I am a disgusted citizen. Disgusted to the very marrow of my vote. In a Romania that was supposedly evolving, that should’ve learned something from the ’90s, here we are in 2025 with a presidential runoff that looks like a bad joke told by a drunk uncle at a wedding with no music.
On one side, we have George Simion – a football hooligan promoted to the status of “people’s leader.” A guy who shouts more than he thinks, who waves the national flag like a certificate of competence, even though it’s obvious he got it without taking any exam. A man banned from entering several European countries, who probably dreams of ruling Romania after the Belarus model – but with more nationalist doughnuts and far less subtlety. Yes, that George Simion. Almost half the country has loudly declared: “That’s our guy.” They proudly stamped, with their own hands, a walking scandal, an empty shell, a man who thinks diplomacy is an insult and foreign policy is something you do via Facebook Live.
Let me say it again: almost half of Romania. And don’t insult my intelligence by telling me that voter turnout was around 50%. The others, the ones who didn’t show up, consciously enabled the spread of the cancer called “sovereignism.” That’s the polite way of saying: they simply didn’t give a damn.
On the other hand, we’ve got Nicușor Dan. A candidate who looks like he was printed out of a broken technocrat printer, with the toner running low and the keys glued together by Excel formulas. A man so rigid that if you asked him to smile, he might crack. No charisma, no speech skills, no emotion. Just a monotone voice, two perpetually confused eyebrows, and the attitude of a clerk stuck between two environmental permits.
And yet, in 2025, he’s somehow become the “savior of democracy.” Not because he did anything spectacular – just because he didn’t go completely off the rails. Compared to the other guy – the tricolor-clad madman frothing at the mouth – Nicușor seems almost… decent. That’s the bar now: it’s enough to breathe normally, not talk to imaginary demons, and not believe that the Earth is flat and the climate is controlled by satellites, and boom – you’re the “rational leader.”
I’m not saying the guy has bad intentions. He probably sincerely wants the best for the country – he just seems unable to imagine it without a spreadsheet in front of him. He has the goodwill of a retired math teacher and the flexibility of a filing cabinet. As mayor, he argued more with his own nature than with Gabriela Firea. He promised urbanism and delivered dust and nerves. He promised change and gave us delays and awkward silences.
Lack of vision? Obvious. Political courage? Come on. If he had to make a quick decision, he’d probably first run a simulation on open-source software and then post a poll on a forum. And yet, here he is, in the second round. Why? Because in the crooked mirror of this election, “not being insane” has become a top-tier quality.
What does this grotesque picture tell us? That Romania is split into two parallel worlds. One that wants isolation, revenge, myths, conspiracies, and a strange kind of “national dignity” served by loudmouths who’ve produced nothing but noise and scandals with a flag in the background. And the other, exhausted by the lack of real options, clings to a clumsy technocrat who seems to go through life holding an instruction manual – and reading it wrong.
How the hell did we get here? Simple. And painful. Because we were too busy with memes, jokes like “Simion would make a good bodyguard” or “Nicușor tangled up in wires,” while the political stage filled up with dust and noise. Because we confused aggression with determination and silence with seriousness. Because we left it all in the hands of “others” – and those others voted with their gut and frustration, not with their brain.
We laughed at Simion until he became a threat. We mocked Dan’s blunders until he became nothing more than a pale face on a campaign poster. And now we stare at the ballot like we’re choosing between funeral pudding and spoiled jelly. And we have to choose. Because, of course, “democracy means choosing the lesser evil.” What a bitter joke.
What’s next? We’ll find out on May 18. But let’s not kid ourselves: no matter who wins, Romania is about to lose another decade. Whether it’s the guy with the screaming flag or the guy with the bored equation, we’ll keep stumbling through the fog. This isn’t a choice – it’s Russian roulette with blank bullets. Only this time, the clicking sound echoes across the nation.
Romania needs a violent awakening. Not one with pink placards and slogans about “unity.” No. A brutal one. One that shakes us to the core, that forces us to stare long and ashamed into the mirror. To realize that this country won’t change with “I’m voting against” or “at least this one isn’t crazy.” We need a generation that doesn’t vote out of disgust, habit, or despair. A generation that isn’t satisfied with “it’ll do” and doesn’t need imaginary enemies to feel patriotic.
And most of all, we need leaders. Not mascots. Not mathematicians lost in bureaucracy. Not tribunes with their jaws locked on “country, nation, and enemies.” Leaders who understand that governing isn’t about going viral or filling out Excel sheets. It’s about vision, backbone, and – God forbid – empathy. A word completely foreign to today’s political vocabulary.
But perhaps more importantly than anything, we need citizens. Not spectators with a phone in one hand and sunflower seeds in the other. Not armchair patriots who mistake voting for yelling at a referee. Not moral preachers who, between two Facebook posts, can’t be bothered to leave the house and vote. We need people who understand that this country is neither a stadium nor a laboratory. It’s a collective construction – and if it’s falling apart, that’s partly your fault too.
Until then, what are we left with? Watching the show. A cheap, poorly directed spectacle with mediocre actors and lines seemingly written in a fit of rage. The tickets? We all paid for them – in taxes, in hope, in silence. And the applause – like in some twisted nightmare – comes from the wrong side of the stage. Where the audience is louder than they are lucid, angrier than they are informed, and far more eager to believe in nonsense than to accept the truth.
Curtain call? Not yet. One more act to go. And if we don’t walk out of the theater now, we’ll end up extras in a play written by idiots and staged on the ruins of a country that once promised something more.
Just to be clear at the end: the only AI that truly suffered during the making of this article was the poor image generator, still struggling to draw a metaphor with Simion and an equation with Nicușor without frying its graphics card.