GETICA ANALYTICA

A few seniors, exasperated by the status quo, decided that enough was enough and set off to do what a Romanian knows best: grand conspiracies, but with no budget. With the zeal of characters from a bad spy novel, they plotted the dismantling of constitutional order, because, let's face it, nothing says "we want change" like heated discussions between pensioners in a neighborhood café. And when you look at their ideas, even Georgescu—the town’s famous eccentric, convinced that aliens control the global economy—now seems like a reasonable man. But let’s not be harsh: probably inspired by Sergiu Nicolaescu’s films about Decebalus and Burebista, "the six who scared the West" dreamed big. Not only did they want to change the Constitution (a minor detail, of course), but they also thought about a new national identity: a new flag, a new name for the country, maybe even a remixed anthem. With a bit of luck, in their vision, Romania would have become a mix of Sparta and El Dorado, except without resources or an army.

Looking at their bold ideas—fruit of heated debates over two coffees and a pack of “imported” cigarettes—emerges an absolutely revolutionary administrative vision. Probably inspired by a mix of nostalgia, patriotic poetry, and a vague dislike for the status quo, their proposed new institutions answered the desperate cry of the people: "Enough of this, comrades!" If we had let them carry out their plans, we would have witnessed an epic transformation, a true baptism of the nation in a sea of vibrant and deeply original symbols. The Ministry of Labor? Too dry and capitalist. Instead, there would have been the Ministry of Man, because what is work if not the expression of the human being in its battle with life? The Ministry of Agriculture? Too technocratic. So, it would have been called the Ministry of the Soil, evoking a plow-and-furrow attachment, with a bonus of Eminescu-style poetry. And for the Ministry of Transport (or maybe Sport, who’s keeping track?), they would have found an absolutely visionary name: the Ministry of Movement! An elastic concept, suitable for train schedules (theoretically), walking, running away from responsibility, and, why not, mandatory gym exercises at 7 AM. In conclusion, we didn’t give them the chance to fulfill their dream, and Romania was left without this grand transformation. But who knows? Maybe somewhere, in a café corner, someone else is already preparing the Ministry of the Future. Although ridiculous in form, the endeavor isn’t completely devoid of a kernel of truth—a small kernel, well hidden beneath a mountain of absurdities. The need for change exists, for shaking off incompetent parasites from institutions, for seeing new people in positions of power—capable, young people. Of course, the problem arises when change is conceived by people who believe that the system can be repaired more easily if you throw it out the window and replace it with a romantic-historical version, inspired by legends and period films. True, Getia, that mythical land of our Dacian ancestors (which probably wasn’t even called that, but let’s not spoil the story), would have had a Council of the Wise. And, of course, each wise man would have been supplied with ideas from ten old men each, because, after all, what could be more efficient than a democracy of the "he who has the longest beard is right" type? The result? A spectacular plunge into a Taliban-like primitive society, with rigid norms, ancestral rules, and a deep rejection of modernity—though with impeccable aesthetics, of course. Because, let’s not forget, these new Dacian rulers of noble essence would have displayed their class membership by wearing a pileus—a precursor to the national hat, symbolizing wisdom and freedom. This could be made of sheep wool (for cold days) or processed wool (for official occasions, perhaps even solemn sessions of the Getic Senate). In addition to this defining accessory, a true Geto-Dacian wise man would have worn a long tunic down to his knees, slit at the sides nearly to the hips, because nothing says "administrative revolution" better than a tunic with strategic slashes. It would have been tied with a strong belt, from which pouches for money and fire-starting tools (or lighters, in case someone accidentally discovered fire and wanted to keep it) would have hung. There would also have been drinking horns—essential for negotiations and state decisions—and, of course, knives, useful both for cutting bread and for any heated debates. As for the trousers, they would have been tight and tied at the bottom with rope or leather strips, a practical solution for mountain roads or solemn marches to the new Council of the Wise’s palace. On their feet, they would, of course, have worn leather shoes with laces, called calcei in Latin—because you can’t be a true Geto-Dacian without some Roman influence, however small. So, instead of a modernized and functional state, we would have had a governance system where everyone drinks from horns, debates ancient philosophies, and makes grand plans for territorial reorganization while trying to keep their trousers tied with rope. Maybe Romania missed the opportunity for a spectacular transformation, but who knows—perhaps the future will still surprise us. It’s hard to believe these ideas were unique—such visions born from a combination of nostalgia, frustration, and an excess of strong coffee are always lurking in the shaded corners of society. And yet, even harder to believe is that this picturesque group, with their dreams of the Ministry of the Soil and pileus hats, represents any real threat to the state’s institutions. The real danger doesn’t come from these enthusiastic café revolutionaries; it comes from the shadows, from the places where things are truly decided. The real group, the one conspiring at the state level, doesn’t expose itself to the light of day with changed names and Daco-Mystic theories. There, it’s not amateurs at work but people appointed by Russia—covert, well-positioned, efficient, and disciplined. They’re not talking about changing the flag; they’re talking about changing the country’s direction. Let’s find those traitors—that’s the real stakes of the game. And here, we’re no longer talking about Trump, Putin, or Europe, because the fight isn’t about image or foreign policy. The danger is something much more fundamental: that Romania, as we know it, may cease to exist—not as a revived Dacian empire, but as a mere pawn on someone else’s chessboard.