would obscure the view of what was happening behind us. The rest of the class would follow slowly and discreetly.
Once we reached near the Scala Cinema (about 600 meters from Piața Romană), we would quietly leave and head to a pre-arranged meeting point—General School No. 1 'Grădina Icoanei' (now known as 'National College Central School').
Our High School is "Relegated"
Here's some context: the head of the Organising Committee for the May 1 event that year was Ion Dincă, a close associate of Comrade Ceaușescu, and unofficially known as 'God.' We gathered before dawn in front of our high school, ready to head to Piața Romană. We had to arrive early because our school was honoured with the task of opening the event and parading first in front of Ceaușescu. But, just as we were about to depart, we received the hammer: the order had been changed at the last minute, and another school would now lead the parade. We were instructed to stay put and await further instructions. The supervising teachers were stunned, and Comrade Mincu, tearful and bewildered, asked, "What did I do wrong?" George, with no hesitation, bluntly replied, "Others gave a bigger bribe." To which I, Angelo, added, "And they knew how to give it directly to God, not to some of his deputies." Comrade Mincu was furious, foaming at the mouth and screaming at us, while our classmates were on the floor laughing. We were left to endure a long, tedious, and exhausting wait. However, we quickly found ways to keep ourselves entertained. A ball appeared, and several boys began a game of football, with the girls forming a cheering section. Others engaged in chess and other games. I, Angelo, took the opportunity to sit aside and continue writing my science fiction novel, "The Eagle", which was a best-seller for our class. Time flew by so quickly that, when the announcement for departure finally came a few hours later, we protested. The football match was not over, the chess competition's winner had yet to be determined, and my classmates had not finished reading the latest pages I had written.
We Disappear on the Way
It is important to remember that even the best plans often don’t survive the first hours of implementation. Adapting continuously to ever-changing conditions is crucial; otherwise, you risk losing the battle or suffering significant losses. For us, however, our plan received an unexpected boost from "God" (Ion Dincă, that is), which tilted the balance even more in our favour. As we set out for Piața Romană, the supervising teachers were already exhausted and frustrated by the last-minute change. I overheard some of those marching with us complaining, saying, "We should have been the main attraction, but now we're just part of the background." A few hundred meters in, two teachers moved to the front of the column under the pretext of needing to discuss something with a colleague. Since they never returned, we assumed they had "disappeared" right before our eyes. Then, just as planned, a girl tripped and began to experience severe pain when she put her foot down. Left alone to oversee us, Comrade Mincu had to accept that the injured girl would be assisted by two others until a sedative took effect and she could walk normally again. This happened as soon as the column moved far enough away, allowing them to resume the march—but in the opposite direction! A short while later, frustrated by our deliberate avoidance of communication, Comrade Mincu moved to the front of the column to confer with her colleagues. She stayed there for the rest of the route, occasionally glancing back to check on us. Each time she saw George and me at the front, with the three sturdy boys behind us, she was reassured and convinced that everything was under control.
What she failed to notice was that the ranks behind us were gradually thinning: two students took a wrong turn at an intersection and ended up on a different street, while another, intrigued by an open door, went inside to investigate. When he exited through another gate, he couldn’t find the column anymore. This pattern of students "disappearing" continued until the grand finale.
The Grand Finale
As we passed the Intercontinental Hotel and entered the final stretch toward Piața Romană—just a few hundred meters away—the last of the students who had been with us dispersed. We eagerly awaited the moment when we would make our exit "en fanfare," leaving a memorable impression. That moment arrived when, as usual, Comrade Mincu looked back and saw only us, with no one else in sight. She began yelling at us, but we responded with a casual wave of "Goodbye" before launching into a sprint worthy of an Olympic 100-meter dash. We passed by a park, which we used as a diversion; those who followed us, thinking we had taken refuge there, stopped to search for us. This allowed us to reach the school designated as our meeting point and refuge. Unfortunately, the school's fence was several meters high. Scaling it and entering the schoolyard was challenging, but we managed to get over it, despite sustaining a few scratches and transforming my uniform pants into makeshift shorts. Just as we settled inside, the teachers and militiamen arrived at the school's entrance. I overheard them saying, "They can't be here; the fence is too high even for them. Let's go back to the park; they must be hiding somewhere around there."
And Now, What Do We Do?
It was clear that we couldn’t leave immediately because the area was swarming with "enemy forces" (teachers and the Militia) who had been searching for us since dawn. We needed to wait until the end of the march, when the streets would be crowded and we could blend in with the masses. To pass the time, we decided to play a game of football. For a few hours, we transformed into players from Steaua, Ajax, Barça, or Milan, with plenty of goals, shouts of victory or frustration, and lively debates over missed opportunities—“Why didn’t you pass to me? Didn’t you see I was in a great position?” “Look when you shoot; at least aim for the goal!” “Why aren’t you coming to the defense?”—and so on. The highlight of the game was the several broken windows from stray kicks. I must admit, with hand on heart, that I was largely responsible for these mishaps, given my lack of football talent. Nonetheless, we left a note apologizing for the damage and instructing that the bill for the repairs should be sent to the Organising Committee of the May 1 demonstration.
Epilogue
On the first day back at school, an investigation was, of course, launched. Our classmates unanimously claimed they had been manipulated by us—Angelo and George—and that we had deceived them into believing our plans. Some said they got lost because I had asked them to fetch water or buy candy. A few girls even went so far as to say they left out of fear after I allegedly threatened to beat them up (ha, ha, ha!). In short, the investigation concluded that everything was solely our fault, with no blame assigned to anyone else. Given the overwhelming evidence, the Disciplinary Council of the high school had no choice but to hold us responsible. Consequently, our conduct average for the quarter was dropped to the lowest possible level, and we were officially instructed to request transfers to other schools. Of course, this decision was promptly discarded, and the school had no choice but to keep us as students until the end of our studies. However, there was another consequence: until the beginning of the 1987-1988 school year, our class was exempt from any "practical extracurricular activities"—which, at the time, meant forced labour on farms or construction sites, unpaid and unskilled. When we were finally required to participate in such activities at the start of the 1987-1988 school year, it turned into a disaster and a nightmare for both the teachers and the school. Next article: "Practical Work at the Start of the 1987-1988 School Year."
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