The downfall of a nation doesn’t take decades—it happens swiftly, almost silently, like a creeping disease. Putin launched the invasion, and protests erupted immediately. People still remembered what it meant to have a voice, to lift their gaze. But that was all. The invasion pressed on, and the protests faded—not because anything changed, but because people finally understood the message. Some were “taken” off the streets, others “fell” gracefully from windows, and a few had the “misfortune” of never waking up. And the ones who remained? Oh, they’re fine. Quieter, much more disciplined. Some may have found their place among the departed; others have learned, with unshakable resolve, to live without questions. This is how silence is made in a country. Not with words, not with negotiations. Silence is achieved through a simple, repetitive process: one example, two examples, three… until no one dares to feel the need to become one.
When we listened to Ceaușescu, he solemnly urged us to build the "multilaterally developed socialist society." How grand and ominous those words sounded, didn’t they? A perfectly balanced society, advanced in all fields—a miracle on paper, of course. Today, another figure steps forward, speaking of dignity and divine order with the same unwavering conviction and the same hollow rhetoric. Ceaușescu spoke of "defending Romania’s independence and sovereignty." A proud nation, master of its own destiny! And now? We have sovereigns of all kinds, each grander than the last, each with a more elaborate theory about who seeks to destroy us and how we must "liberate" ourselves. A relentless inflation of national enlightenment, like an endless spectacle. Ceaușescu boasted of medicinal plants, recycling, and industrialization. Now we hear about food, water, and other basic necessities—but wrapped in an apocalyptic tone, as if we teeter on the edge of catastrophe. Then, we were taught to live with less because "it was good for the country." Now, we’re told to adjust to less because "it’s good for us." Same message, different label.
What a colossal tragedy for our people! A proud nation, yet filled with individuals who fancy themselves literary critics just because they’ve posted a Facebook status. People who dare to challenge Cărtărescu—an undeniably brilliant writer—while barely reading anything beyond the level of an iron’s user manual. Denouncing the elite has become a national sport in a society worn down by struggle, where education is little more than a relic, a luxury few can afford or even desire. When people stop reading, they stop thinking. And when they stop thinking, they begin to worship sinister figures. Children raised without books grow up to idolize Andrew Tate and other thugs of his kind—the poster boys of success for primitive minds, apostles of aggressive ignorance. Children who don’t read end up absorbing crude, degrading music—the soundtrack of a generation sinking into vulgarity without even realizing it. These children will become tomorrow’s amorphous mass—one that does not question, does not challenge, but merely swallows whatever it is fed. In a healthy Western education, children are meant to develop individuality, to think, to reason with their brains—not with their stomachs, and certainly not with their genitals.
Yet even in this free society, the monsters find their place and build their empires. The West, proud of its freedom, has given the world absurd figures—Soros, Musk, Bezos—companions who believe that, under the shelter of wealth, they can say and do anything. That they can shape societies to their whims, control the masses, generate endless money, and more money, and more money, until the final victory. Whose victory? Their own, of course. The rest? The rest will be spectators, workers in factories of illusion, seekers of meaning in a world they never had the power to change.
Ceaușescu placed intellectuals in the category of "and others," in the "etc." A vague mention, a formal listing, as if their existence was nothing more than a trivial detail in the vast architecture of the socialist society. It was his way of suggesting—without ever saying it outright—that he preferred the people with limited minds, solitary neurons, over those capable of thinking, analyzing, creating. For him, these people who could have lifted the country from misery, from ignorance, from the spiral of madness, were a threat. Intellectuals, with their dangerous ideas, with their uncomfortable questions, needed to be silenced or transformed into obedient puppets. So, they were marginalized, discredited, or even destroyed. Today, in our world, the methods are more subtle, but the essence remains the same. The cult of mediocrity continues to flourish. Those who could elevate the country are ignored or thrown into an abstract category, “and others.” Meanwhile, those who shout the loudest, who offer simple solutions to complex problems, who promote ignorance as a virtue, are the ones who dominate the stage. The spiral continues...
Don’t worry, though, it will all be resolved quickly. Much faster than our neighbors to the east, who needed a year or two for “alignment.” For us? A few weeks, at most. And for the younger ones, read on this blog the stories of the communism we lived through, a preview of what awaits your children. When we were young, we learned poems at school about the beloved leader. You’ll have even less to memorize—just a few mandatory slogans and a set of approved emojis. Back in our day, whispers about the regime were shared in the kitchen, with the curtains drawn and the radio turned up. You’ll have silent conversations, expressed through glances, while your phone stays on the table, always open, “just to be.”
Back then, a poorly told joke in line for meat could lead to a denunciation to the Securitate. Today, an ironic comment on social media will be enough to lose your account, your job, perhaps even your passport. Progress, right? Not many of you will be left on LinkedIn, Instagram, or any other network where you practice your “freedom of expression.” For many, a "night of the mind" is coming—but not a metaphorical one, a real, deep, endless one. A night that will turn any attempt at critical thinking into an act of dangerous heroism. And then, you will truly feel what it’s like to be a piece of brick struck by the oncoming train of totalitarianism, speeding at full force. But hey, good news is flowing from the east! In Russia, there is now silence, peace, and prosperity! People are no longer troubled by unnecessary dilemmas; they know what to believe, what to say, and when to remain silent. Those who don’t believe can take a round-trip ticket to Moscow, to see firsthand what a controlled paradise looks like. Or, for the more cautious, Mark Rutte was right: head to Auckland, we’ll meet at the airport, because from New Zealand, you can still look at the world without feeling suffocated!
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