64
ŞAIZECE ŞI PATRU
he crowd lingered. People stood, shocked, waiting.
Luca’s mouth hung open and he began to laugh, nervouslyT swatting my shoulder.
A woman in a babushka shuffled up to us. “Go home, boys. Now!” she said. “It was probably televised. There were cameras. There will be consequences. Be quick. Go home and hide, they’ll kill all of you.”
“We’re not cowards!” I told the woman.
“We’re already dead!” replied a university student in a green cap.
“Their system has killed us.”
“We have to fight for the future!” said a man.
“We have to fight for Romania!” I yelled.
The crowd cheered. The terrified old woman tottered away.
A university student stood on a lamppost, holding a flag. “Remember, this is peaceful. We’re asking for food and electricity. We’re asking for freedom of opinion, freedom of religion. For those of you who are undecided—please, join us! Workers, come join us! Students, come join us!
The world is watching Eastern Europe. Show them that Romanians aren’t cowards. Together we’ll stand up against tyranny. We’re going to march for freedom. Join us!”
An elderly man took off his hat and clutched it in his hands. With quivering voice, he began to sing.
Deșteaptă-te, române, din somnul cel de moarte.
Awaken thee, Romanian—wake up from your deadly sleep.
The old song of patriotism. It had been outlawed when the communists destroyed the monarchy. Those who knew the words joined him.
Better to die in battle, in full glory Than to once again be slaves upon our ancient ground.
The student in the green cap turned to me. “I’m Adrian,” he said.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Cristian; this is Luca.”
“How old are you guys?”
“Seventeen.” I removed the knife from my pocket. “Hey, give me that flag.”
I grabbed the flag and cut the communist coat of arms from the center, leaving a hole amidst the vertical stripes of blue, yellow, and red. I held it up to the crowd.
Without the emblem in the center, the flag resembled our national flag
of the 1800s:
Blue for liberty.
Yellow for justice.
Red for blood.
“Cristian and Luca, you carry the flag,” said Adrian. He gently steered the elderly gentleman in front of us. “And you, sir, will lead us for as long as you feel able.”
We walked together, chanting and singing. The crowds grew as we marched.
As people left work for the day, I encouraged them to join the swell of protestors. Our column expanded and became one massive surge of thousands of people. Demonstrators brought flags with holes, they carried signs. Our voices were ragged from shouting and singing, hoarse with happiness.
My body had felt uninhabitable for so long. But now the emptiness was replaced by a closeness. A true camaraderie. We all felt it. We saw it in one another’s eyes. It was freedom—and it was glorious.
We continued for hours.
Darkness fell. The crowds increased. Information circulated.
TV and radio stations over the border in Hungary—they’re reporting the protest.
Ceauşescu deployed the army. They’re setting up stations.
Plainclothes agents, they’re everywhere. Be careful!
A group of wet demonstrators ran by us.
“Stay alert,” shouted Adrian. “They’re hosing people!”
We arrived at University Square.
“Oh my god,” said Luca.
People—as far as the eye could see. Thousands and thousands of people—pregnant women, adults with children on their shoulders, countless students. The sound of the crowd roared.
Olé, olé, olé, olé, Ceauşescu nu mai e!
My heart beat in rhythm to the chants.
Li-ber-ta-te, Li-ber-ta-te!
Ceauşescu no more. Liberty!
Near the Intercontinental Hotel, I helped demonstrators build a barricade using a tumble of chairs and tables. Kids ran near our blockade, using their fingers as guns, crouching in poses like the renegades they saw in American movies. I tried to shoo them away.
“Adrian,” shouted Luca. “Should we tell people to take kids home? It’s probably not safe for little ones.”
“It’s fine. They won’t shoot kids. It’s important for all ages to demonstrate. The world must see that everyone wants change.”
Luca looked at me. Our thoughts were in sync.
Adrian said they wouldn’t shoot kids.
After what happened in Timișoara, how could he say that?
They could shoot any of us. Or worse.
All of us.