CHILDREN, EDUCATION, AND FORCED LABOUR
- angelogeorge988
- Feb 15
- 25 min read
Updated: Apr 9
Summary: Brigadiers and enemies of the people. Exploitation of man by man. Mobilization of pupils and students to work on the construction sites of the homeland. Body control in the Ceaușescu regime. Labor brigades. Inhumane conditions in agriculture. Division of labor between city and village. Failure of mechanization and lack of equipment in agriculture. "Best Class" contest. Self-financing and the illusion of progress. Propaganda and glorification of forced labor. "Impossible to domesticate" class. Stories of the "Mihai Viteazu" High School in Bucharest. Subterfuges and "disappearances" at the beginning of agricultural practice. Escape from agricultural practice and first success. Work and guarding potatoes. Cooperation with the authorities. Wall-breaking contest. At maturity, comrades! Jules Verne and modern slavery. Dust and the Pati-Bar. Martin, the SS officer and the karateka. Flying melons. Dismissal for serious misconduct. Epilogue.
For communist regimes worldwide, children are a valuable resource—free labour, conveniently exploited at the whim of the Communist Party. They were forced to work hard in industry and agriculture throughout their school years, as was the case in Ceaușescu’s Romania before 1989. What follows is a description of how children were coerced into agricultural labour, along with our own firsthand account from 1988, when, as high school students, we too were "invited" (read: forced) to take part in this glorious exercise in socialist toil.
Education Under the Banner of Exploitation
Child labour was neatly rebranded as "school practice." Work carried out in school workshops and factories was dubbed "industrial practice," which we covered extensively in our article "PraFtica Școlară în Comunism" (yes, the typo is intentional). In addition to this, students were also deployed in agriculture and related fields under the name "agricultural practice." This took place primarily during school holidays and the few precious days off.
In the final years of Ceaușescu’s dictatorship, agricultural practice expanded to include construction work on the so-called "nation-building sites." A direct consequence of this system was the drastic reduction of actual education time. In short, Ceaușescu and the Communist Party envisioned a Romania filled with laborers and as few intellectuals as possible—because an educated population is much harder to control than one busy sorting potatoes.
The Brigadiers
After World War II, Romania lay in ruins under Soviet occupation. Russian troops seized every opportunity to plunder the country’s natural resources and wealth, leaving the economy in shambles. For reconstruction, the Soviet-imposed solution was forced labour—a system highly convenient for the regime: no safety regulations, no wages, and a grueling six-day workweek. But who would do the work? Using so-called "enemies of the people"—those who opposed the communist regime—wasn't feasible on a large scale, as the Securitate lacked the means to keep them under effective surveillance. Instead, the Soviets pushed for the creation of "labour brigades" made up of young people, known as brigadieri.
From the regime’s perspective, the system worked like a charm: railways, tunnels, buildings, and factories sprang up quickly and at minimal cost. For the workers, however, it was less of a patriotic duty and more of a glorified chain gang—with better propaganda.
The Exploitation of Man by Man
As for the human cost, it remains unknown. Given the harsh conditions and grueling physical effort, the number of victims must have been considerable. In the 1970's and 1980's, Ceaușescu revived this program, convinced he could turn Romania into a "great economic power." Students, young workers, and even the youth were mobilized 'en masse' to work on the so-called "nation-building sites," driven by a fresh wave of propaganda that glorified the "sacrifice for the country." In reality, it was nothing more than a systematic form of exploitation—the exploitation of man by man, as the dictator liked to repeatedly say referring, of course, to the rotten capitalism. Except in his case, the "man" in question was more likely to be the worker, and the "sacrifice" felt a lot less noble and a lot more oppressive.
Ceaușescu's Madness
Nicolae Ceaușescu had a megalomaniacal personality and dreamed of being remembered in history as a "great builder," essentially the Pharaoh of the 20th century. Rising to power in Romania in 1965, his true nature began to emerge after 1971, once he solidified his grip on power. Under his direct supervision, grandiose plans were crafted and implemented to build an impressive number of factories. His goal was for Romania to become entirely self-sufficient, producing everything it needed—from combine harvesters to airplanes. By 1980, the country had amassed an oversized industrial base that far exceeded actual needs.
But Ceaușescu didn’t stop there. He launched an even more grandiose project: demolishing old buildings and replacing them with modern structures, regardless of their cultural or historical value. Nothing was allowed to stand in the way of his vision (and expect a future article on this topic). Construction sites sprang up everywhere, turning cities into perpetual building zones. The major problem, of course, was the lack of labour to carry out these ambitious plans. But Ceaușescu had solutions—one of which was the drastic measure of banning abortion, a policy that would have dramatic consequences for Romanian society. After all, what’s a little social chaos when you're building your legacy as the greatest builder in history?
Demographic Policies and Body Control in the Ceaușescu Regime
At the time, Romania had a population of twenty million—far too few to sustain Ceaușescu’s grand plans. To boost birth rates, he implemented drastic measures, with the most significant being the criminalization of abortion. Any involvement in terminating a pregnancy—whether performing, assisting, or even failing to report it—was harshly punished. This policy led to countless tragedies. Women turned to dangerous and makeshift methods to avoid unwanted pregnancies, while the state-controlled healthcare system offered no safe alternatives. Maternal mortality soared, and hospitals became closely monitored by authorities to prevent any attempt at illegal abortions. In the same time, the regime criminalised homosexuality, considering it an obstacle to achieving its demographic goals. Same-sex relationships were punished with imprisonment, under the pretext that they did not contribute to population growth. However, these demographic measures did not immediately address the labour shortage. As a result, Ceaușescu had to implement other solutions to fill the urgent need for workers. Because, naturally, forced labour and social engineering go hand in hand when you’re trying to build a "great" nation.
The Resurrection of the Labor Brigades
Ceaușescu was directly involved in the structures of the Communist Party that, in the postwar years, organised, monitored, and exploited the "labour brigades." This experience gave him a clear understanding of the benefits of such a system: free labour, strict discipline, and total control over the new generations. Convinced of the model’s efficiency, he decided to relaunch it on a much larger scale. Whereas in the past, "brigadiers" were young people aged 17 to 25, participating voluntarily or under duress for periods ranging from a few months to three years, the new system imposed by Ceaușescu in the 1970's left no room for choice. This time, the entire young population was mobilised—children, teenagers, and young adults, from primary school to university. Whether in industry, agriculture, or construction, students were transformed into cheap labour, forced to contribute to the dictator’s grand ambitions. Because, obviously, an entire generation of unpaid workers is the perfect foundation for building a glorious nation.
Inhumane Conditions in Agriculture
Work in agriculture was extremely difficult, often at the mercy of weather and the elements. On top of that, the leaders of the labour brigades were usually lower-ranking Party officials, who often acted like little dictators. They abused their temporary positions, which gave them a false sense of power. In reality, their authority extended only to the students and pupils forced to participate in "agricultural practice." Children and teenagers, with no financial compensation, were forced to work under harsh conditions: no wages, no proper protective equipment, and no clear schedule. The work started early in the morning and stretched late into the evening, requiring considerable effort to even get through the day. The working conditions were far from ideal, and those who didn’t conform were punished. It was all part of the regime’s brilliant strategy for "building the nation"—one backbreaking task at a time.
The Division of Labour Between City and Village
Officially, all students and pupils were required to participate in "agricultural practice." However, in reality, in the 1970's, it was primarily children from rural areas who had the "honour" of working directly in agriculture. Children from urban environments were given much lighter tasks, such as collecting medicinal plants and fruits, gathering materials for recycling, or raising silkworms. This situation shifted in the 1980's, when a significant portion of peasants was enlisted to work in the overinflated industry created by Ceaușescu. Their departure from agriculture forced urban children to take on some of the farm labour. Despite having no preparation for agricultural work, they were forced to quickly learn on the job. And they dutifully turned to harvesting potatoes, sorting sugar beets, husking corn, and picking fruits. Thus, their agricultural work became an imposed necessity by the regime—even if most of them had no prior connection to this sector. But what’s a little forced labour when you’re building a "great" nation, right?
The Failure of Mechanisation and Lack of Equipment in Agriculture
The communist regime attempted to compensate for the migration of peasants to cities, where they became industrial workers, by mechanising agriculture. As a result, the number of tractors and other agricultural machinery grew rapidly until the late 1970's. However, this progress was not accompanied by the necessary development of infrastructure to maintain the equipment: spare parts, consumables, and the number of mechanics steadily declined. As a result, the number of functional agricultural machines decreased significantly, while the number of defective and unusable ones grew continuously. The situation worsened considerably in the 1980's, as the number of operational agricultural machines continued to shrink. The primary reason: most of the equipment was being exported to help Romania pay off its foreign debt, part of yet another megalomaniacal project of Ceaușescu. Thus, more and more students were mobilised to fill the gap left by the lack of functional machinery. Strategies like "the best class" and "self-financing" were implemented, forcing young people to work the fields in place of the missing equipment. A brilliant solution, of course, to the problem of missing machines—just send in the youth!
The Best Class
The Ministry of Education introduced the "Best Class/School" competitions, designed to fuel competition in agricultural activities. Rankings were based on results from various agricultural tasks, such as the number of tons of potatoes or corn harvested, the quantity of apples or grapes picked, as well as the number of participants. Promotions in the hierarchy and other benefits were awarded depending on the ranking in these competitions. This competition sparked fierce rivalry among school staff—principals, homeroom teachers, education inspectors—who dedicated more and more time and energy to achieving the best agricultural results. In many cases, teachers and school leadership became more focused on the outcomes of "agricultural practice" than on academic performance, which had a negative impact on the quality of education. After all, who needs to pass math when you’ve got an excellent harvest to show off?
Self-Financing and the Illusion of Progress
The enthusiasm of students and pupils for "agricultural practice" was, unsurprisingly, non-existent. Who would want to work hard in the fields during their holidays, at their age, and—best of all—without pay? Clearly, no one. To convince them to participate and deliver good results, the regime introduced a tempting incentive: self-financing. A portion of the value of their labour was redirected to the school’s budget, supposedly to improve its facilities. Students were told, "If you want better sports fields or more advanced equipment in your labs, you'll have to harvest more potatoes, pick more fruits!" However, the strategy didn't have the desired effect. Agricultural results didn’t improve significantly, and the official propaganda didn’t match reality. Although portrayed as a solution for improving school conditions, the work failed to mobilise the youth or bring tangible improvements to schools.
Propaganda and the Glorification of Forced Labour
After Ceaușescu mandated student participation in “agricultural practice,” the regime’s propaganda apparatus began mass-producing materials that glorified this activity. Newspaper articles, television programs, films, books, and other forms of media were all used to encourage youth involvement. Throughout the 1980s, the number of these publications steadily increased, and the apparent enthusiasm of participants in “agricultural practice” grew in parallel with exaggerated reports of success. Every year, ever-higher figures were reported, surpassing official targets. It was claimed that agricultural production—especially that achieved through student labor—had grown at a phenomenal rate. But it was all an illusion. In reality, the situation was entirely different. Forced labour and extremely poor working conditions produced nothing more than a false image of success. Meanwhile, the country’s economic and social reality was far bleaker. The truth was clear: no one had any interest in telling it. Instead, lies were rampant, with false figures fabricated without hesitation or shame. The officials in charge of “agricultural practice” falsified results to secure promotions or avoid penalties. The beneficiaries—state farms—lied to ensure they retained access to this unpaid workforce, which they could exploit with impunity. Even those tasked with oversight and monitoring engaged in the same deception, often in exchange for substantial bribes. The result? The higher the figures reported by propaganda, the further they strayed from reality. Participation in “agricultural practice” increasingly became a burden, a major hardship. Many sought ways to escape this obligation, developing ever more sophisticated strategies to do so. However, that was not the case for us—for me, for George, and for our classmates.
Impossible to Tame
Between 1985 and 1989, we were students at Mihai Viteazul High School in Bucharest, considered one of the best in Romania at the time. How I, Angelo, and George, coming from the slums, managed to get there remains a mystery. What is certain is that once we met, we immediately formed a team, determined to live our adolescence as we wanted. We ignored the superhuman efforts of the teachers to turn us into obedient little robots, devoid of any critical spirit—the exact "multilateral developed socialist man" that Ceaușescu desired. Instead of submitting, we became rockers, passionate about metal music, and started practicing martial arts—two activities on the regime's "blacklist." To "tame" us and force us to conform to the "communist mold," the school's leadership asked our classmates to isolate and harass us. A monumental mistake. Very quickly, they joined our side, realizing it was much better to be with us than against us. Thus, our class became known as "the class of those impossible to tame."
The Decision to Resist
For this reason, the school administration chose to involve us as little as possible in activities highly valued by the communist regime, particularly those related to agriculture. This decision proved even wiser given that our results in "industrial practice" had been nothing short of disastrous. Moreover, our behaviour during the May 1st, 1987 demonstration gave our teachers nightmares for months (see the article The Great Escape from the Parade). Despite this, by the end of our third year of high school, the administration concluded that, being close to adulthood, we had perhaps grown more "reasonable"—meaning easier to mold into the patterns of communist society. As a result, they forced us to participate in the agricultural labour program during the summer of 1988. A major mistake. By then, we were even less compliant than before, which was predictable after so many years of rejecting the "communist values" our teachers had tried to instill in us. So, we made a decision.
Resistance Against Imposition
Saturday, June 25, 1988. We were at the end-of-year ceremony in the Festivities Hall of our high school. Awards, medals, and other distinctions were handed out to students who had excelled in various competitions and academic Olympiads—but mostly for their participation in "school practice." Incredibly dull for us, who had nothing to receive—unfortunately, there was no prize for "worst class." So, we kept ourselves busy with our usual activities: playing chess and cards, chatting, and Angelo continued working on his novel The Eagle. As a result, we completely missed the moment when it was announced that our class had also been drafted for "agricultural practice," along with several others. Starting Monday at 6 a.m., six days a week, for several weeks, we were expected to report to the nation’s fields. The shock came when our home room teacher informed us at the end of the ceremony. Immediately, we called an emergency meeting at Pati-Bar, the legendary pastry shop near the high school—a true gastronomic institution for generations of Mihai Viteazul students. The decision was made quickly and unanimously: we would not let ourselves be trampled on and forced to work in agriculture. And we proved it from day one.
Evasions and ‘Disappearances’ at the Start of Agricultural Practice
Monday morning, 5:00 AM. George and I were the only ones from our class present at the meeting point in front of the school. In contrast, nearly all the other students assigned to "agricultural practice" were already there. Fifteen minutes later, they boarded the buses bound for the state farm where we were supposed to work and departed. And, as if by magic, the moment they left, our classmates started to appear, one by one. By 6:00 AM, we were all accounted for and boarded the last bus—this time under the supervision of a single teacher. A few kilometers down the road, the bus came to a halt because one of our classmates was feeling carsick. The teacher got off with her to assist, and at that moment, one of our more resourceful classmates manually unlocked the rear door. Several of us seized the opportunity and slipped out, vanishing quickly. A few minutes later, the bus was on the move again, but it didn’t take long for another stop. This time, I, Angelo, took center stage: a sudden and severe panic attack, supposedly triggered by the bus ride—I was shaking uncontrollably. Alarmed, the teacher sought help from the driver and a few classmates to stabilize me. When we finally got back on board, neither the teacher nor the driver realized that they were now completely alone.
Escape from the 'Agricultural Practice' and Our First Victory
When we arrived at the farm where we were supposed to work, the teacher realized the truth: aside from the two of us, the bus was empty. Shocked and completely overwhelmed by the situation, she couldn't understand what had happened. Uncertain about how to handle it, she asked us to stay put while she searched for a superior to decide what should be done. It was an ill-advised choice. As she headed towards the building where the other teachers were supposed to be, we did the same—only in the opposite direction. We crossed the fields to cover our tracks, and after a few hundred meters, we reached a dirt road, which we followed to a public transport station. From there, we took a bus into the city and ended the day at a terrace, enjoying a cold beer. Our thirst was quenched, and the success of our first day of 'agricultural practice' was worth celebrating.
Labour and Surveillance at the Potatoes – A Confrontation with the Regime’s Reality
That morning, three teachers were waiting for us in front of the school, determined not to repeat the previous day’s mistake. Under their watchful eyes, we were escorted to Obor Station, where we were assigned to unload train cars filled with potatoes. There, we were handed over to two representatives of the Communist Party organization in Bucharest, tasked with supervising and “motivating” us to work “properly.” We expected a long, cliché-ridden speech about the importance of our labor for the country and the honor of being chosen for such a task. But, surprisingly, the introduction was cut short. The reason? The train cars were parked on Platform Four, and according to our overseers, “bands of Gypsies are waiting for the right moment to loot them.” Thus, our job wasn’t just to unload the potatoes—we were also responsible for guarding both the train cars and the storage facility. When we asked how these supposed thieves managed to operate, we were led to the far end of the station. There, our overseers pointed to a massive hole in the fence surrounding the premises. “Take a good look—this is where the Gypsies slip in and out with the people’s wealth!” one of them declared, his voice dripping with grave importance.
Cooperation with the Authorities
A quick glance between George and me in front of the hole in the fence was all it took to hatch a plan. I, Angelo, suggested that several of our classmates stay behind to watch for any intruders. If anyone slipped through, they were to raise the alarm immediately. George expanded on the idea, proposing that other girls position themselves along the platforms “as a precaution,” ready to spot any potential “gypsy thief” lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to steal “the nation’s wealth.” Our two communist supervisors were delighted. They praised our “enlightened civic spirit” and “unwavering devotion to the ethics and equity of socialism.” We listened, feigning enthusiasm at their compliments, while our classmates barely suppressed their laughter. Back at the potato wagons, we resumed unloading with exaggerated zeal. Fortunately—or unfortunately—after barely twenty minutes, one of the girls stationed at the breach came running to report that a group of at least ten people, each carrying massive sacks, had just entered the yard. Moments later, another classmate confirmed spotting them moving between platforms.
Our two supervisors panicked. Without hesitation, they ordered us to stand guard over the wagons while they rushed off to fetch the Militia to catch the thieves.
Our Acrobat Classmate
A fit of laughter shook us for minutes on end, triggered by the sheer gullibility of our two supervisors. Once we regained control, we decided to abandon the potato wagons and slip out through the hole in the wall, avoiding any unwanted encounters. To shorten our route, we opted to climb through stationary freight trains rather than walk around them. As one of our classmates was inside a wagon, the train suddenly lurched into motion. We ran alongside, shouting at her to jump, fearing she might end up who knows where. Panicked, she obeyed and leaped towards us. Luckily, we were in position and caught her just in time, preventing a nasty fall. The funniest part? It had all been pointless. The train stopped just a few dozen meters ahead. It wasn’t leaving after all—it was merely repositioning. We burst into laughter, then slipped through the hole in the fence and, as usual, headed to a terrace to celebrate our second day of "agricultural practice."
Labour on the Homeland’s Construction Sites
On the morning of the third day, the school principal himself was waiting for us in front of the high school, determined to reprimand us—especially me and George—for our behaviour so far. With a stern tone, he announced our new assignment: we were to go to a construction site and collect bricks meant for the works at the House of the People (now the Palace of Parliament). We reacted promptly, once again delivering an "exemplary" self-criticism and solemnly pledging to conduct ourselves as true UTC members (the Communist Youth Union), faithfully upholding the values of the regime. Satisfied with appearances and our passionate promises, the principal left reassured, while our classmates—barely containing their laughter—praised our "highly artistic performance."
Under the close watch of several teachers, we arrived at the construction site, where we were handed over to a team of bricklayers. They led us to three half-demolished buildings, explaining how to salvage intact bricks and where to stack them until the truck came to collect them. After giving us these instructions, they left us alone, saying they would return later to check on our progress.
The Contest
In those times, many films featured martial artists breaking bricks with punches or the edge of their palms. As karate practitioners ourselves, our classmates asked us to do the same. After several attempts and just as many failures, we began to lose patience. Furious at the classmates laughing at us, we threw a brick with all our might at the wall. The result was spectacular: it shattered into dozens of pieces that flew in all directions, and the wall shook slightly. That's when we came up with the idea for a brick-throwing contest against the still-standing walls. This way, we created two competitions in one. The first was a test of precision: we had to hit a target on the wall with a brick thrown from a certain distance. The second competition involved breaking a brick in the most spectacular way possible. If, in addition to breaking the brick, we managed to knock down the wall as well, we earned a bonus.
The "Results" of our Work
"We don't exactly remember who came up with the idea for the contest, or who the winners were. What we do clearly recall, however, is the outcome: a huge pile of broken bricks, perfectly good for throwing away. The walls were still in decent condition when we arrived, and our job was to remove the bricks for reuse. No excavator or bulldozer could have done a more perfect job of demolition. Once there was nothing left to break, we strolled leisurely to a terrace. Celebrating the "success" of another day of "agricultural practice" had already become one of our habits.
At the Broom, Comrades!
Horrified by what we had done until then, the principal and the head of the Party organization at the high school decided to keep us "at home" for a day. Our task was to clean around the school, under the supervision of Negulescu. He knew us very well, being our former industrial practice instructor during the first two years of high school. Spending more time with us was the last thing he wanted. Moreover, our mission was borderline absurd because the "raw material" was missing. There were no leaves because the trees were sparse, except for a few small bushes at the school's entrance. There was nothing to sweep except for the dust that plagued Romania in those years. We told Negulescu this, and he responded curtly, "I don't care, just find something to sweep." Upon hearing this metaphor, we all burst out laughing. Someone remarked that he seemed to have more neurons than before we had been his students.
Jules Verne and Modern Slavery
We began sweeping with giant brooms, weighing a great deal, joking that we were doing "bodybuilding." Soon enough, George and I found ourselves in front of the bookstore near the school, where we used to buy our books. Naturally, we stopped and entered the shop. The shop assistant greatly admired us, claiming that we were the most fervent readers and book buyers in the store's history. To avoid contradicting her, we bought the package that contained Captain at Fifteen by Jules Verne! The book had fascinating similarities to our own situation, as its theme revolved around slavery. While imagining the adventures of orphan Dick Sand aboard the schooner Pilgrim, we ourselves were the slaves of a system that forced us to achieve perfection by scrubbing the pavements of the homeland. But, just like Dick Sand, we found our own way to rebel.
Dust and the Pati-Bar
And now, it's time to unleash ourselves! Negulescu was hiding somewhere to avoid dealing with us, but also to have a sophisticated conversation with the bottle of alcohol that Delia, our classmate, had brought him. Taking advantage of his absence, we "attacked" the Pati-Bar. First, we bought most of the products for ourselves and our friends. After finishing our meal, a "commandos" group made up of me, George, Narcisa, and Delia began sweeping frantically in front of and around the store. Soon enough, the thick dust raised by our brooms settled skillfully on the remaining products. It was a cruel treatment applied to the delicious cakes and pastries, but... "in war, as in war." Afterward, we amused ourselves by watching passersby buying them, eating them, and complaining about a metallic taste on their tongues. When the shop assistant scolded us, we advised her to ask the school for compensation. And, as usual, after performing the "good deed" of the day, we went on to live our adolescent lives, immune to the "communist values" of the time.
Martin, The SS Officer and Karateka
In the morning, a cheerful director greeted us in front of the school to congratulate us for our work the previous day. It was very likely that Negulescu had lied to him shamelessly, claiming we had done a great job. It also seemed that Pati-Bar hadn’t yet requested compensation. Convinced that we had calmed down, the director communicated our mission for the day: to unload watermelons in the Obor market, the largest in Bucharest. There we were greeted by Martin: blond, tall, and thin, the prototype of an SS officer from World War II movies. He was nothing more than a minor bureaucrat in the city's Party organization, but he presented himself to us as if he were at least the chief of staff of a minister, if not the minister himself. To impress us, he boasted about being a fine connoisseur of martial arts. He had even started making movements that he claimed were karate moves. Mission accomplished! He managed to spark our interest. But only so we could laugh at him and his movements, which closely resembled those of a drugged monkey.
The Girls Take Over!
A huge truck full of watermelons stops in front of us. Martin asks us to form a human chain and pass the watermelons from one person to another, from the truck to the storage area. Obviously, this is the most efficient way to unload the truck, but it doesn't suit our plans at all. So, our female colleagues oppose, saying that the watermelons are too heavy for them. We then suggest that the boys carry the watermelons from the truck to the storage area, while the girls arrange them in pyramids. Martin expressed some doubts, but the girls insisted that the boys should carry them, claiming the watermelons were too heavy for them. Martin closely supervises us for the next 30 minutes, but everything is going perfectly where the boys are working. Unfortunately (hi, hi, hi), at the storage site, our colleagues turn out to be extremely clumsy and fail to arrange the watermelons properly. So, Martin asks us to continue as before and heads off to help the girls. After all, he didn’t want to miss the chance to show off in front of them.
Flying Watermelons
As soon as Martin left, we started tossing the watermelons back and forth, like they were handball or basketballs. In other words, we threw them from one person to another instead of passing them hand to hand. And the watermelons began to fly gracefully through the air. Meanwhile, George and I were busy unloading them from the truck, tossing them towards the Bălă-Iulian couple, the strongest among us. Unfortunately, we were all so clumsy that most of the passes missed their target, and the law of gravity took over, causing the fruit to fall to the ground. When that happened, it would burst open with a loud "splash," a very cool sound. Later, we just threw them on the ground intentionally to get more and more spectacular "splash" moments. And just like that, the watermelons turned into O.V.I.s (identifiable flying objects). When Martin realized something was wrong and came to see what was happening, he was frozen, nearly having a stroke. Unable to say a word, he stared blankly at the ground around the truck, covered with watermelon pieces, and red streams slowly trickled toward the drain openings. "Sorry, Comrade Martin, we were clumsy and dropped a few watermelons on the ground," I said innocently. But he started shouting at us and accusing us of sabotage. He then left, saying he would return with the police to file a criminal report. He left, and we left too, each of us with a watermelon on our shoulder—everyone except George, who had two watermelons, and neither of them small. I joked with him, saying he'd get orangutan arms if he wanted to carry them all the way home. But he stopped by the market to sell them. From a distance, I watched the truck and saw Martin returning to the scene, accompanied by two policemen, each sporting a nice beer belly. He was frantically gesturing to indicate the extent of the damage. They barely cared and looked around to see if there was a terrace nearby where they could enjoy a cold beer, which they felt was increasingly necessary, as the summer sun shone brightly.
Dismissal for Serious Misconduct
On Saturday morning, we gathered at our usual meeting point in front of the school. We stood there for two hours before the principal finally showed up. When he arrived, he was very angry with us. He started by accusing us of being "scum of society." A bunch of "wretches who don’t deserve to live in the best country in the world." We were guilty of betraying the Romanian Communist Party and its leader, Comrade Ceaușescu. Then, he went on with an endless list of other absurdities of the same nature. Our smiles were so wide we risked injuring our cheeks. In the end, he informed us that we were excluded from participating in "agricultural practice" for serious and repeated misconduct. After saying this, he turned his back on us and left without glancing back. He didn’t see us nearly dislocating our arms and breaking our bones from the hugs and back pats. On our way out, we stopped by Pati-Bar to buy some pastries, ate them, and then left singing "We Are the Champions." From time to time, we’d shout our battle cry: "11 J, 11 J, is the best of L.M.V. (Mihai Viteazul High School)."
Epilogue: The Punishment
During the four years of high school, George and I mocked the "communist values" that the school leadership, teachers, and others tried to instill in us. But the punishment came in early July 1989, at the end of our studies: we were assigned to work in the coal mines of Valea Jiului. It was the worst kind of job you could find in Romania at the time. Refusing was not a viable option, as we would have been sent to prison. However, we managed to delay our departure for a few weeks, until the beginning of September, when we left for the army to fulfill our mandatory military service. In December 1989, the Revolution overthrew Ceaușescu. The Revolution where our rocker and karateka friends found themselves in the front lines.
Appendix - Propaganda Texts from the Communist Era
Text 1: Nicolae Ceaușescu, Directive Issued in August 1971
"I ask the first secretaries to mobilize all forces to collect the wheat on time, and, if possible, without any losses. We will evaluate the work of each county committee and each party organization based on how they act to gather the harvest in good conditions and entirely."
Textul 2: Reportaj TV, propaganda comunistă a muncii voluntare, 1982
„Așadar, la drum cu trenul 8003, devenit în această dimineață plăcută de vară, o mică instituție de învățământ superior. Viitori filologi și economiști, viitori constructori și pedagogi, metalurgiști și profesori de mâine, la ceasul acesta brigadieri, se îndreaptă voios spre terenurile fertile ale gospodăriilor din Bărăgan și din Dobrogea, acolo unde în arsita amiezelor se coc grânele, acolo unde în fiecare bob, în fiecare spic, în fiecare fruct, rămân captive raze de soare.”
Text 3: Excerpt from an interview with a 6th-grade child, published in Scânteia, the newspaper of the Romanian Communist Party
"We were welcomed here not with champagne and flowers, but with a simple, warm handshake from the management of the State Agricultural Enterprise (IAS), which means much more to us than champagne and flowers. After these two weeks of work, the IAS director promised us a two-week trip, but that's not why we are working hard. The amount we will gain here after this work is enormous. What we are doing here has a special purpose. When the whole country is building and rebuilding, we shouldn't just sit idly by."
Text 4: Excerpt from an interview with a 10th-grade girl, published in Scânteia Tineretului, the newspaper of the Union of Communist Youth of Romania
"I really like the profession of metallurgist, not only because my father works at the factory in our town, but also because the lessons taught by Comrade Teacher make us truly live in the world of cast iron and steel, allowing us to understand the secrets of technological processes that make metal obedient to the hand and skill of man."
Text 5: Poems recited on TV by a kindergarten child (first) and a 3rd-grade student
Kindergarten child: "I will be a builder, on high scaffolds, to fulfill my mother's wish. We all visited, from kindergarten, large enterprises, big construction sites, And then, cheerfully, we built from blocks Buzău around 2000 years ago." 3rd-grade student: "And going to school, I want my wings to grow, to understand hidden things. I erase the hopscotch, letting it be replaced by work, work, work of a whole year."
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