Niculina Florea
24th December 2021
Mihai Fagadaru is dead.
Of course, nobody knows who Mihai Fagadaru was.
Fagadaru was a medical doctor, father of two, fervent Christian and
leader of protests against Covid measures in my home country of Romania.
On October 30th he led a protest in our capital of Bucharest. The
following week, after treating two patients sick with Covid, he himself
fell ill. He went to hospital on November 18th, where his condition
suddenly deteriorated. In his final hours he recorded himself saying
that doctors were putting him under pressure to accept intubation. He
was afraid the procedure would kill him. He asked that his lawyer record
his refusal to give consent and that his friends care for his children
should his fears be realised.
Dr. Fagadaru had arrived at that hospital on his own two feet. The next day he was declared dead with Covid at the age of 43.
The national press hastened to declare, in large type, the death of
an infamous anti-vaxxer from the very disease he had denied and would
not be vaccinated against. Perhaps, during his last moments on earth, he
expressed regret at not taking the vaccine? But with the Fagadaru’s own
video contradicting a deathbed conversion, the media mob moved onto the
next of the day’s hundred or so Covid fatalities (most of them,
according to official statistics, unvaccinated): the search for dying
lips, to which some click-baiting last words might be attributed, must
go on.
This is what passes for news in Romania these days; a country on the
brink of civil strife and wracked with governmental instability; which
is already onto its third Prime Minister this year and enjoyed a turnout
of 30% in January’s general elections; and where there have been
protests against Covid measures every week since spring. Meanwhile,
despite a rapidly receding fifth wave, a gentile debate continues in a
parliament of questionable legitimacy about whether to legislate for a
covid vaccination certificate.
When this wave was at its peak the eyes of Europe, or at least its
mainstream media bloodhounds, were upon us. They were looking for a
horrific situation in “one of the most unvaccinated countries in
Europe”. Curiously, now that wave has receded, so too have the hacks,
and any commentary on our collective vaccination status or lack thereof
has dried up.
It remains, however, a convenient angle for the national Government,
dovetailing as it does with the trusty blame-it-on-Russia approach to
problem-solving. Thus, these days, all evil is born of a combination of
the unvaccinated and ‘Russian disinformation’. That Russia, much like
the West, has introduced draconian restrictions and is preparing for
compulsory vaccination is neither here nor there. Of equal irrelevance
is that the Russian vaccine cannot be sold in the EU as it does not have
EMA approval. So, when hearing complaints that it is Russia who is
trying to destabilise western democracies, am I alone in perceiving a
possible nonsense?
Romanians live in many shadows. Russia is one, our recent experience
of dictatorship another. Echos of that past can be heard with increasing
clarity. Do you know, for instance, that PCR in Romanian stands for
‘Partidul Comunist Roman’? The CC-PCR, or Central Committee of the
Romanian Communist Party, was the tool of control in Romanian society
for decades. Today it is the RT-PCR. Can it be no more than coincidence
that the health authorities have made this the only accepted test for
administrative purposes? Certainly, that Romanians are viscerally
repelled by the abbreviation is of little concern.
Here is another striking reminder of the old days: the resurgence of
dichotomies. ‘Whoever is not with us is against us’ was once a popular
Communist saying. How odd to hear that old tyranny on the lips of
today’s democratic leaders! For, as we all know, he who is not pro-vaxx
is an anti-vaxxer. And, by the same easy-to-follow logic, he who is not
in favour of restrictions is an anarchist; while he who does not espouse
hard-left ideas is a right-wing extremist; and he who questions
government measures is a terrorist.
Despite these regresses, Romanian life goes on unabated for the most
part. A long history of occupation and barbarian invasion, combined with
the ruling class’ regular betrayal of the less privileged, caused the
evolutionary gears to shift long ago. Opportunism and tactical cunning
have been bred into the population. Romanians do not stand up, they
bend; and they bend backwards not forwards, securely rooted so that they
may face the prevailing wind without being torn asunder.
They are not opposed to vaccination; they just don’t get vaccinated.
Your employer has demanded a covid certificate (though not yet a legal
requirement)? Here is a fake one for your pleasure, sir! The authorities
order positive cases to report for quarantine if symptomatic? Why
doctor, I haven’t got so much as a cough! (just remember to clear your
throat when the health authorities pay a visit.)
Meanwhile, the market for ivermectin, hydroxychloroquine and a strong
antiviral, arbidol, is flourishing. You’ll find these banned products
in your local pharmacy, if you know how to ask. The regime beams daily
TV reminders to the population of what fools they were – the dead – for
treating themselves with outlawed medicines. The dead are, almost
without exception, those who ignored the advice (i.e., diktats) of the
state.
“Don’t follow the example of young, healthy upstarts like Fagadaru,”
the state-sponsored news channels chide, “or you too will be languishing
on your deathbed, whispering your regret at not being vaccinated.”
Well, if they think we’re going to just take them at their word, they
must think we peasants have short memories! Our blood-soaked revolution
took place a little over 30 years ago. That’s not even a lifetime.
Certainly I remember, as anyone my age can, never mind a member of my
parents’ generation, what life is like under tyranny.
I remember the rationing of basic foods, not for the population’s
oppression or to maintain a primal state of destitution and fear, you
understand! But to ensure “nutrition according to science” and that the
earth would not be deprived of her riches.
I remember two hours of energy cuts a day at peak hours, radiators
left cold in the middle of winter to conserve fossil fuels, my fingers
frozen crooked as I did homework by candlelight, kneeling on the floor
and covering myself with three blankets in an attempt to keep the cold
away.
I remember conversations conducted sotto voce so that the neighbours,
encouraged by state propaganda, would not eavesdrop and turn you in.
I remember the long, pointless meetings, the ritual self-abasement at
those meetings as a demonstration of humility, and the unconditional
applause for Communist Party leaders.
I remember the lack of free speech, the lack of free thinking, the
pervasive censorship – of books, of philosophical ideas, of the press –
more applause…
I remember the personality cult, the same face on TV and banners and
buildings, the same face everywhere, in a country where advertising (a
decadent bourgeois habit) was forbidden; flamboyant speeches on the
creation of “the New Man”, on the dawning of the “Golden Era” –
applause!; of the “multilaterally developed society” – applause!; being
told the “One Truth” policy, and “don’t listen to capitalist propaganda,
don’t switch on to Free Europe radio, don’t be an enemy of the people,
the neighbours are listening” – applause!; hearing that “people are
starving in the West, it’s full of drug addicts and marred by
unemployment, don’t go there, don’t ever believe what you hear, it’s
propaganda…” – applause, applause, applause!
How could anyone forget? Yet here we are again: Stay home. Don’t be
selfish. Save the health service. Save Granny. Applause. What if Granny
does not want to be saved? Irrelevant. The state says she must be saved.
So she must be jabbed. Now she’s jabbed. Applause. Jab her again.
Protect the state. Follow the Science. Don’t listen to disinformation.
Cancel anti-vaxxers. Applause. Report infractions. It’s the dawning of
the New Normal. Applause. Wash your hands. Wear a mask. Keep your
distance. Get tested. You’re dirty. Don’t kill Granny. Applause. Listen
to this speech. Don’t leave. Don’t go there. It’s dangerous. It’s on the
red list. Applause. Quarantine outsiders. Imprison anti-vaxxers. Follow
the One Science. It’s the software of life.
And the same faces. The same masked faces everywhere saying: Be
afraid. Be afraid and get jabbed. And get jabbed again. Get jabbed again
and again and again. But the jabs don’t seem to work…
This popular fraud comes as no surprise. In my society we have been
playing this game of cat and mouse for centuries. They seek to enslave
us, we seek to cheat them on that. They know the wickedness of the
common people, the authorities; they know of their deceit and mischief.
So why wait for Parliament to act? Why not arrange for local businesses
and public bodies to enforce covid certification while sluggish
parliamentarians make their law? That is why people in my hometown
cannot access municipal services, or even pay their taxes without
presenting an unlawful certificate. And where is the humanity of our
superiors, I wonder? Reserved, perhaps, for “overworked” medics, who cry
of exhaustion on TV shows and foam with rage against the unjabbed
preventing them from taking their holidays.
My views can be inconvenient. “Stop reading obscure sites!” says my
best friend from Bucharest, with whom I have shared the best, worst,
most intimate, and most secret moments of my life. For the past two
years she has incessantly posted photos of dogs, cats, birds, wildlife
and attractive colleagues on Facebook; projecting an image of a perfect
world. Now I’m a conspiracy theorist, un-jabbed and unapologetic, she
doesn’t want to talk to me. “Where is your compassion, my old friend?”
she asked.
Perhaps I have none left. I have expended it on passage
for ones dear to me, to bring them out of the darkness and back to the
light. What a price I pay! Communism was easy. It was so fearlessly
disingenuous and so horrifically vulgar as to be obvious. It never
touched the spirit. People obeyed out of fear, not belief. In body we
may have been dirty and destitute, but in soul we were pristine. This
time it’s different. It’s insidious. ‘It’ has crept into the hearts and
minds of people. ‘It’ has separated friends and families. ‘It’ has torn
through the fabric of society. And when torn, the insides come bursting
out.
Recently, some monks came down from monasteries nestled in the
mountains to the north. They made their way to Bucharest and addressed a
large crowd. Doughty Father Ariton made it, but Father John, over 90
winters, could not manage the journey. He sits in his hermitage,
receiving pilgrims in their dozens every day, stubbornly refusing to
contract and die from ‘the disease’. The authorities would love that,
surely! They could parade his body from town to town, exhibiting their
war trophy: there, you idiots, we told you so!
Can anything stop the slide into tyranny? Three weeks ago Parliament
failed at the first attempt to pass the Covid Certificate Act. Two weeks
ago, the December 1st kick-off for the programme to vaccinate five
year-olds (an early present from Santa) was delayed awaiting deliveries
of the product. But these are mere obstacles, effortlessly overcome by
the spreading darkness.
As I watch its approach, I feel angry with our cowardly leaders. I
think of brave citizens like Dr Fagadaru and weep. They are simple
people who would hold back the darkness, and whose reputations are
sullied posthumously for no more than disagreeing with the revival of a
terrible status quo. I am too angry to forgive the political class, the
medics, the media. But neither do I wish to see the light die with men
like Fagadaru. Perhaps I can draw inspiration from my fellow Romanians.
As ever, they hold their ground. Bent, not upright. That’s how you fight
an ill wind.
Source: https://dailysceptic.org/postcard-from-romania-part-ii/
