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.
Ceau?escu 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, Ceau?escu nu mai e!
My heart beat in rhythm to the chants.
Li-ber-ta-te, Li-ber-ta-te!
Ceau?escu 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 Timi?oara, how could he say that?
They could shoot any of us. Or worse.
All of us.
65
?AIZECE ?I CINCI
Soldiers, tanks, armored vehicles. Army and militia units moved in.
A young man ran toward us. “Ceau?escu’s called in more military. Securitate and snipers, they’re in tunnels under the city. They’re coming. Soon!”
“It’s just to scare us,” said Adrian.
Luca tried to negotiate with a young soldier. “Hey, put down your weapon. You’re Romanian. Your obligation is to defend our nation and its citizens.”
“He’s right,” I said. “You’re in service to the country, not the criminals. No one wants violence.”
“Do you have a cigarette?” asked the young soldier. “I smoke when I’m nervous.”
Adrian lit a cigarette and gave it to the soldier. “C’mon, put the gun down. You’re Romanian, man, just like me.”
The soldier’s eyes flitted briefly beneath his helmet. “You guys should leave. Hurry.”
“Leave? We’re not leaving. This is our country! Are you Romanian? Are you with us?” I yelled in his face.
Luca pulled me away.
The armored vehicles rolled closer. Some protesters fled. Others scattered and hid.
“Follow me!” yelled Adrian. We ran behind him, closer to the hotel. As we stepped onto the sidewalk, a stutter of tracer fire blazed above our heads.
“Watch out! They’re marking our position.”
We ducked behind a car. A little boy crouched by the tire, eyes pinched closed, hands over his ears. An ungodly pitch of screaming shrieked through the streets.