I am fed-up with Romania!

by Sabin Gherman

(Romanian journalist)

I am fed-up with John Doe, with the smartarseness and with the Gypsy-like behaviour that are associated to this country name, Romania. I talk to several politicians who hold the power and all of them tell me that "we have no chance whatsoever"(Transl. note: to join modern Europe). I read in the newspapers and find that the government took care to give more funds to Bucharest than to the entire Transylvania, from the '98 revenue. I drive the car South and East and I notice the difference: there are better highways there, funds are always pumped in there. I wait in line at the revenue office, at the state-owned bank, at anything state-owned and tips are given everywhere. Bribes. Payola. Turkish habits, which one cannot do without.

So what? I don't want to emigrate, just because nothing has been done in ten years. I'm just fed-up with Romania. With its synonyms. With its heroisms taken out of any historical context. Other nations show their pride in Michelangelo or Da Vinci, whereas I'm shown the letter of Neacsu from Cimpulung (Transl.note: the first document written in Romanian, dated 1521 and sent by Neacsu to the Saxon mayor of Brassó, Transylvania, with reference to Turkish war ship movements on the Danube). What a fantastic achievement, this delation! (Transl, note: a quotation from Ion Luca Caragiale) If I regret anything at all now, at 30 years old, it is that I was born here, that I am among those who had been taught in school that this people, - "the beoble" (Transl. note: another quotation from Ion Luca Caragiale), Gentlemen, was in a permanent erection in front of history. What people? We, who hadn't shown virility at least once, we, who were packing up in times of invasion and ran for our lives to the forests, we, who were fainting in the halls where history was being decided (Transl. note: reference to the Romanian Foreign minister's faint, when he heard the Vienna decision in 1940, returning Northern Transylvania to Hungary), we, who nowadays scream for a piece of bread and don't know what more tricks to invent.

Here we are, bum-patched, elbow-ripped, we enter history as if a filthy pub in the neighbourhood. Between two burps and a swearing, the people (the beoble, gentlemen!), talk fiercely about Posada (Transl. note: the pass where King Karoly Robert of Hungary lost the battle in 1330 after being attacked from the back), about Michael The Brave (Mihai Viteazul, prince of Walachia, or Muntenia, who conquered Transylvania and Moldavia at about 1600), about "Long live and prosper Moldavia, Transylvania and Muntenia!" (Transl.note: historical provinces of the nowadays Romania). And yet another victorious burp. I'm fed-up with being ashamed of myself. That's why I tell my Western friends that I am from Transylvania. Altra paese. Other country. L'autre pays. I'm fed-up with being told by all non-Transylvanians that here, in Transylvania, I have troubles with Hungarians. That, weren't they... That hunger is the mother of wisdom. That federalisation is the most terrible danger watching me, stalking on me around the corner of the tower of flats along to the mugger whom I pay taxes for. That I ought to tighten the belt, as if Nastratine's donkey (Transl.note: reference to folk stories about Nastratine Hodja). In the name of the "unity" and "prosperity" of the Rrromanian kin. Yet I, who have been waiting for 10 years for a real unity, the unity of Transylvanian parliament members for Transylvania, the civic campaign to save the few that is left.

Yet I, praying each evening to finally come to an end with László Tőkés, with his ethnical aberrations against everyone. (Transl.note: ironical reference to the Hungarian Reformat bishop, the frequent target of Romanian nationalists' attacks). Yet, in vain. So far. Some people carried out the Unification [of Transylvania with Romania] in 1918. Other people put their hopes in a Swiss-type confederation, together with Hungary, Czechia, and Austria. And still others, as Ioan Slavici, said that the unification of Transylvania with Romania is hogwash, and were jailed. Now we can see its outcome. Sobriety, elegance, and discipline - features of Transylvania - were invaded by johndoeisms, by ordinary Balkan habits, by the civilisation of the pumpkin seeds. It was Romania's chance to unite with Transylvania, to learn something from its organisation, from its systems of values. It did not happen so; Romania swallowed Transylvania - this is why nowadays one can slide every three yards on the saliva spat on the great boulevards. It is not myself who says this, but someone equal to God, Cioran (Transl.note: Romanian born Emil Cioran (1911-1995), active in France as a writer). Many will throw in their two cents to argue the aforesaid. But: how many of you didn't go to Bucharest with your filled bag, with the famous wovenbag, stuffed with bottles of hard drink? And you didn't bring it to your friends, but to chief executive officers, to ministries, to high places behind closed doors. And if, naive as you are, you didn't carry those bags, how many times weren't you warned that one enters Bucharest with one's head, since your hands are busy with "luggages". Bucharest, this place where the phthisic genius kisses the billionaire illiterate, taught all the country that "one is given". "Meat is given", "Eggs are given". One is given. Mollusk attitude.

One has no rights here, only conventionalities. Here one eats pumpkin seeds, one uses to talk like: "there is many", and people generally are born, spawn, and die. They haven't learned anything from Hungarians, they haven't learned anything from Austrians, they haven't learned anything from Germans. Too early they switched from "forktion" (Transl.note: a quotation from Vasile alecsandri; an ironical reference to snobs, who, having no good French skills, thought enough adding the -tion suffix to the Romanian word furculita=fork, to get its foreign version) to "Romanian brigades pierce through Carpathians!" (Transl. note: the marching song of the royal Romanian army when in 1916, after two years of neutrality, attacked the Hungarian held Transylvania, but withdrawn soon, after 3 weeks, because of military failure). Maybe this is why the bravest "defenders" of Transylvania were born beyond the Carpathians. Maybe this is why Europe ends somewhere near Braşov(Hungarian: Brassó). There's where Transylvania ends as well. Since, besides language and poor highways we have nothing in common.

We will have to wake up. To admit that what happens now is a comedy. But one in which your children ask you for a chocolate, and you just raise your shoulders. In which, tremblingly, you always look for a recommendation for anything. In which you whisper round corners about the villas of policemen, or of parliament members. A world doomed to borrowing from one salary to the next one. We will have to see that it can be otherwise. That we are different. That all the evil comes from Bucharest, from the luxury palaces, where politicians dispute the bone without any shame at all. We will have to see that it's not Hungarians, or Germans, or people of Burundi those who are our enemies, but ourselves, who live from one day to the next one, doomed to steal and swear around corners. We have nothing what to tell each other anymore, we have been doing this for 75 years (Transl. note: since 1918 when Transylvania was united with Romania) and we are 75 times poorer now. Otherwise, have nice days - I'm fed-up with Romania, I want my Transylvania!

(Sept. 16, 1998)