Romania Does Not Need a Single Voice. It Needs the Same Country

A friend recently told me something that has stayed with me more than many political speeches ever have: that after 1989 he never imagined he would once again reach a point where he would have to weigh his words, think twice before speaking, and fear that a sentence taken out of context might be turned into a label that defines him in the eyes of others. He was not speaking about legal censorship, formal prohibitions, or the disappearance of freedom of expression. He was speaking about something subtler and perhaps more dangerous to the health of a society: self-censorship born from the fear of being interpreted, classified, and excluded from the conversation.

Romania today does not suffer from a lack of voices, but from their growing inability to form a common conversation. We speak a great deal, react instantly, classify quickly, and listen very little. “Pro-European”, “anti-European”, “sovereigntist”, “globalist”, “Putinist”, “extremist”, “pro-Western” — labels have increasingly begun to replace ideas. Instead of asking what someone is saying, why they are saying it, and which part of their argument can be rationally discussed, we first want to know which camp we can place them in.

This is where one of the major problems of the present moment lies: patriotism, sovereignty and the national interest have sometimes come to be treated not as legitimate political concepts, but almost as warning signs. Yet asking what is good for one’s own country is not, in itself, extremism. Wanting a strong state, functioning institutions, a competitive economy, viable agriculture, dignity in foreign affairs and genuine decision-making capacity is not a departure from democracy. The line must be drawn where such ideas are used to justify authoritarianism, exclusion, xenophobia or the denial of other people’s rights. But there is an enormous distance between patriotism and extremism, and a mature society must know how to preserve that distinction.

The Georgescu Case: When the Man’s Name Swallows the Question

Călin Georgescu is relevant precisely because very different issues have converged around him, some legitimate and others deeply controversial. Romania’s 2024 presidential election was annulled amid suspicions concerning foreign interference and campaign irregularities; his subsequent candidacy was rejected, and he is currently the subject of criminal investigations and proceedings. These are facts that must be treated seriously, neither minimized nor prejudged by those outside the courts.

But this is precisely where a more difficult democratic test begins: can we separate the individual from the questions that part of the electorate recognized in his discourse? Can we criticize his controversial statements without declaring every concern about sovereignty, resources, economic independence or the national interest inherently suspect? Can we accept that someone may support or vote for a candidate for very different reasons without assuming that they endorse every statement, every association and every position of that candidate?

If we can no longer make this distinction, we are no longer trying to understand society; we are sorting it. We divide people into those who are considered “acceptable” and those who are treated as “suspect”. And when a significant part of the population is told that its questions are illegitimate before they have even been heard, those questions do not disappear. They become more radical.

We cannot turn the concept of sovereignty into a forbidden word simply because it is also used by controversial political figures. Sovereignty is one of the constitutive concepts of the state. The serious question is not whether Romania should be sovereign, but how it exercises sovereignty in a world of alliances, treaties, economic interdependence and international obligations. Likewise, the question is not whether Romania should have a national interest. Every state has one. The question is how it defines and pursues that interest without violating its commitments and without turning its own interests into hostility toward others.

The Shepherds in Victory Square: Beyond the Fences and Tear Gas

The sheep farmers’ protest of 15 September 2026 offered another striking image of this fracture. Farmers came to Bucharest amid anger over the management of disease outbreaks, the culling of animals and restrictions on exports of sheep and goats. These grievances were real and were formally submitted to the Government.

There were also serious incidents. Some participants pushed through police cordons and threw objects, while law-enforcement forces used tear gas and water cannon. Such acts must be assessed individually and, where the law was broken, sanctioned according to law.

That is the question that interests me more than the inevitable spectacle of the incident itself.

One of the initiators of the protest said that they had come to Bucharest “to save the Miorița”. It may sound like a simple phrase, but it contains more of Romania than we are sometimes willing to see.

The shepherd is not merely an economic actor in a statistical sector. He belongs to a historical continuity. Sheep farming has shaped villages, routes, commerce, cuisine, vocabulary, music and the collective imagination. From transhumance to Miorița, pastoral life lies deep within Romania’s cultural memory.

And yet, when these people reached the centre of the capital, urban Romania saw them first through security fences and images of confrontation.

We can and should condemn violence. But we should not allow the violence of some individuals to turn the entire cause of people who work from morning until night, raise animals, produce food and keep communities alive into mere background noise — communities belonging to a Romania that receives far less attention than it deserves.

A fence can protect an institution. It cannot replace dialogue.

And perhaps this is one of the most accurate images of Romania today: people travelling hundreds of kilometres to say that they can no longer continue as before, while between them and the centre of political power stands a line of metal fences.

The Cart

One may be stronger, another weaker. One pulls faster, another more slowly. One wants to move westward more quickly, another asks for caution. One calls itself progressive, another conservative; one European, another sovereigntist.

But no horse can bring the cart to its destination alone.

The moment each one pulls in a different direction, the fact that one is stronger ceases to be an advantage. It can become part of the problem.

You can be profoundly European and profoundly Romanian. You can consider membership of the European Union essential while also demanding that Romania negotiate firmly for its agriculture, energy, industry and companies. You can defend NATO without believing that the national interest ceases to exist. You can criticize European institutions without wishing for the destruction of the European project.

The Yoke

Every state needs rules, and every community needs discipline. But there is a difference between a rule that organizes and a rule that suffocates.

The yoke placed on draft animals serves a purpose: it turns two separate forces into a common force. But if it is tightened too much, it no longer helps them pull. It wounds them.

The same is true of society.

People accept taxes, restrictions, rules and sacrifices when they understand their purpose, when they see them applied fairly and when they feel that their voice matters. But when citizens begin to believe that they are expected simply to remain silent, pay and comply, while any question may turn them into an “extremist”, a “Putinist”, an “anti-European” or some other convenient category, something begins to break.

This is where I see the connection between the Georgescu case and the shepherds’ protest. Not because they are politically the same phenomenon. They are not. But because both show us the danger of responding to complex social realities with a simple label.

In one case, we risk confusing legitimate questions about sovereignty, the economy and the national interest with every controversy surrounding a single political figure.

In both cases, if we fail to ask “why?”, we will understand nothing.

The Same Home

I do not want a Romania in which everyone thinks alike. Such societies are not united. They are silent.

I do want a Romania in which no one has to fear that loving their own country makes them suspect. A Romania in which “national” is not synonymous with “extremist”, just as “European” is not synonymous with “anti-Romanian”. A Romania in which we can say that someone is wrong without declaring that they no longer have the right to speak. A Romania in which a rural community does not have to break through a fence in order to become visible. And a Romania in which citizens do not have to pass every sentence through a filter of fear before daring to say it aloud.

And if we want a strong Romania, the first step is not to decide who has a monopoly over patriotism or who is allowed to speak about sovereignty.