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One Man's Revolution
5 May 2001 14:33
No Dave, I never believed in God. Never for a minute
believed he could exist. No not at all, until...
It
was 1989 and I was employed as a fitter at the giant
Petro-Chemical Plant called 'Midia', at Navodari, a small
town on the Black Sea coast, near to Constanta. Although
in the decadent West people had long passed to the five
day working week and eight hours a day work program, we
here in the 'workers paradise' worked twelve hours a day
and six days a week, many times including Sundays.
Every day life was an ordeal, not only because of the
long working hours but also because there would be no
food shop open after 19 o'clock when the work program was
up. If sometimes I did finish early and found a shop
open, there was precious little to buy. Bread, sugar,
oil, meat, cheese - all were rationed worse than in the
wartime. Basic goods were always in short supply, and
corruption was everywhere.
In any case, all I ever saw in those 'Alimentaras' (grocery
shops) was a sour face and the dirty labels of what I
might be looking for. - Ah, I forget. There was something
that could be found easily - ocean canned fish, mountains
of it, just about everywhere throughout the country, I
never understood why.
Ion
I stayed in the
'Workers Block', where we lived communally. There were
five rooms, match-box like in a row, each with dusty blue
walls with the paint coming off all over, with nothing in
them but four beds. No kitchen or bathroom, and just one
common toilet for the block. The Party considered these
things unnecessary!
My room-mate was quite a strange fellow named Ion (the
other two beds in our room were empty most of the time).
Ion - Romanian for 'John' - was tall, skinny, moustached,
and had two black penetrating eyes that gave me spine
shivers a couple of times. He came from the same county
as me and, like me was aged about 30 and unmarried. We
both had an acute sense of being left abandoned, at the
mercy of those malefic forces incarnated by our leader,
Comrade Ceausescu. But then, who hadn't.
After we got to know each other better, he confided to me
about how some years back (in 1981) he had been recruited
by a Security Officer to work as an informer. He
confessed to me how he had written reports about one of
his mates, and how by doing this he could get coffee,
food, foreign cigarettes, stuff like that we ordinary
'comrades' could only dream of.
But then after a while, a tormented conscience had
decided him to stop doing that dirty job. The Security
Officer tried hard to persuade him to carry on and, after
failing to do so, arranged things in such a way that Ion
received from his employers' doctor a medical certificate
that said he was suffering from schizophrenia so he could
no longer work. It was a stigma that destroyed his life.
In Romania of those times, people who for some reason
were seen at the Hospital door marked 'Psychiatry' could
only be considered insane and consequently treated as
such.
So my friend - for in the end we became friends - lived
with this millstone around his neck because of that weak
moment which he was forever repenting for. At work his
colleagues would scoff at him, calling him "Ion the
Mad."
He managed to get hired as a welder at Midia by bribing
someone from the Personal Department, not giving money,
but 5 packs of Kent cigarettes. Kent cigarettes were like
real 'money', our national de-facto currency, that could
buy you anything or open any door.
Late that summer, reports began coming in about events in
Russia, where Gorbachov was putting into practice his
'Perestroika', and the fallout effects echoing across
Communist Europe. The news didn't come from our own press
and radio, but rather from clandestinely listening to
Radio Free Europe and BBC World Service. Especially of
great interest was the wave of east-German 'tourists'
flowing into Communist Hungary and out into Austria, and
the events in the Gdansk shipyard of Poland, where an
electrician, Lech Wallesa, and his trade union
'Solidarity' was fast gaining ground. Everywhere the
communist boat was shaking with a violence that would
sink it in the end.
Ah, we know it now but not then.....
The reports excited us, as if we were among them, the
German tourists and shipyard union members. Yet none of
us would dare to hope that Ceausescu would ever fall,
especially as he had that summer, made a defiant public
speech saying: "When the poplar will yield pears and
the osier (a creeping liana-like plant) stocks, only then
will communism fall in our country!"
The nights grew longer and colder and by November Ion
and I were more depressed then ever. Now on top of other
shortcomings were added electricity black-outs. We would
come from work to find that desolate room without any
light (power was given only at certain hours, 00 until 07),
no heating and no drinking water. By the light of a
candle made from cloth burning in gas-filled jar we made
jokes about the 'Years of Light's Epoch' we were supposed
to be living in. When the temperature would drop to 2-3
degrees Celsius it was impossible to sleep so we stayed
awake all night smoking cigarette after cigarette. Always
the next day at work we were tired and good for nothing.
At the time it was said that we endured those sufferings
because the country was paying back debts to greedy
capitalist bankers. This gave us hope that somehow once
the debt is paid (it was promised, in this five year plan)
we will be better off. After the fall of the dictator I
was shocked to hear that not only were all Romania's
debts paid, but over 4 billion dollars were in reserve in
the bank !!!!!
Timisoara
Then came news
of earthquakes closer to home: Reports of bloody events
in Timisoara, a town in western Romania... some sort of
revolt had started when a pastor - 'Pastor Tokes' -
didn't want to leave his church. We picked it up from
foreign broadcasts on Radio Free Europe. By now this
station was our sole source of information, the other
two, the BBC and Voice Of America, we could hardly catch
because the jamming was much stronger. The reports were
sketchy, for nobody outside of the country could know for
sure what was going on. Doubts and rumours abounded. We
looked at each other and wondered what did it all mean?
Odd things began happening after 16 December - we noticed
there were many more soldiers than usual on the streets
and always accompanied by a militia lieutenant or colonel.
The police were everywhere stopping people, checking
papers or setting up traffic filters, controlling cars
and lorries. When asked "why?" they invariably
answered that somebody had stole a gun and they wanted to
find it - it had happened once before, maybe it was true,
and yet..... nobody knew what to believe. I saw it happen
several times where two, three or four people would
gather together on the streets and then out of blue, a
militiamen would appear accompanied by two armed soldiers
to scatter them for no reason.
A few times that dramatic week I went at night to my
sister's flat in Navodari to listen to the radio. On
walking up the stairs I could hear quite clear in the
silence of the night, through the walls and doors, the
well-known voices of those from Radio Free Europe. So
people were listening, hungry for fresh news from sad
Timisoara. Back home in 'The Cave' (as me and Ion used to
call it) Ion kept on telling me: "Miti, something is
going to happen, believe me!"
Countdown
Then on 21st December, Thursday, I was caught in one of
their raids without my 'bulletin' (now we have identity
cards, but then we had bulletins stamped with a local
residence visa). For being without this, I was given an
80 lei fine which I was to pay within 24 hours.
So on the Friday morning, I set out for Miltia office
to pay my fine. On the way I noticed a new oddness: there
were no soldiers on the streets, only militiamen
accompanied by two or three unarmed 'patriotic guard'
workers. (.....) The atmosphere was heavy with
uncertainty and people were silent. By now I suspected that at Timisoara things must be getting
serious.
At the Militia Headquarters, a sergeant in uniform showed
me the room where I had to pay my fine. I knocked the
door and entered. Inside were four militiamen, dressed in
civilian clothes, not in uniform as was the norm. The
thick smoke-filled room made me quickly think they
have spent the night here! I asked to whom I had to
pay the fine, and one of them answered me very politely,
quite unusual for them. He took my money, wrote a receipt
and handed it to me with the change out of a 100 lei note.
At that moment I heard myself saying to him
"No, you keep it and buy flowers for the dead of
Timisoara...."
Well, silence fell and for a few moments I stood there
frozen. Then, without another word, I left the room,
hearing behind me some mumblings. (...)
From
the Militia office I went home to our 'Cave' and there to
my delight, I found Ion who had not gone to work that
morning. He told me how he'd felt that same heavy,
explosive atmosphere when he had gone early to the market
to buy apples and met nervous, panicky people talking
about a speech made by Ceausescu on TV the previous day
in which he had thundered against 'vandals and retrograde
elements in Timisoara.' And today in Bucharest, a large
meeting had been organised where Ceausescu was expected
to speak in similar gobbledygook tones about 'hooligans,
decadent elements, foreign interference' - calling upon
us to condemn in one voice what was going on.
Ion had a small battery radio on which he was trying to
find something to listen to, but there was only patriotic
music!! It was strange, why just music all the time? ('Ceausescu's
funeral music' Ion joked, not knowing for a second how
close to the truth he was).
Then, at about 10 o'clock, the music abruptly stopped and
a laconic voice announced: 'Comrades, this morning the
Minister of the Armed Forces committed suicide!' (I
cannot remember if General Milea was presented as a
traitor or not). The news fell like lightning. Ion was
lying on his bed eating an apple. Suddenly he sprang up
pointing a finger at me, "See that's the key - they
have shot him Miti! - That's why you couldn't see any
soldiers on the streets today - the troops have been
ordered to stay in barracks and the bastard has killed
him for not carrying out his orders - believe me Miti!"
We began to argue about it: "No" I said, "that
cannot be right, Ceausescu is the General Commander and
all the key command posts are held by loyal party members
including his brother who is a General too!".
Suddenly the music stopped and a lady speaker announced
that at any moment now 'we will be in live contact with
the great assembly before The Communist Party building in
Bucharest, where comrade Ceausescu will make an important
speech'. We listened but all we could hear on the radio
was a strange, deep, prolonged murmur in the background,
like a chant. What was it saying? We strained our ears...
(his microphone was on, picking up the sounds..)
Suddenly we heard his voice - our leader Ceausescu. But
it was unusual, saying:
"Comrades, silence please.. "
There was a pause, the background chant was still there...
"keep order please. Silence comrades, what's there......"
The contact broke and music followed again.
"We are free!"
Ion and I resumed our argument: 'No, Ceausescu couldn't
have done it, it must be something else, maybe elements
of the army ....'
Again the music stopped abruptly and we listened as a
voice broke in - this time not one of a well-educated
radio announcer, but one with an accent like us, a worker...!
"He's gone, he's gone, the Dictator has gone!
Good men!, Good men! - We are free!, God has turned his
face to us again....!!!!"
The news exploded into our reality.
For a second or two we were both paralysed. Then we just
burst out shouting for joy, and then we were half crying,
half laughing, hugging each other. We were so excited, we just stood there embracing in our 'Cave' while new voices
on the radio kept shouting loudly without any formal
order, "We are free, we are free...."
I felt spontaneously the need to get out and to shout
with all my might.
Leaving Ion in the room I dashed
downstairs and outside - Already people were pouring onto
the streets, shouting with joy, embracing each other.
Every face looked the same, yet different, for each was
radiating a contaminating aura of pure joy.
Long repressed religious feeling now erupted with all
power and suddenly we were down on our knees praying
'Heavenly Father'. Everywhere you could see people
praying to God, thanking Him for turning His face to us.
It was a like a shock wave that swept before it the whole
era of Communist atheism, a wave that penetrated even the
hardest souls. I saw militiamen hugging the ordinary folk
where yesterday they would have been enemies.
I knew then in that second that God truly existed and was
acting. - How long had the Israelites been held
prisoners in Egypt? - How many years had we lived under
that tyrant? - God turned our history around within a
second. It was so evident for all to see, it happened
right under our eyes, something far beyond any human
power.
I set out for my sisters flat to watch on live TV
what was going on in the capital. On the way I was
saluted by unknown people with a 'V' sign, I saw windows
open with TVs sat on the window ledge in order for people
outside to watch, while speakers loudly spread decibels
plentifully around. In the town square, in front of the
town hall, people had gathered and were chanting and
shouting with joy. They held in their hands the Romanian
flag with a hole ripped in the centre where the scythe
and the hammer would be. Everywhere I could see torn
pages from 'The immortal masterpieces of the Comrade' (Ceausescu)
that had been thrown away. Ships at sea had their sirens
wailing, cars and lorries were honking, it was something
words cannot describe.
At my sisters flat we stayed permanently mesmerised in
front of the old black and white TV, watching
breathtakingly as all sorts of people entered the TV
studio to bring us fresh information about events just as
it happened.
After nightfall that day, Friday December 22, bullets
started pinging in downtown Bucharest and the drama
turned into tragedy. Our feelings swung like a pendulum
from extreme happiness to the opposite. But God did not
abandon us and those who would have pulled us back into
the black past did not prevail.
And our once glorious leader? - Well he was hunted as
a wild beast. In all Romania he could not find a single
secure place to hide although he had palaces and
luxurious villas galore. Finally he was caught and after
a summary Stalinist trial, the kind that he was well
familiar with, he was shot together with his wife on
Christmas Day 1989, 25 December.
Unforgettable Days!
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