THE GREAT ESCAPE FROM THE PARADE - 1 MAY 1987

May 1st is celebrated worldwide, but in different ways. In democratic countries, it is “Workers’ Day,” commemorating the struggle of workers for their rights—strikes, unions, the eight-hour workday, five-day workweek, and paid leave. In countries under communist regimes, it was celebrated as “Labor,” meaning that people were expected to work more to produce more, often with fewer rights. This was the case in Romania during the Communist Hell between 1945 and 1989. Read below to see what May 1st was like under Ceaușescu, and how we—Angelo and George—“celebrated” it in 1987 as teenagers.

The Beginning

The idea of celebrating “Workers’ Day” originated in France, first observed on January 20, 1793, though it lasted only a few years. Then, in May 1886, clashes between striking workers and police in Chicago, USA, resulted in deaths and injuries. Three years later, in 1889, the Second Socialist International declared May 1st a day to celebrate the fight for workers’ rights.

The Hijacking of May 1st

“Communism,” as conceived by Marx and Engels, had the power to attract people with the promise of a paradise on Earth. Lenin and his followers saw it as the ideal method to seize power—hundreds of years earlier, he might have declared himself “God’s Anointed”; by the early 20th century, “God” was replaced by “Communism.” At the end of 1917, the Bolsheviks took power in Russia and immediately proclaimed a “communist” regime. But what to do with May 1st? In “communism,” workers were theoretically granted all rights—on paper—though in reality they lived worse than slaves. Lenin decided that May 1st would become a celebration of Labour: intense, unceasing work toward the ultimate victory of communism. This practice later spread to all communist countries, turning May 1st into a holiday of intensive labour, producing more in less time.

May 1st During Communist Hell

The Romanian Communist Party was imposed as the ruling power in Romania by the Russians (then called “Soviets”) at the end of World War II. Romanian communists adopted the same vision and Russian style of celebrating May 1st. A change occurred in the 1970s as Ceaușescu’s “Cult of Personality” developed. Consequently, in Ceaușescu’s Romania, the focus shifted from celebrating “Labour” to celebrating the “Comrade” and his “precious directives”—those that supposedly increased production, improved workplace efficiency, and stimulated the economy (ha, ha!).

The “Precious Directives”

Ceaușescu came to power in 1965 and, within a few years, became the absolute ruler of the country, a merciless dictator. After trips to China and North Korea in the early 1970s, he demanded the establishment of a “cult” of his personality, which the government and Party promptly implemented. Convinced he was the most intelligent and capable person in the country, he began issuing orders and instructions on how things should be done. Over time, these became increasingly numerous and detailed, down to the smallest technical and managerial specifics. Useless and often counterproductive, they were praised by the Romanian Communist Party propaganda apparatus and dubbed “Precious Directives.” The most targeted industry, reflecting the Russian vision of a “communist society” that would surpass “capitalism/market economies” through industrial development. The privileged position of industry in Romanian society at the time was also reflected in the participants of the massive parade organized for May 1st.

The Parade

On paper, May 1st was a public holiday, a non-working day. In reality, for many people, it was the day they had to attend parades honoring Dictator Ceaușescu—plural, because there was one in each county capital. The largest, most grandiose, and most exaggerated parade took place in Bucharest, in front of Ceaușescu and his loyalists. The route ran from Piața Romană – Piața Victoriei – Piața Aviatorilor (today, Piața Charles de Gaulle), with the official tribune in Piața Aviatorilor. As they passed in front of Ceaușescu, participants had to chant various slogans praising him, maintain rhythm, and hold banners, flags, and models of machine tools as high as possible.

The Participants

First came middle and high school students, dressed in school uniforms with all insignia and medals, carrying banners and flags of the country and the Communist Party. When passing in front of the official tribune, they had to shout “Hurray!” or slogans in honor of Ceaușescu. Next came workers, the largest group, from all factories in the capital, carrying models of their machines or products. They did not shout slogans so as not to drown out the announcer who reported their achievements in triumphalist language: “Now passing the official tribune are the workers from Enterprise X. They have produced twice as many machines/tools as in the same period last year. This was possible thanks to Comrade Ceaușescu’s visit, which provided precious directives leading to increased production.” Only at the end of this announcement would they shout “Hurray!” Athletes came last, carrying a few flags and banners, shouting almost nothing, but performing complex choreographies—pirouettes, human pyramids, and various acrobatics—much like court jesters of old, but without pay, housing, or meals.

The End of the Parade

After passing the official tribune, the parade ended for them, and they were free for the rest of the day. Many headed to stands and terraces set up as rewards (though purchases required money, of course); others went to parks or green spaces with grills selling sausages and beer. Toward the end of the day, people watched the live television broadcast of the event, often replayed late into the night. In the final years of Ceaușescu’s regime, TV programs were scheduled for the entire day (usually only two hours previously). People watched to see acquaintances—neighbors, relatives, colleagues—or themselves in close-up. Life became slightly more pleasant and human after the parade, but everything began with a march.

The March

The meeting point was in front of the school, enterprise, or sports club, depending on the case; attendance was mandatory. Refusal was not possible—noncompliance risked severe penalties: salary cuts, demotion, assignment to a poor post, or harassment by management. Attendance was taken, and the column marched toward Piața Romană, on foot regardless of distance—sometimes over 10 km! One advantage of this long march was that some participants “disappeared” along the way—those excused to buy cigarettes, water, or relieve themselves who “forgot” to return, or those who slipped away while supervisors looked elsewhere. Although their numbers were significant, no one staged a “Great Escape” like ours from the May 1st, 1987 parade—a feat made possible by our meeting.

The Meeting

We, Angelo and George, met on September 15, 1985, at the start of our first year at Mihai Viteazul High School in Bucharest. We looked at each other, shook hands, and—bam!—it was friendship at first sight, the beginning of a story that continues today, 39 years later, despite the 18,000 kilometers separating us. A friendship built on what we experienced, endured, and confronted during our adolescence in the communist hell of Ceaușescu’s final years. A relationship forged while mocking the “communist values” of the era—we did so from the very first months of school, despite the punishments received.

The Punishments

It is important to know that under Ceaușescu, failure or dismissal did not exist; expulsion from high school (even from Mihai Viteazul, arguably the best in the country at the time) was impossible. This meant that “black sheep”—and we were at the top of the list—had to be kept in school at any cost; everything else mattered less. Still, school management and teachers could make life hell through punishments to make students leave voluntarily. By the end of the first term, George and I already had low “behavior” grades, which were critical for the future: the most prestigious universities and, especially, Party Schools, were reserved for those with good behavior grades. But we continued regardless—we did not see ourselves becoming loyal cadres of the Communist Party. And in Ceaușescu’s Romania, a job could always be found. So, the school’s communist leadership decided on bullying—a punishment for those who did not “bow their heads,” who did not obey the rules and commandments of “communist ethics.” Bonus: the punished student’s classmates had to perform most of the tasks and became accomplices in the regime’s crimes, thus supporting it; if it fell, so did they. In our case, this maneuver spectacularly failed: instead of becoming our tormentors, our classmates chose to ally with us.

Classmates—Our Allies!

In high school, George and I were in the most “difficult” class: composed of students hardest to dominate, control, and manipulate (mostly from “intellectual” families—doctors, engineers, etc.). Initially, out of caution or disinterest, they kept their distance from our “criminal” conduct. They had never sided with the communist teachers, but the pressure to harass us pushed them into our arms. Moreover, though under 16, we already embodied values like “honor,” “glory,” and “freedom”—instilled by the Metal Rock we had just begun listening to. So we made a deal with the most influential classmates: they would join us in our “crimes,” enjoying all their advantages. And when an investigation came, we would take all the blame, leaving them to appear naive, “fools” manipulated by us. The May 1st, 1987 parade was an epic moment in a long series of “crimes” against “communist values,” the moment of a “Great Escape.”

The Beginning

It all started with an announcement made during a “political education” class, strategically placed between two math lessons (which prevented us from skipping, as we usually did). Into the classroom entered the Communist head of the high school, Comrade Mincu—a cold woman who only seemed to experience excitement while listening to Ceaușescu’s speeches. She informed us that we had “volunteered” to participate in that year’s May Day parade. When several classmates tried to protest, she silenced them immediately, threatening to lower their conduct grades. She then continued to speak about the honor bestowed upon us by the Party to march in front of Ceaușescu. When the break finally came, everyone rushed to us. Several girls had tears in their eyes: “You have to save us.” It was difficult, complicated, but not impossible for the two of us, Angelo and George. We had already been “clever” before; in high school, teaming up only made us even more so.

The Plan

Skipping school was out of the question, as attendance would be checked. We needed a way to escape during the march to Piața Romană, where the parade was to begin. It wasn’t easy to make a whole class of 40 students “disappear” during the few kilometers’ walk while under supervision. But after countless hours of discussion (real brainstorming sessions!), we had our plan. It was simple: our class, being at the end of the column, would behave in the first half of the route. Supervising teachers would see everything was “in order” and become careless. We would march at the front of everyone else, so the teachers would see us, assume all was fine, and pay less attention to the rest. Alongside us would be three other tall, solid boys, blocking the teachers’ view of what was happening behind us. From there, everyone would slip away one by one. When we reached near the Scala Cinema (about 600 meters from Piața Romană), we would make our way to a prearranged meeting point—the General School No. 1 “Grădina Icoanei” (today the Central School National College).

Our High School – “Demoted”

Worth noting: the head of the organizing committee for that year’s May Day parade was Ion Dincă, nicknamed “God.” It was still dark outside when we gathered in front of the high school; we had to arrive early because our school had the “honor” of opening the parade, marching first in front of Ceaușescu. Then, a plot twist: at the last moment, we were told the order had changed, and students from another school would march first. We had to stay put, awaiting new instructions. The supervising teachers were stunned, and Comrade Mincu, with tears in her eyes, asked, “What did I do wrong?” George answered bluntly: “Others bribed more than we did.” I, Angelo, added: “And they knew how to give it straight to God, not some random angel.” Comrade Mincu foamed at the mouth, screaming at us while our classmates collapsed with laughter. A long, boring, and exhausting wait followed for everyone—except us. Some boys set up a football match, the girls cheered, and the rest played chess and cards. I, Angelo, had to stay aside and continue writing my sci-fi novel, The Eagle, a hit among our class! Time flew, and a few hours later, when it was time to depart, we protested loudly: the game wasn’t finished, we didn’t know who had won the chess match, and I hadn’t yet finished writing.

“Disappearing” on the Route

Even the best plans rarely survive the first hour of battle. You must constantly adapt them to the ever-changing conditions of the front; otherwise, you lose the battle or suffer enormous losses. Our plan, however, got a helping hand from “God” (Ion Dincă), tipping the balance further in our favour. When we set off, the teachers were already tired from waiting and frustrated by the last-minute changes. A few hundred meters ahead, two students slipped to the front of the column under the pretext of talking to a friend. They never returned to their places—clearly “evaporated” before us! Then, boom: one girl “twisted her ankle” (allegedly!) and needed help. Left alone to supervise, Comrade Mincu had to let two of our classmates assist her until the painkiller kicked in. The column had moved far enough for them to continue, but in the opposite direction! Minutes later, frustrated by our deliberate refusal to talk, Comrade Mincu moved to the front of the column to gossip with fellow teachers. She stayed there the rest of the way, glancing back to check on us. Each time, she saw only Angelo, me, and the three solid boys behind us—convinced all was fine. She never noticed the lines thinning behind us: here, someone took a wrong turn; there, someone entered a building out of curiosity and exited on a different street. And so it went until the grand finale.

The Grand Finale

When we passed the Intercontinental Hotel and entered the straight line to Piața Romană, the last classmates still with us slipped away. Seconds later, Comrade Mincu looked back and saw only us. She started screaming, and that was our moment to depart en fanfare: waving hands, blowing kisses, and sprinting like an Olympic 100-meter dash. We passed a park, which would serve as a trap for pursuers: thinking we were hiding there, they stopped to search, giving us the chance to reach our refuge—a school with a several-meter-high fence. Scaling it and entering the courtyard was a climbing challenge, but we succeeded. My uniform trousers paid the price: turned into shorts. We were safely inside when teachers and the militia arrived. I heard them say: “We can’t be here, the grade is too high. Let’s return to the park; they must be hiding somewhere there.” And they left. We stayed in our hideout, perfectly safe.

And Now, What Do We Do?

Of course, we couldn’t leave immediately, as the area was swarming with “enemy forces” (teachers and militia) searching intensely. We had to wait until the parade ended, when the streets would be full of people, and we could melt into the crowd. To pass the time, nothing was better than a game of football. For a few hours, we became players for Steaua, Ajax, Barça, or Milan. Many goals, victory or frustration shouts, reproaches: “Why didn’t you pass to me? Didn’t you see my position?” “Watch where you shoot, at least!” “Why don’t you help in defense?” “It was a foul!” “No, it wasn’t!” The cherry on top: several windows broken from unlucky hits. I confess, that was my fault, being anti-talented at football—but I left a note: bill for damages addressed to the ‘May Day Parade Organizing Committee’!

Epilogue

The investigation followed the first day of school, of course. Our classmates unanimously claimed they had been manipulated and had believed what we, Angelo and George, wanted. Some said they got lost after we asked them to fetch water or sweets. A few girls even claimed they left out of fear after we “threatened them with a beating” (ha-ha!). In short, the inquiry concluded it was entirely our fault and no one else’s. The High School Disciplinary Council could only confirm we were guilty. Consequently, our conduct grades for the first term were lowered to the minimum. We were also given documents requiring us to request a transfer to another school—of course, these went straight into the nearest trash can, and the school had to keep us until graduation. Another consequence: our class was exempted from “agricultural practice” (forced labor in farms or construction, unskilled and unpaid) for the rest of the year. When we were finally called at year’s end, it turned into a disaster and nightmare for the teachers and school (see Children, Education, and Forced Labour).