Charles Taylor and The (Modern) Self

249 DANIEL BARBU
Romanian Political Science Review
vol. VII, no. 2

2007
Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

250 CONTENTS
The end of the Cold War, and the extinction of communism both as an ideology and a
practice of government, not only have made possible an unparalleled experiment in
building a democratic order in Central and Eastern Europe, but have opened up a most
extraordinary intellectual opportunity: to understand, compare and eventually appraise
what had previously been neither understandable nor comparable. Studia Politica.
Romanian Political Science Review was established in the realization that the problems
and concerns of both new and old democracies are beginning to converge. The journal
fosters the work of the first generations of Romanian political scientists permeated by a
sense of critical engagement with European and American intellectual and political
traditions that inspired and explained the modern notions of democracy, pluralism,
political liberty, individual freedom, and civil rights.
Believing that ideas do matter, the Editors share a common commitment as

intellectuals and scholars to try to shed light on the major political problems facing
Romania, a country that has recently undergone unprecedented political and social
changes. They think of Studia Politica. Romanian Politica Science Review as a
challenge and a mandate to be involved in scholarly issues of fundamental importance,
related not only to the democratization of Romanian polity and politics, to the ”great
transformation” that is taking place in Central and Eastern Europe, but also to the
make-over of the assumptions and prospects of their discipline. They hope to be
joined in by those scholars in other countries who feel that the demise of communism
calls for a new political science able to reassess the very foundations of democratic
ideals and procedures.

251 DANIEL BARBU
UNIVERSITY OF BUCHAREST
DEPARTMENT OF POLITICAL SCIENCE
INSTITUTE FOR POLITICAL RESEARCH
vol. VII, no. 2

2007
BUCUREŞTI

252 CONTENTS
STUDIA POLITICA
(ISSN 1582-4551)

is published quarterly by the Institute for Political Research
of the Department of Political Science at the University of Bucharest
and is printed and mailed by the Nemira Publishing House
International Advisory Board

Alain BESANÇON (Paris), Dominique COLAS (Paris)
Marcel GAUCHET (Paris), Raffaella GHERARDI (Bologna)
Guy HERMET (Paris), Hans-Dieter KLINGEMANN (Berlin)
Marc LAZAR (Paris), Ronald H. LINDEN (Pittsburgh)
Pierre MANENT (Paris), Gianfranco PASQUINO (Bologna)
Pierre ROSANVALLON (Paris), Giovanni SARTORI (New York)
Charles TAYLOR (Toronto), Vladimir TISMANEANU (College Park, MD)
Editor Daniel BARBU

Associate Editor Cristian PREDA
Assistant Editor Alexandra IONESCU
Manuscript Editor Andrei NICULESCU
Editorial Board
Aurelian CRĂIUŢU (Bloomington), Jean-Michel DE WAELE (Bruxelles)
Antoine ROGER (Bordeaux), Daniel-Louis SEILER (Bordeaux)
Florin ŢURCANU (Bucureşti), Laurenţiu VLAD (Bucureşti)
Editorial Assistants
Raluca ALEXANDRESCU, Ionela BĂLUŢĂ, Ruxandra IVAN, Silvia MARTON
Damiana Gabriela OŢOIU, Miruna TĂTARU-CAZABAN, Marina TĂTĂRÂM
Editorial Staff
Graphic Designer Dana MOROIU
Manuscript Production Constantin NIŢĂ
Manuscript Processing Cornel ALEXANDRESCU
© Institutul de Cercet˙ri Politice

253 DANIEL BARBU
Contents
ARGUMENTUM
ALEXANDRA IONESCU, Que font et que sont les partis politiques roumains?............257
ARTICULI
LAVINIA STAN, Goulash Justice for Goulash Communism? Explaining Transitional
Justice in Hungary ...............................................................................................269
MIHAI CHIOVEANU, ”The Harvest of Anger”. Politics of Salvation and Ethnic-
cleansing in 1940s Romania: Fascist Thinkers and Authoritarian Doers............293
DAN STOENESCU, Palestinian Nationalism: From Secularism to Islam.....................313
LIGIA LIVADĂ-CADESCHI, Former le citoyen. La lecture roumaine d’un objectif
européen................................................................................................................331
ANDREEA ZAMFIRA, Élections et électeurs aux XIXe et XXe siècles. Une généalogie
de l'étude électorale en Roumanie.........................................................................339
ALEXANDRA PETRESCU, Les liens entre le Conseil National des Femmes Roumaines
et le Conseil International des Femmes (1921-1971) ...........................................373
CAMIL ALEXANDRU PÂRVU, From Diversity to Difference. Structural Dilemmas of
Identity Politics ....................................................................................................395
CIPRIAN BOGDAN, Charles Taylor and the (Modern) Self..........................................423
RADU CARP, Pierre Manent şi tradiţia gândirii europene despre religie şi politică ...447
RECENSIONES
TEODOR PAVEL (coord.), Opţiuni politice la popoarele central-est europene în secolul al
XIX-lea. Studii/Political Options of the Central-Eastern European Peoples in the
19th Century. Studies, Editura Argonaut, seria „Documente. Istorie. Mărturii“,
Cluj-Napoca, 2006 (SILVIA MARTON)......................................................................457
TEODOR PAVEL (coord.), Gândire politică şi imaginar social la popoarele central-est
europene: secolul al XIX-lea. Antologie de texte, ediţie realizată de Teodor Pavel,
Sorin Mitu, Miodrag Milin, Nagy Róbert, Radu Mârza, Editura Argonaut,
seria „Documente. Istorie. Mărturii”, Cluj-Napoca, 2005 (SILVIA MARTON) .....457
PIPPA NORRIS, RONALD INGLEHART, Sacred and Secular: Religion and Politics Worldwide,
Cambridge University Press, New York, 2004 (DRAGOŞ DRAGOMAN) .................460
ISTVÁN RÉV, Retroactive Justice: Prehistory of Post-Communism, Stanford
University Press, Cultural Memory in the Present series, Stanford, 2005
(MIHAELA GRANCEA) ................................................................................................467
RANDY BARNETT, Restoring the Lost Constitution – The Presumption of Liberty,
Princeton University Press, New Jersey, 2004 (BOGDAN IANCU) .......................469

254 CONTENTS
LUKÁCS ANTAL, RUDOLF DINU, ALIN CIUPALĂ (coord.), Documente diplomatice

române, Seria I, vol. 11, 1883, cuvânt înainte de Mihai-Răzvan UNGUREANU,
introducere de Rudolf DINU, Ministerul Afacerilor Externe, Institutul
Diplomatic Român, Editura Academiei Române, Bucureşti, 2006
(RUXANDRA IVAN) .....................................................................................................476
ABSTRACTS .............................................................................................................479
AUTORES .................................................................................................................485

255 DANIEL BARBU
ARGUMENTUM

256 CONTENTS

Que font et que sont les partis politiques roumains? 257
Que font et que sont les partis

politiques roumains?
ALEXANDRA IONESCU
Le communisme roumain fut souvent interprété comme une expérience histo-

rique organisée par et autour du Parti1. Les responsables communistes roumains
rêvèrent sans doute d’un Parti fort et discipliné, outil d’action et dispositif de
contrôle de l’État et de la société, mise en forme organisationnelle de «l’unité de la
volonté» et de l’efficience de l’action. Dans une perspective chronologique, le com-
munisme roumain fut encadré par un tel commandement, formulé au tout début
par Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej et à la veille de son éviction par Nicolae Ceauşescu.
Le premier fit de la construction du Parti la tâche fondamentale de la création du
nouvel ordre politique. Le second appela en vain à la mobilisation de dernière
heure d’un parti qu’il voyait comme le rempart ultime du système, apte à sauver la
validité de l’ordre politique. Aussi, le communisme roumain fut-il un travail
acharné d’adéquation d’une expérience de société à un projet politique jamais sou-
mis au questionnement avant son abandon.
L’expérience politique du communisme roumain ne fut toutefois pas celle de
la construction d’un véritable parti léniniste, machine dont les rouages disciplinées
obéissent sans faute à un centre unique, articulation hiérarchique d’appartenances,
vérifiées par l’obéissance aux commandements d’une volonté unifiée et actualisant
de manière immédiate cette volonté2. Cette expérience fut en revanche un proces-
sus de production historique d’un Parti-État, vaste dispositif institutionnel con-
struit et mis au travail sur le mode de la double hétéronomie organisationnelle,
voire de l’indistinction entre Parti et État, dont les ambitions et les défis furent
avant tout gouvernementaux: faire penser l’être-ensemble et l’action politique se-
lon les consignes du projet léniniste et faire agir les citoyens dans des espaces
d’action serrés entre les mailles d’un pouvoir despotique dictatorial et d’un pou-
voir infrastructurel à visée exhaustive.
La démarche de sauvegarde de l’édifice institutionnel du Parti-État habita au
cœur de l’entreprise politique menée par les acteurs surgis durant la Révolution.
Sauvegarde justifiée à un niveau fonctionnel et puissamment nourrie par une ma-
nière de penser le politique forgée par l’expérience communiste et largement parta-
gée par les responsables politiques de l’époque. Cette démarche de préservation se
heurta toutefois vite à l’émergence en force de la désobéissance civile et surtout, à
son corolaire, l’ingouvernabilité, cette mesure de la validité de l’ordre politique et
de l’efficience des actes de gouvernements, sitôt que la liberté d’interprétation des
règles formulées par les autorités, voire le refus d’obéir à ces règles, commence à
1
E.g. Vladimir Tismăneanu, dans son ouvrage Stalinism pentru eternitate, équivaut l’histoire
politique du communisme roumain à l’histoire de l’élite du Parti Communiste Roumain, en
illégalité et au pouvoir, Vladimir TISMĂNEANU, Stalinism pentru eternitate. O istorie politică a
comunismului românesc, trad. roum. D. et C. Petrescu, Polirom, Iaşi, 2005.
2
Dominique COLAS, Le léninisme, PUF, Paris, 1998, pp. 57-61.

258 ALEXANDRA IONESCU
organiser la relation entre les gouvernants et les gouvernés. C’est au creux de cette
tension d’une nouvelle nature des rapports de gouvernement qu’un autre horizon
de sens et de légitimité politique s’articula, mobilisant des instruments politico-in-
tellectuels empruntés au Parti-État, mais obligé également d’intégrer les consé-
quences des libertés civiles et politiques reconnues, ainsi que les effets inattendus
des démarches institutionnelles entamées.
Les acteurs politiques fabriqués durant le postcommunisme, producteurs d’un
ordre politique forcément renouvelé, furent conduits à réfléchir et à proposer, em-
ployant les outils juridiques disponibles, un régime constitutionnel de cohésion du
corps politique, des manières de rendre visible et de gérer les régimes de pluralité
de la société – pluralité des options politiques, pluralité des identités culturelles,
pluralité des intérêts corporatifs –, ainsi que des modes de valider la légitimité des
actes politiques et l’efficacité des actes de gouvernement. Cet effort ne fut pas tou-
jours cohérent. Le mariage voulu entre l’expression du pluralisme politique et la
traduction de la diversité ethnoculturelle du corps politique, arrêtées par la loi fon-
damentale, engendra une formule constitutionnelle de la nation marquée par des
contradictions intrinsèques. De même, la volonté presque unanime de faire place
au sein du régime politique à une expression institutionnelle de l’unité nationale
entraîna un obscurcissement de la nature et du poids constitutionnel de la repré-
sentation politique. Le trait saillant du postcommunisme roumain, sans lui être
pour autant exclusif, fut en revanche la simultanéité de la production de l’horizon
de sens et de légitimité politique, de la gestion de l’ingouvernabilité vissée au cœur
des rapports entre gouvernants et gouvernés et de la construction, à la fois sociolo-
gique et institutionnelle, des acteurs significatifs de l’ordre politique.
L’économie des tensions entre projet et expérience caractéristiques aux deux
ordres politiques successifs, communiste et postcommuniste, peut susciter des pa-
rallèles partielles. Participant à des univers politiques distincts, le Parti et les partis
se posèrent d’emblée au centre de l’horizon de sens des deux ordres. La primauté,
ensuite l’unicité du premier joua en marque certaine du triomphe de la démocratie
populaire et puis socialiste. La multiplicité des derniers fit à son tour figure de si-
gne irréfutable de la fracture de régime. Le Parti institua sa prééminence extra-
constitutionnelle rejetant, de par les principes du projet léniniste, toute extériorité
contraignante du droit. Au contraire, après 1989, c’est à travers le droit et au
moyen de la régulation juridique que les partis devinrent les acteurs exclusifs de
l’espace politique. Le Parti s’érigea en vecteur unique de la participation politique
des citoyens de la Roumanie, ciment de l’unité de l’État et de la nation socialiste. À
leur tour, les partis postcommunistes se hâtèrent d’employer la Constitution et les
lois afin de faire de la participation citoyenne et de leur vocation d’amener les ci-
toyens au sein de l’ordre politique leur mission constitutionnelle spécifique. Par
surcroît, Parti et partis s’attachèrent à une architecture étatique dont ils nièrent
l’autonomie, le premier de manière programmatique, les seconds sur un mode
pragmatique, afin d’assurer leur propre mise en place. Ces parallèles tracées entre
le communisme et le postcommunisme sont certes limitées. Cependant, leur perti-
nence se révèle en ce qu’elles dévoilent une approche de la politique ayant pris
contour durant l’expérience communiste et perpétuée dans le postcommunisme,
une approche confiante dans la capacité performative de l’acte politique et dispo-
sée à faire reposer cet acte sur des prémisses structurelles voulues, mais non pas
validées. Plus que d’autres exemples, les partis politiques du postcommunisme
roumain témoignent de cette approche.

La refonte de l’espace politique déclenchée par l’effondrement du commu-

nisme roumain engendra une pluralité de formations à expériences politiques di-
verses, mobilisant des solidarités sociales variées, pourvues de tissus organisation-
nels plus ou moins cohérents et cohésifs, les uns ayant acquis une portée nationale
et ayant prouvé leur pérennité relative, d’autres ayant échoué dans leur effort
d’acquérir le statut d’acteurs politiques viables. Les partis postcommunistes rou-
mains composèrent un paysage dynamique, balisé par la diversité des stratégies et
carrières partisanes et par l’inégalité des chances, des ressources, humaines, fi-
nancières, institutionnelles, et des résultats électoraux et/ou gouvernementaux.
L’émergence des partis roumains comme produits sociaux, comme groupes de per-
sonnes cherchant à exercer le pouvoir politique, fut traversée par un autre proces-
sus dont elle n’est pas dissociable, débouchant sur l’émergence des partis comme
acteurs politiques. Les partis se constituèrent comme groupes en même temps que
la notion de parti politique reçut un contenu dans l’horizon de sens du postcommu-
nisme roumain. Autrement dit, avant d’acquérir quelque épaisseur sociologique et
la vérifier au moyen des élections, les partis furent inscrits parmi les références
obligées de l’après-communisme. De surcroît, les rapports de forces entre les partis
naissants institués par les premières élections libres jouèrent en repère de l’aména-
gement institutionnel arrêté par la Constitution de 1991. En se formant comme or-
ganisations, certains partis, ayant promu leurs porte-parole dans le Parlement, pu-
rent convenir ensemble par la suite sur ce que doit être et doit faire un parti dans le
nouveau régime politique, purent inscrire cette définition dans la loi et l’imposer à
d’autres groupes aspirant à ce statut. Plus d’une décennie et demie après l’éclosion
des partis, le regard rétrospectif est en mesure de déceler la place, le statut et les
fonctions que les partis politiques se virent et se firent attribuer dans le postcom-
munisme roumain.
Fabriqué dans l’urgence de la Révolution, le Décret-Loi no. 8 du 31 décembre
1989 relatif à «l’enregistrement et au fonctionnement des partis politiques et des or-
ganisations collectives (organizaţii obşteşti) en Roumanie»1, témoignait manifeste-
ment du malaise que les responsables et les experts du CFSN éprouvaient en for-
mulant le principe du pluralisme politique avec les instruments intellectuels et ju-
ridiques du Parti-État. Car, dans la logique sous-tendant l’acte, le pluralisme politi-
que et la pluralité des partis n’étaient pas forcément équivalentes. Certes, l’acte
normatif identifiait dans la multitude des partis un vecteur de la démocratisation à
venir, mais il se gardait de dire davantage sur les rapports entre partis politiques et
démocratie. Jetant les prémisses de l’émergence des partis, le Décret-Loi leur indi-
quait que leur matière première était dorénavant constituée par les citoyens dé-
ployés sur le territoire du pays. Pour ce faire, il n’hésitait toutefois pas à se servir
de cette notion d’«organisation collective» (organizaţie obştească) – catégorie
fourre-tout empruntée au droit socialiste désignant toute association des citoyens
autre que les Parti Communiste, pièce de l’image systémique officiellement propo-
sée de l’ordre politique de la Roumanie socialiste – afin de décrire ces nouvelles en-
tités que le législateur révolutionnaire n’arrivait pas à saisir autrement et dont il ne
voyait pas encore clairement le statut et les fonctions.
1
Monitorul Oficial, Ière partie, no. 9 du 31 décembre 1989. L’acte affirmait la liberté de consti-
tution des partis politiques et des «organisations collectives», sur des bases territoriales et à moins
qu’ils ne promeuvent des «conceptions contraires à l’ordre d’État et de droit». Même s’il invoquait le
principe du «pluralisme politique», le Décret-Loi ne faisait pas référence aux élections.

Encadrer les partis dans cette catégorie juridique du droit socialiste eut une
double conséquence. D’une part, les partis n’étaient pas encore appréhendés en
leur potentialité d’entités politiques, c’est-à-dire en tant qu’auteurs de visions mul-
tiples et légitimes sur l’être-ensemble, vu justement que le droit socialiste n’avait
pas les ressources pour nommer ce type de sujets juridiques: dans le système du
Parti-État, les «organisations collectives» partageaient ces caractéristiques de ne
pas être réellement volontaires, car suscitées par le Parti, et de ne pas avoir de vi-
sées politiques, car le Parti en était l’unique source légitime. Aussi, inclus dans
cette catégorie, les partis politiques étaient-ils relégués à un statut subsidiaire sur le
terrain de la société dont ils étaient censés rendre compte d’un pluralisme encore
très confusément envisagé.
Toutefois, cette démarche de libéralisation entamée par les autorités révolu-
tionnaires, même si elle se servait de l’outillage juridique du Parti-État, n’était plus
formulée dans les conditions politiques et sociales qu’avaient été celles du
Parti-État. À l’époque où le CFSN revendiquait toujours un statut politique révolu-
tionnaire et exclusif, la société ne correspondait plus à l’image qu’en rendait le
droit socialiste. Cette société était au contraire, même si inégalement, déjà marquée
par la désobéissance civile prouvée pendant la Révolution, alors qu’en son sein la li-
berté d’association venait d’être reconnue, même si sur un mode relativement in-
décis. Certes, le CFSN demeurait l’auteur de l’acte normatif, mais les conséquences
politiques de son acte échappaient déjà à son contrôle.
D’autre part, encadrer les partis politiques dans la catégorie des organisations
collectives c’était les associer à d’autres entreprises associatives qui pouvaient pro-
fiter de ce statut et, en premier lieu, aux organisations des minorités nationales, an-
ciennes «nationalités cohabitantes» dans le langage du Parti-État. De fait, en af-
firmant que «aucun critère de race, nationalité, religion, niveau de culture, sexe ou
convictions politiques ne peut entraver la constitution des partis politiques», le Dé-
cret-Loi indiquait, sans l’affirmer pour autant de façon explicite, que les associa-
tions de citoyens roumains partageant la même identité ethnique étaient libres de
profiter des dispositions de l’acte. Le législateur révolutionnaire se hâtait donc de
préciser, ayant vraisemblablement le regard posé sur la minorité hongroise, que les
partis étaient tenus respecter la «souveraineté, l’indépendance et l’intégrité natio-
nale», ainsi que «l’ordre d’État et de droit».
Si les premières trois limites représentaient autant d’attributs de l’unité politi-
que dont la validité jouait en pré-condition de l’émergence d’une vie politique à vo-
cation démocratique, la quatrième, «l’ordre d’État et de droit», dévoilait la portée
même de la libéralisation politique envisagée au début par le CFSN. La formule
était empruntée toujours au patrimoine juridico-politique du Parti-État, voire au vo-
cabulaire de ses Codes pénaux successifs: à l’époque du Parti-État, punir les attein-
tes à «l’ordre d’État» et à «l’ordre de droit» c’était renforcer la «légalité socialiste»,
maintenir la validité d’un système qui ne se fondait pas sur le droit. Or, quelques
jours après l’exécution des Ceauşescu, les décideurs de la Révolution opposaient aux
partis dont ils permettaient l’émergence, l’autorité d’un État rapidement débarrassé
de la référence au Parti, mais fondé sur le même droit et la même philosophie juridi-
que que le Parti-État. Si la multitude des partis rapidement constitués ne manqua
pas de confirmer la disponibilité des citoyens et des groupes de toute sorte de se
servir de cette opportunité juridique, il n’en est pas moins vrai que les partis rou-
mains débutèrent dans le postcommunisme coincés entre ces deux repères de la lé-
galité socialiste, tandis que le pluralisme politique ne se retrouva pas réellement
parmi les intentions manifestes du législateur révolutionnaire.

L’acte du CFSN témoignait déjà à l’époque de la défaillance relative des dé-

marches juridiques formulées à l’adresse d’une société dont les membres
n’hésitaient plus à interpréter pour leur propre compte et à leur propre profit les
règles énoncées par une autorité politique qui ne se voyait plus capable d’imposer
un sens spontanément et unanimement accepté par les destinataires de la règle. En
effet, plus que la logique politique du Décret-Loi, le pluralisme interprétatif dé-
clenché au sein de la société par l’acte normatif et la pression de la rue conduisirent
le CFSN à reconnaître de fait aux partis le statut d’entités politiques. Suite aux pro-
testations et aux négociations de janvier 1990, l’autoproclamé «organe suprême du
pouvoir d’État» qu’était le CFSN, s’élargit en CPUN, faisant de la sorte place en
son sein, à côté de l’acteur prétendant incarner la volonté révolutionnaire, le FSN, à
ces «organisations collectives» – partis politiques et organisations des minorités na-
tionales. Ce compromis retira de fait les partis de la simple horizontalité politique-
ment inerte de la société où les avait situé le Décret-Loi, pour les placer d’emblée
au sommet de l’État, dans la proximité immédiate de ce FSN qui avait jusque là re-
vendiqué pour lui seul la capacité de dire et de faire la politique. Avant même
qu’ils ne se forgent une consistance sociale nette, les partis politiques étaient de la
sorte reconnus comme co-auteurs de l’ordre juridico-politique émergent.
Proto-constitution confectionnée par cette autorité provisoire issue de la com-
binaison déséquilibrée entre le principe affirmé de la révolution et le constat fac-
tuel de la pluralité des partis, la Loi électorale1 fabriquée par le CPUN raffinait in-
directement le mécanisme de la future construction des partis roumains en faisant
trois choix fondamentaux, à leur tour mélange de renouveau et de continuité dans
l’ordre politique.
En premier lieu, l’option pour la représentation proportionnelle fut érigée en
signe d’acceptation du pluralisme politique. Les partis insérèrent au sein du nou-
veau forum représentatif l’absence d’unanimité politique inhérente déjà au post-
communisme, mais, ce faisant, ils se posèrent en porteurs exclusifs de la capacité
de représentation: entre les candidatures partisanes sur des listes bloquées et les
candidatures individuelles, le nouveau régime légal de l’élection n’accepta pas de
catégorie tierce, à part les organisations des minorités nationales.
En second lieu, la représentation de droit des minorités nationales, instituée
par la Loi électorale pour la Chambre basse du Parlement bicaméral, devenait vrai-
semblablement la marque d’une volonté renouvelée de rendre politiquement visi-
ble la diversité culturelle de la nation. Toutefois, dans ce régime, qui sera égale-
ment le régime de la future Constitution, si la diversité culturelle devenait politi-
quement visible, elle n’était pas pour autant rendue politiquement pertinente. Re-
léguée sur le terrain de la population – de cette manière d’envisager sur un mode
statistique et gouvernemental l’ensemble des personnes vivant et travaillant entre
les frontières du pays et/ou étant ou ayant la vocation d’être détenteurs de droits –
la prise en compte des particularités linguistiques participait davantage d’un mode
de déchiffrement politique de la société roumaine hérité de la représentation socia-
liste, désireuse de rehausser des catégories socioculturelles acceptables car prédéfi-
nies, et beaucoup moins à une volonté de faire de cette diversité un ingrédient légi-
time de la décision politique. De surcroît, faire représenter des groupes culturels
minoritaires était une autre manière d’affirmer l’existence d’un groupe culturel
1
Décret-Loi no. 92 du 14 mars 1990, Monitorul Oficial, Ière partie, no. 35 du 18 mars 1990.

majoritaire, les Roumains, que le constituant allait définir par un seul trait distinc-
tif, «l’unité», érigé en fondement de l’État1.
En troisième lieu et d’une manière décisive pour les démarches ultérieures de
mise sur pied des partis, la Loi électorale expliquait la signification fonctionnelle du
critère territorial d’organisation des partis dont l’exclusivité avait été déjà instituée
par le Décret-Loi du 31 décembre. Découpant le pays en circonscriptions calquées
sur la carte administrative de 1968, l’acte transformait le département en site privilé-
gié d’articulation organisationnelle des partis émergeants, en lieu de déploiement
des stratégies partisanes d’acquisition de la loyauté et des adhésions des citoyens.
Or, au moment de la confection de la loi, le département était loin d’être un simple
espace géographique qui se voyait de la sorte pourvu d’une signification électorale.
Au contraire, le département était déjà un des lieux de rencontre entre les gouver-
nants et les gouvernés du Parti-État, espace de travail des dispositifs de gouverne-
ment de l’ancien Parti-État et cadre de prélèvement et de redistribution de ressources
sur le mode de la parcimonie des dernières années du règne de Nicolae Ceauşescu.
Au début de l’année 1990, l’architecture fonctionnelle étendue sur le territoire
de cet État transporté institutionnellement indemne au postcommunisme présen-
tait au moins deux caractéristiques saillantes. D’une part, elle était verticale et ex-
haustive. Ses échelons étaient ordonnés hiérarchiquement selon le principe des
multiples subordinations vite remis à l’estime à l’époque de la Révolution, alors que
ses composantes n’acceptaient pas d’altérite institutionnelle: il n’y avait pas, à
l’aube du postcommunisme roumain, d’autorités qui, relevant d’un gouvernement
local, aient pu concourir ou compléter l’administration étatique de niveau local.
D’autre part, cette administration était toujours et explicitement conçue dans la lo-
gique de l’hétéronomie fonctionnelle et structurelle qu’avait été celle du Parti-État,
dont le principe n’avait pas été aboli par la disparition subite du Parti. La construc-
tion sociologique des partis politiques aura donc lieu dans les départements pen-
dant que le département se transformera en site du réaménagement des logiques
de gouvernement, en cadre pour la refonte des modes de rencontre entre gouver-
nants et gouvernés à l’époque du démantèlement de la dimension infrastructurelle
de l’ancien Parti-État.
Aussi, la première Loi électorale fut-elle plus qu’un régime d’élection, voire
plus qu’une proto-constitution: à part donner contour aux pouvoirs publics de la
Roumanie postcommuniste et encadrer la nouvelle liberté politique des citoyens,
elle assigna aux partis une place dans le régime à naître, une place dont les partis
se servirent par la suite afin de se construire. Acteurs exclusifs de la représentation,
les partis politiques s’articuleront de manière inégale sur la jonction, de plus en
plus marquée par l’ingouvernabilité, entre les mécanismes gouvernementaux de
l’État et une société toujours pénétrée par le tissu institutionnel en délitescence de
la dimension infrastructurelle de l’ancien Parti-État.
La Constitution fabriquée en 1990-1991 par l’Assemblée constituante organi-
sait, elle aussi, l’ordre politique autour des partis. Et ce d’une double manière, en
partie contradictoire. En premier lieu, elle se prononçait explicitement sur la caté-
gorie politique des partis, sur leurs fonctions dans le régime à naître, de même que
sur les limites imposées à l’imagination et à l’action politique des partis. En second
lieu, à part cet encadrement constitutionnel général, dont bénéficieront toutes les
1
Art. 4.1. de la Constitution de 1991 affirme que «L’État a pour fondement l’unité du peuple
roumain».

formations partisanes qui accéderont au Parlement, la Constitution aménageait im-

plicitement la géographie fonctionnelle des institutions à partir d’un présupposé
tacite concernant l’aménagement pratique du paysage partisan. Ce faisant, l’acte
d’écriture constitutionnelle participait à une approche du politique qui était davan-
tage rétrospective. Elle visait à traduire et à adapter en droit un ordre des faits vrai-
semblablement déjà à l’œuvre, et ne s’ambitionnait pas à constituer par le droit et
sur un mode prospectif un ordre institutionnel envisagé au carrefour d’un projet
politique et d’une exigence fonctionnelle.
Rétrospectivement considéré, le régime constitutionnel des partis politiques
indiquait déjà à la fin de l’année 1991 les trois coordonnées du développement ul-
térieur du phénomène partisan postcommuniste roumain. Il confirmait la vocation
des partis de mettre en forme politique la volonté des citoyens telle que manifestée
à travers les élections; il expliquait les limites de l’action des partis en leur oppo-
sant l’intangibilité de l’État national unitaire; et surtout il indiquait que les partis
feront l’objet d’une règlementation spéciale, autrement dit que le droit – les lois
relatives aux partis politiques – constituerait dorénavant un des ingrédients princi-
paux de la production politique des partis.
D’autre part, l’expertise juridique convoquée lors de la préparation du projet
constitutionnel étalait également les prémisses assumées au moment du façonne-
ment des rapports entre les institutions du régime, Parlement, gouvernement, prési-
dent. À l’époque des débats dans l’Assemblée constituante, éclairant son rejet du
principe de la séparation des pouvoirs, la commission constitutionnelle expliquait
que la cohérence de fait de l’assemblage institutionnel reposait sur un présupposé
concernant la dynamique même du paysage partisan en éclosion1. La commission
pensait que, dorénavant, un parti gagnerait une majorité solide au Parlement, ferait
élire son candidat à la présidence du pays et formerait le gouvernement: un présup-
posé résultant par ailleurs du rapport établi par les responsables du FSN entre Révo-
lution et élection et confirmé par les premières élections postcommunistes de mai
1
Répliquant aux reproches qui leur avaient été adressés pour ne pas avoir ancré la loi
fondamentale dans le principe de la séparation des pouvoirs, Ion Deleanu, membre de la
Commission de rédaction de la Constitution précisait devant l’Assemblée constituante: «Je vous
avoue que ce n’est pas par omission que le principe de la séparation des pouvoirs ne trouve pas
de consécration explicite dans la Constitution. Ce fut un geste délibéré de la commission pour les
raisons suivantes: ne dussions nous de respect à une doctrine tellement ancienne et généreuse
comme c’est la doctrine de la séparation des pouvoirs dans l’État, nous pourrions dire qu’elle
représente une erreur scientifique, voire une erreur historique […] En réalité, l’activité de l’État
est beaucoup plus complexe et ne saurait être réduite à ces trois fonctions fondamentales
[législative, exécutive, judiciaire]. En second lieu, le pouvoir est essentiellement indivisible. Le
pouvoir ne peut être qu’un, comme nous l’avons précisé […] lorsque nous avons affirmé que son
détenteur souverain est le peuple. D’autre part, la souveraineté n’est pas, elle non plus, divisible.
Elle ne peut être qu’une, en tant qu’attribut imminent du pouvoir. Mais, à part ces quelques
raisons, auxquelles on pourrait en ajouter d’autres, je voudrais vous dire qu’à l’époque où cette
doctrine fut élaborée […] il n’y avait pas, dans la forme et avec le dynamisme actuel, les partis
politiques. De nos jours, le problème ne se pose plus dans les termes classiques de la séparation
des pouvoirs, mais dans les termes réels du rapport entre pouvoir […] et opposition. Dans les
conditions où un parti politique a la majorité confortable dans le Parlement, ce parti désigne – par
la vocation du Parlement – la branche exécutive et si le chef de l’État appartient au même parti,
du moins jusqu’à son investiture, je pense que vous êtes déjà assurés qu’on ne peut plus parler
d’une séparation réelle des pouvoirs, car la légitimité politique de ces branches d’activité de l’État
est une seule: le parti qui l’a remporté lors des élections», Geneza Constituţiei României. Lucrările
Adunării Constituante, Monitorul Oficial, Bucureşti, 1998. p. 478.

1990, à la suite desquelles le FSN avait simultanément rempli les conditions pres-
senties par le constituant.
Témoignant de la défaillance du constitutionnalisme dans l’élaboration constitu-
tionnelle, l’image que les experts juristes du FSN avaient tenue comme acquise fut
vite infirmée par les faits. L’unité du FSN se brisa en mars-avril 1992, alors que la
branche ayant suivi Ion Iliescu, tout en obtenant de très bonnes performances électo-
rales, ne réussit toutefois plus à reconstituer la position gagnée par le Front en 1990:
les élections suivantes produisirent des Parlements à géographie politique diverse et
plus équilibrée. Elaboré à l’intention d’un parti grand, solide et discipliné, dominant
nettement la scène politique, le régime constitutionnel devint rapidement le cadre de
négociations et partages au sein de coalitions partisanes plus ou moins fragiles, ré-
unissant à leur tour des formations à cohésion incertaine. Finalement, en 1995, le pré-
supposé constitutionnel était manifestement contredit par le maintien au pouvoir du
gouvernement minoritaire constitué par le PDSR et dirigé par Nicolae Văcăroiu.
La production légale ultérieure relative aux partis est à interpréter à la lumière
de ce démenti pratique des prémisses politiques de l’élaboration constitutionnelle.
Conçu non seulement pour les partis politiques, mais surtout pour un parti à la
fois grand et solidement organisé, capable d’assurer la discipline du vote dans le
Parlement et d’appuyer la mise en œuvre des politiques gouvernementales par les
relais centraux et locaux de l’organisation partisane, le régime politique se voyait
pratiquement dépourvu de bases fonctionnelles. Et ce à une époque où les dissen-
sions et les scissions intra-partisanes étaient toujours de mise. Aussi, les produc-
teurs de l’ordre politique, les partis parlementaires – grands ou petits, faibles ou
forts – s’appliquèrent-ils à reconstituer par voie légale le soubassement organi-
sationnel dont l’architecture institutionnelle faisait défaut. La définition légale
proposée par la Loi des partis politiques de 1996 et renforcée par l’acte de 2003
pourvoyait vraisemblablement à cette tâche lorsqu’elle décrivait les partis en tant
qu’organisations amples, fortement articulées, mobilisant un électorat nombreux et
déployé dans le cadre territorial des circonscriptions et appuyant des responsables
politiques à attaches partisanes solides. Telle qu’elle était formulée par la loi, la
définition du parti politique se présentait comme un vœu unanime des représen-
tants des partis présents au Parlement.
La signification politique de la Loi des partis politiques de 1996 fut triple.
D’abord, elle transforma le statut juridique des formations partisanes: l’ancienne
catégorie des «organisations collectives» était officiellement remplacée par celle
des personnes juridiques de droit public. Ce faisant, l’acte déplaçait sensiblement
les partis de l’horizontalité libre et spontanée de l’association civile pour les situer,
à côté des institutions du régime et des collectivités territoriales, dans la case des
repères structurels de l’ordre politique. En second lieu, elle témoignait d’une vo-
lonté de figer par le haut un paysage partisan jugé trop désordonné, en rétrécissant
considérablement la possibilité de l’émergence de nouveaux partis et, par consé-
quent, en encadrant d’une manière serrée la participation politique des citoyens.
En troisième lieu, la Loi reconsidéra la rôle assigné aux partis. Tout en
confirmant leur statut acquis de véhicules exclusifs de la participation politique
des citoyens et d’expression de visions politiques pertinentes, le régime légal re-
haussa la dimension gouvernementale des partis. Vecteur de la démocratisation et
de l’actualisation des droits en 1989-1990, les partis politiques sont juridiquement
envisagés en 1996 comme acteurs et auteurs des démarches gouvernementales.
Moins qu’une inflexion, il s’agit d’un changement d’accent. Car, imposant aux
partis des structures organisationnelles copiées sur l’architecture institutionnelle

de l’État, la règle détaillait en effet les rapports structurels et fonctionnels entre

partis et État pressentis par la première Loi électorale. La confirmation juridique de
la primauté de la fonction gouvernementale des partis postcommunistes au milieu
des années 1990 croisait de la sorte la temporalité plus lente et moins explicite des
processus qui, déjà à l’œuvre, modifiaient en profondeur la dimension infrastruc-
turelle de l’ancien Parti-État et aménageaient l’ingouvernabilité dans les cadres
d’un espace renouvelé de satisfaction des besoins et d’allocation de ressources.
La tentative de susciter par des moyens juridiques la création de partis politi-
ques forts fut à son tour partiellement démentie par les faits. Le régime légal ne
produisit pas les partis dont il avait brossé l’image en puissance, tandis que
l’efficacité gouvernementale des institutions ne se retrouva pas confortée. D’une
part, les gouvernements appuyés par la Convention Démocratique entre 1997 et
2000 s’effondrèrent en proie aux divisions partisanes, alors que la présidence
d’Emil Constantinescu témoigna de l’impuissance constitutionnelle d’un chef
d’État dépourvu de soutien partisan à contenir ou à contrôler la coalition gouver-
nementale. D’autre part, la faiblesse organisationnelle des partis changea de regis-
tre: illustrée d’abord par la fréquence des scissions au sein des partis, elle revêtit de
plus en plus la forme de la défection individuelle des élus, fort enclins à changer
d’appartenance partisane durant leur mandat. La loyauté, en tant que comporte-
ment organisationnel typique1, ne se retrouva point parmi les effets immédiats et
attendus de la nouvelle règlementation. Au désarroi des chefs de partis, le person-
nel partisan se montrait le premier disposé à la défier.
Toutefois, la stabilité gouvernementale des années 2000-2004, assortie de la
mise au travail des stratégies de gonflement organisationnel du PSD, laissait croire
à un succès relatif de cet essai d’assurer le dynamisme des institutions du régime
au moyen de la vigueur organisationnelle d’un parti gouvernemental à vocation
majoritaire. Considéré dans le miroir de la signification politique attribuée aux par-
tis, le PSD faisait tout ce qu’un parti politique devait faire: il s’était assuré un sup-
port relativement confortable au Parlement, il avait fait élire son candidat à la pré-
sidence, il exerçait le gouvernement en pratiquant sa stratégie typique de mobilisa-
tion de ressources internes et de distribution de bénéfices divisibles, exploitant les
mécanismes de l’expertise bureaucratique dont ses responsables politiques avaient
assuré la préservation. Le régime avait apparemment le parti dont la force et la co-
hésion avait fourni le présupposé de l’élaboration constitutionnelle de 1990-1991.
Les élections législatives de 2004 confirmèrent manifestement le succès de la
démarche: le PSD obtint un score électoral supérieur à celui qui l’avait propulsé au
gouvernement quatre ans plutôt. Néanmoins, les élections présidentielles l’infir-
mèrent, niant au candidat du PSD, Adrian Năstase, l’accès à la présidence du pays.
Aussi, le régime politique se retrouva-t-il de nouveau, mais sur d’autres voies, en
proie à ses propres contradictions intrinsèques. Par surcroît, le nouveau président,
Traian Băsescu, n’hésita pas à se servir du double trait de sa position – l’élection
populaire directe et l’absence de responsabilités politiques attachées à la fonction –
afin de transformer les partis en cible privilégiée de ses critiques. Envisagés ini-
tialement comme pourvoyeurs de légitimité et de stabilité aux institutions du
système politique, les partis devinrent de plus en plus, dans le discours public ré-
cent, tel que relayé par les média, les boucs émissaires des défaillances d’un ordre
1
Albert O. HIRSCHMAN, Exit, Voice and Loyalty. Responses to Decline in Firms, Organizations,
and States, Harvard University Press, Cambridge Mass & London, 1970.

politique ayant toujours du mal à travailler sur le mode de la rationalité légale et

les véhicules privilégiés de l’exploitation dolosive de l’argent public1.
Que sont donc et que font au juste les partis politiques roumains? À plus de
quinze ans de l’effondrement du communisme, force est de constater que cette dé-
marche politique normative, à conséquences institutionnelles et gouvernementales
fortes, située au cœur même de la production de sens et de légitimité de l’ordre poli-
tique, s’avéra politiquement chétive. Plusieurs phénomènes sensibles dans les années
2000, en Roumanie comme ailleurs –désengagement politique des citoyens, absen-
téisme électoral de plus en plus significatif, mécontentement quant aux performan-
ces gouvernementales, attrait des appels populistes2 – ont fait que la question du sta-
tut et des fonctions des partis politiques au postcommunisme roumain émerge égale-
ment en force comme question de débat publique, indiquant de la sorte un décalage,
voire une fracture entre le sens politique proposé aux citoyens par les acteurs du
postcommunisme et le sens entendu et pratiqué de manière diffuse par la société. Le
statut public de la question, de même que l’incapacité d’y fournir une réponse évi-
dente et acceptée, sont en eux-mêmes une marque de l’échec partiel de munir
l’expérience de société du postcommunisme d’un projet politique démocratique qui
lui soit non seulement fondateur, mais également adéquat.
Historiquement, les partis politiques se sont légitimés et ont prouvé leurs ver-
tus en tant que solutions organisationnelles assurant l’actualisation de valeurs arrê-
tées en projet: la limitation du pouvoir, l’élaboration de projets de société, la par-
ticipation au pouvoir, l’imagination de politiques publiques, l’organisation de la
critique sociale du politique. Les partis participaient de la sorte à la dynamique
d’enrichissement démocratique entraînée par les principes démocratiques mêmes.
Quant à eux, les partis roumains ont vu le jour à une époque où les démocraties
européennes retravaillent déjà depuis un moment le contenu, les ressorts, les ou-
tils, les véhicules et les ingrédients des rapports politiques entre citoyens, gouver-
nants et gouvernés, au sein des sociétés dont l’entropie, de plus en plus marquée,
ne cessait de revêtir des formes nouvelles. La démocratie des partis vit sa vocation
typologique subrepticement concurrencée par la démocratie du public3, voire par
la contre-démocratie4. Aussi, si vraiment le caractère démocratique de la Roumanie
fut-il confirmé politiquement et institutionnellement par l’intégration à l’Union Eu-
ropéenne, le malaise des partis politiques roumains à pratiquer concrètement la dé-
mocratie dont ils ont tracé les contours politico-juridiques et dont ils se sont insti-
tués en acteurs, laisse toujours ouverte la question du type de démocratie dont le
postcommunisme roumain a encadré l’émergence.
1
Avant les élections de 2004, 12 organisations non-gouvernementales des plus visibles et
actives ont constitué une «Coalition pour un Parlement propre» indiquant par là que, à leur yeux,
les partis politiques sont les cadres qui assurent la présence dans les institutions fondamentales
du régime – Parlement, gouvernement – de personnes susceptibles d’avoir commis des
exactions. La «Coalition» publia donc des manifestes incriminant, à partir des informations
recueillies dans la presse, des transgressions supposées à la loi et à la morale des candidats
proposés par les partis politiques. Après les élections, la «Coalition pour un Parlement propre» se
transforma en «Coalition pour un gouvernement propre». Les ONG constitutifs animèrent les
débats autour du financement des partis politiques et du système électoral. V. le site de
l’association des ONG, www.ong.ro.
2
E.g. le score électoral réalisé par le candidat du Parti Grande Roumanie aux élections
présidentielles de 2000.
3
Bernard MANIN, Principes du gouvernement représentatif, Flammarion, Paris, 1995,
pp. 247-303.
4
Pierre ROSANVALLON, La contre-démocratie. La politique à l’âge de la défiance, Seuil,
Paris, 2006.

ARTICULI


Goulash Justice for Goulash Communism? 269
Goulash Justice for Goulash Communism?

Explaining Transitional Justice in Hungary
LAVINIA STAN
There is a wide-spread belief in Hungary that the best revenge the new de-
mocracy could take for the decades of communist rule it experienced at the hands
of an unscrupulous and rapacious nomenklatura is to live well and to prosper
quickly1. Economic redress for political injustice has been the Hungarian answer to
de-communization and transitional justice, the two intertwined processes that have
gained prominence throughout the post-communist Eastern European block.
While its neighbors have struggled to deal with their dictatorial experience by re-
examining their recent history, adopting lustration, bringing communist officials
and secret agents to court, and opening the secret archives, Hungarians have em-
braced the position that ”the best way to deal with the past is to do better now”2.
What exactly ”doing better” means has never been spelled out, perhaps because
ordinary citizens have generally been disinterested in the subject, the political class
has been embroiled in its daily struggle for the people’s minds and votes, and all
Hungarians have taken pride in their exceptionally mild communist regime. In this
general climate of apathy for the process of coming to terms with the past, the
question we should raise is not ”why Hungary failed to take a firmer stand toward
its recent past?” but rather ”why did it pursue limited lustration, file access and
court proceedings at all?”. Why did it stop short of embracing the Spanish model
of ”forgiving and forgetting”, when other European post-communist countries
were inclined to ”prosecute and punish” former communist officials and secret
agents? The answer lies partly with the nature of Hungary’s communist regime,
partly with its type of transition and exit from communism, and partly with its
continuing post-communist struggle for power.
Mild, dare we name it ”goulash”, transitional justice was called for by the mild
”goulash communism” of the 1960s and the 1970s. Hungary was one of the most
progressive communist countries in Eastern Europe, allowing multi-candidate
elections to be organized as early as 1985, tolerating political parties other than the
ruling Socialist Workers’ Party, and permitting opposition associations to form in
the late 1980s. In contrast to neighboring Romania, Poland, Czechoslovakia or East
Germany, Hungary’s road to socialism cut across the happy hills of state-society
1
I would like to thank Dr. Tibor Mandi of the Institute of Political Science at the Eotvos
Lorand University in Budapest for commenting on an earlier draft of this article, and for patiently
correcting my mistakes. My thanks also go to the participants in the Joint Sessions of the
European Consortium for Political Research gathered in April 2006 in Cyprus. My students in the
Advanced Seminar on Intelligence Services in Peace and War, and the Human Rights and
International Justice classes helped with data collection. Research for this article was generously
supported financially by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada with a
research standard grant. All mistakes are mine.
2
See Gabor HALMAI, Kim Lane SCHEPPELE, ”Living Well Is the Best Revenge: the
Hungarian Approach to Judging the Past”, in James McADAM (ed.), Transitional Justice and the
Rule of Law, University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame (IN), 1997, pp. 155-184.

270 LAVINIA STAN
cooperation and accord more than the valley of sorrows harboring outright repres-
sion and the leader’s cult of personality. True, the communist rule started in Hun-
gary the same way it started throughout Eastern Europe, with massive arbitrary
arrests, show-trials of predetermined outcome, a vast network of prisons and labor
camps, a ruthless secret political police orchestrated by NKVD agents, and ”liberat-
ing” Soviet troops that said good bye without leaving the country. But the 1956
Hungarian Revolution showed the population’s impatience with communist in-
timidation tactics, and the citizens’ willingness to take to the streets and openly
challenge a regime delivering few political and socio-economic benefits. Thus, in-
stead of working against the people, the Hungarian communist leadership was
forced to work with them and adapt communism into a local-grown, liberalizing
variant. Although the revolution was crushed, it helped Janos Kadar to create the
soft ”Kadarist” dictatorship based on a social contract forget between state and so-
ciety. By 1989, the abuses of early communism were a distant memory for much of
the population, which was therefore little inclined to seek reparations from a re-
formed communist leadership it had cooperated with so well1.
Its non-violent exit from dictatorship further prepared the country for mild,
incremental de-communization. Whereas the regimes of Romania and East Ger-
many collapsed quickly without talks between the hard-line communist leaders
and the disorganized opposition representatives, the Hungarian roundtable talks
took several months of negotiations, even longer than in the Czechoslovak and
Polish cases. On 13 June 1989 the ruling party invited the political opposition and
”third party” organizations traditionally associated with the communist authori-
ties (mainly trade unions) to formal negotiations in view of effecting a peaceful
transition of political power. Deliberations took place at three different levels con-
comitantly. There were plenary sessions opened to the media, political negotia-
tions between the three groups, and closed expert debates on matters of detail. De-
cisions were made by consensus among the delegations. The end-product of all
those lengthy negotiations consisted of constitutional amendments ratified on 18
October by the communist-dominated Parliament, whose members had been
elected in the 1985 multi-candidate elections. Although the legislature was re-
garded as largely unrepresentative and negotiations were pursued in the absence
of concerted efforts to promote meaningful public participation, there was a strong
desire on the part of all bargaining parties to proceed in a constitutional manner.
Hungary’s negotiated transfer of political power meant that perpetrators of
communist crimes have remained very much part of the society undergoing the de-
mocratic transition, and have belonged to the political elite responsible for the move
away from communism. As in Poland, ”the loyalty of the Communist Party activ-
ists (however renamed or reformed) to the negotiated rules was a central factor in
the peaceful and eventually successful transition”2. The weak lustration Hungary
adopted in the early 1990s reflected the former communists’ influence over the
legislative process, and the opposition’s tacit recognition of the communist-era
1
Heiro NYYSSONEN, ”Salami Reconstructed. ’Goulash Communism’ and Political Culture
in Hungary”, Cahiers du Monde Russe, vol. 47, nos. 1-2, January-June 2006, p. 167.
2
Wojchiech SADURSKI, ”’De-communization’, ’Lustration’ and Constitutional Continuity:
Dilemmas of Transitional Justice in Central Europe”, EUI Working Paper LAW, no. 15, 2005, p. 24,
and Janos M. RAINER, ”Opening the Archives of the Communist Secret Police – the Experience
of Hungary”, paper presented at the Congress of Historical Sciences, Oslo, Norway, 6-13 August
2000, available at www.rev.hu/archivum/rmj_oslo_00_eng_long.html (accessed 10 June 2007).

institutional and legal systems. That recognition, and its implied continuity be-
tween the communist and post-communist Hungarian states, seriously influenced
the Constitutional Court decisions regarding the scope of lustration and prevented
the adoption of radical vetting similar to the one adopted in Czechoslovakia.
Last but not least, the Hungarian mild transitional justice has been the result
of its post-communist struggle for power. Three arguments are worth mentioning
here. In other Eastern European countries, demands for retribution were voiced by
groups wronged under communism, including former political prisoners, anticom-
munist dissidents, owners of property abusively confiscated, among others. In
Hungary the peculiarities of post-communism led to an unlikely alliance between
the former communists and the former hard-core anticommunist dissidents. By
1994 the Socialists had already won the support of the smaller Alliance of Free De-
mocrats (Szabad Demokratak Szovetsege), which preferred to join forces with their
former abusers than to lend support to the nationalist camp. Such a political choice
discouraged an important group of former victims from seeking retribution and re-
dress. Second, radical transitional justice has been unpalatable to the liberal camp,
both because it would have exposed the numerous former spies drawn from
among its own ranks and because it would have resembled an act of revenge taken
on the exponents of ”communism with a human face”. Third, Hungarian parties
have attempted ”to restructure the scope of the original lustration laws to
strengthen their political power vis-à-vis other political parties. As the intensity of
the political competition between parties increases, one would expect to see com-
mensurate changes proposed to the scope of the lustration legislation”. The scope
would be expanded ”to permit more intensive use against political rivals”. Horne
and Levy further noted that, ”as socialist parties have increased their political
power, center and right wing political parties have attempted to increase the scope
of the laws so as to counter the growing political competition posed by those politi-
cal candidates”1. Successive governments have used transitional justice as a bar-
gaining chip, but their choice was always for variants of limited de-communization
that would affect them minimally in the event of an electoral defeat.
Transitional justice consists of a range of approaches new democracies adopt in
an effort to come to terms with their dictatorial recent past of human rights abuses.
Often used synonymously with the politics of memory and de-communization, tran-
sitional justice in Hungary and Eastern Europe in general has consisted of a combi-
nation of methods with different goals and effectiveness. Only three key methods are
discussed here: lustration, access to secret files, and court proceedings2.
The Communist Secret Police

In November 1945, the Independent Smallholder Party formed a coalition
government after winning 57 percent of the vote in free elections. Although the
1
Cynthia M. HORNE, Margaret LEVY, ”Does Lustration Promote Trustworthy Governance?
An Exploration of the Experience of Central and Eastern Europe”, October 2002, pp. 24-25, available
online at http://www.colbud.hu/honesty-trust/horne/pub01.html (accessed 10 June 2007).
2
For a definition and discussion of transitional justice, see Lavinia STAN, ”Transitional
Justice”, in International Encyclopedia of Political Science, ed. by George KURIAN, CQ Press on
behalf of the American Political Science Association, New York (NY), 2007, pp. 1156-1158.

272 LAVINIA STAN
Hungarian Communist Party (Magyar Kommunista Partja) garnered barely 17 per-

cent of the vote, Matyas Rakosi was named deputy premier and other communists
received key cabinet positions with the assistance of the occupying Soviet troops.
During the war, Rakosi had led the Moscow-based Hungarian communists, who
returned to Budapest after the Soviet Army invaded Hungary in September 1944.
Their close ties to Moscow allowed Rakosi’s Muscovites to take the lead of the
country’s communist movement, a position which the home-based cell of Laszlo
Rajk also aspired to. To help communists assert control, the Red Army set up the
Allamvedelmi Osztaly (AVO) as the Hungarian secret political police charged with
suppressing and eliminating anticommunist opposition groups. Initially the AVO
was headed by Gabor Peter, an NKVD (People’s Commission for Internal Affairs)
agent who used purges to weaken the Smallholders’ social basis1. The secret police
arrested outspoken anticommunist critics, accusing them of fascist sympathies and
wartime collaboration with parties supportive of Nazi Germany. Many of the
40 000 individuals who stood accused by 1948 had indeed been sympathizers of
the fascist Arrow Cross movement, and supporters of Hungary’s alignment with
Nazi Germany2. The purge also extended to thousands of loyal communists, who
were jailed, tortured, killed and subjected to show-trials.
In the 1949 elections the communists, by then reorganized as the Hungarian
Workers’ Party (Magyar Dolgozok Part), ran unopposed. The new government ap-
pointed by President Rakosi continued to use show-trials as a measure to consoli-
date its position. In the process, Interior Minister Laszlo Rajk was sentenced to
death, together with his entire extended family, after a mock trial condoned by
Moscow. Throughout the 1950s, all those who headed the Interior Ministry and the
AVO lost their positions in power struggles taking place within the party, or be-
tween the party leadership and the intelligence services. Rajk’s successor, Janos
Kadar, fell from grace in 1951, when he was arrested, tortured and stripped of all
his privileges. Born under a lucky star, Kadar was rehabilitated five years later to
play a dominant role in the aftermath of the Hungarian Revolution. In 1952 Sandor
Zold, Kadar’s unfortunate and desperate successor, killed his wife, children,
mother-in-law, and himself just before he was about to be purged. The following
year Stalin denounced the AVO head Gabor Peter as a Western intelligence agent.
After his arrest, a frightened Peter ”confessed” to having collaborated with British
and ”Zionist” intelligence services in an attempt to avoid receiving the death pen-
alty. Six years later, he was released from prison by Premier Janos Kadar, who gave
him a low-ranking government position until his retirement. After Khruschev’s
denunciation of Stalinist purges, Hungarian authorities admitted that the case
against Rajk had been totally fabricated3.
The consolidation of communist power in Hungary followed patterns estab-
lished elsewhere in Eastern Europe and were reminiscent of campaigns conducted
earlier in the Soviet Union. As part of the forced collectivization of agriculture
1
When in May 1947 Premier Ferenc Nagy went on holiday in Switzerland, he was sent word
he will be arrested upon his return to Budapest.
2
Laszlo KARSAI, ”Crime and Punishment: People’s Courts, Revolutionary Legality, and
the Hungarian Holocaust”, East Central Europe, vol. 4, no. 1, 2004, available online at
http://sipa.columbia.edu/REGIONAL/ECE/vol4no1/karsai2.pdf (accessed 10 June 2007).
3
Peter KENEZ, Hungary from the Nazis to the Soviets. The Establishment of the Communist Regime in
Hungary, 1944-1948, Cambridge University Press, New York, 2006, and Michael G. ROSKIN, The
Rebirth of East Europe, Prentice-Hall, Upper Saddle River, NJ, 2002, 4th edition, pp. 72-73.

program farmers were compelled to join the collectives, surrender their land and
working tools for free, and make deliveries to the government at prices below the
costs of production. Nationalization of banking, trade and industry was completed
by late 1949, and central planning was introduced in all economic areas at that same
time. Landowners were expropriated and driven into exile, while their land was di-
vided into tiny plots allotted to the poorest peasants. In what Rakosi referred to as
the ”salami tactics” political parties that could serve as an alternative or opposition
to the communists were gradually marginalized, co-opted or banned. Non-commu-
nist politicians were discredited as ”antidemocratic”, removed from the govern-
ment or jailed on trumped up charges. Trade unions lost their independence, while
religious groups were robbed of much of their property. Protestant churches skill-
fully avoided further persecution by reaching a compromise with the communist
authorities, but the Roman Catholic Church stubbornly resisted, prompting the
government to retaliate by disbanding its orders and secularizing its schools. After
1989, demands for retribution and reparations were voiced primarily by members
of the social categories wronged during these early campaigns.
Though the secret police was initially part of the regular police, by 1950 it was
subordinated directly to the Council of Ministers and had divisions at the district,
town, county and national levels. In 1953 the AVO’s independence ceased when
different Interior Ministry divisions took over its tasks and operations. The AVO’s
final organizational structure came into being a decade later, when Department III
was organized within the Interior Ministry. Its five divisions were Main Division
III/I (foreign intelligence), Main Division III/II (counter-intelligence), Main Divi-
sion III/III (counter inside reaction service, equivalent to domestic repression),
Main Division III/IV (military intelligence and counterintelligence), and Main Di-
vision III/V (providing technical supply for all other divisions). The state security
service, later known as the AVH (Allamvedelmi Hatosag), also included the border
guards. The Military Political Department of the Defense Ministry was set up in
March 1945 with Soviet permission and support to reflect Kremlin’s interests. This
overall intelligence structure was maintained, with some minor changes, until the
collapse of the communist regime.
In the organization of these structures political reliability took precedence over
training, professionalism or personal skills, and thus mostly unprofessional, un-
dereducated and brutish careerists took high positions. Operating without civil
and parliamentary control, the AVO generated public fear by using forced interro-
gation, torture and arbitrary arrests to make innocent prisoners plead guilty. It ran
cruel and crude labor and prison camps for political prisoners. Before 1953 ex-com-
munist party members were treated more harshly than other political prisoners,
but after 1953 they were a virtual aristocracy among political prisoners. As in other
communist countries, prosecutors and courts were asked to cooperate closely with
the security services to maintain an appearance of legality and secure the convic-
tion of selected individuals. The AVO assisted the Soviet security services, which
in turn helped its efforts to imprison the Roman Catholic bishop Cardinal Jozsef
Mindszenty in 1948, and bring Interior Minister Rajk to trial for Titoism the follow-
ing year. Security services thus operated as a political police defending the com-
munist regime and leaders more than the national interest, which was reflective of
the regime’s desires and priorities. Thus, with respect to the relationship between
secret services and the party-state, Hungary replicated the model characteristic of
the communist block. The party was the brain, deciding the main goals, setting the
agenda and controlling the mix of carrots and sticks offered as punishment for

274 LAVINIA STAN
opposition and criticism or reward for compliance and loyalty. In turn, secret ser-
vices were the muscle that transposed the party’s wishes into reality.
After Stalin’s death, the new Soviet leadership summoned Hungarian party
leaders to Moscow, and harshly criticized them for the country’s dismal economic
record and use of terror, as though earlier Moscow had been completely unaware
of these problems. Rakosi remained party head, but Nagy became premier and
quickly won the support of the party membership and intelligentsia for his cour-
age to propose sweeping reforms. He ended the purges, freed up the political pris-
oners, and closed notorious labor camps. He allowed peasants to leave collective
farms, cancelled compulsory production quotas in agriculture, granted subsidies to
private producers, and increased investments in the production of consumer
goods. However, Nagy failed to fundamentally alter the structure of the commu-
nist economy, an oversight that led to production levels below those registered in
1953. Following that announcement, Rakosi seized the moment to disrupt reforms,
attack Nagy as a right-wing deviationist, and force his resignation from govern-
ment and ban from the party in April 1956. Some of Nagy’s economic reforms were
reversed, but the purges did not resume, although Rakosi had to contend with
many outspoken critics within the party, including purge victims rehabilitated and
readmitted into the party at Moscow’s prompting.
During that summer Rakosi’s position eroded to the point that it became unten-
able. The general population and the reformist-minded party members deplored the
reversal of economic policy and the lack of any concrete (and realistic) plan for eco-
nomic revival, and became increasingly frustrated with the faltering living stan-
dards. The police and intelligence services became disgruntled when an investiga-
tion into earlier purges cleared Rakosi of wrongdoing while blaming them alone for
purging innocent victims through abuse of power. Students, writers and intelligent-
sia members criticized the Central Committee’s decision to dissolve the Petofi Circle,
which had served as a debate forum, and to expel intellectuals from the party. The
press printed official attacks against Rakosi, who in mid-July resigned the position of
First Secretary in favor of his deputy, Erno Gero. Intended to help the party-state to
acquire a new lease on life, the move turned into a political fiasco. Gero’s close prox-
imity to Rakosi reflected poorly on his popularity, and therefore the change of guard
was unable to stop public discontent and avert the Hungarian Revolution.
The ruthlessness of the secret political police became apparent on 23 October
1956, when students took to the streets of Budapest in anti-governmental protests.
Clashes with the AVH agents resulted in several protesters being killed and
wounded that evening. In retaliation, protesters took control of key institutions
and important territories sometimes resorting to violence. The nationalist group of
Jozsef Dudas executed pro-Soviet communists, and known or suspected AVH
agents and informers caught up in the uprising. On 29 October Dudas’s comman-
dos stormed the AVH headquarters and massacred the agents inside. The crowd
lynched more AVH members when wage ledgers were found attesting to the fact
that agents received salaries ten times larger than ordinary wages. Ironically, the
AVH was housed in a building that once belonged to the Arrow Cross Party, the
inter-war fascist formation that ruled the country from October 1944 to January 1945
and was responsible for sending some 80 000 Jews on a death march to the Austrian
border1. As the situation rapidly deteriorated the Hungarian party leadership asked
1
After 1989, the building became a museum commemorating the victims of both the fascist
and communist regimes.

Moscow for help. Protests continued while Kremlin pondered whether Soviet
troops should pull out of Hungary or quell the revolution. Meanwhile, Nagy,
whom the Central Committee had appointed as premier, announced plans to nego-
tiate the withdrawal of Soviet troops, disband the AVH, dismantle the one-party
system, and allow Hungary to return to its pre-communist political system. The
announcement prompted Moscow to dispatch future KGB head and Soviet Pre-
mier Yuri Andropov to Budapest. On 1 November Nagy woke to the news that So-
viet tanks had entered Hungary, but Andropov assured him that they only sought
to protect the withdrawing Soviet troops. That day, Nagy declared Hungary’s uni-
lateral withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact and announced its intention to join the
United Nations. The revolution ended two days later, when Soviet troops began
their assault on Budapest. Nagy was arrested, spirited to Moscow via Bucharest,
prosecuted, convicted, and executed in June 1958.
The 1956 uprising significantly impacted state-society relations in communist
Hungary. The revolt resulted in 2 500 people being killed, and around 200 000
Hungarians leaving the country for Western Europe. Between 1957 and 1962, some
22 000 people were sentenced in courts, among them 250 to 350 to death1. Despite
Andropov’s promises, Soviet troops were not withdrawn, massive arrests were op-
erated, and Kadar established a tight control over the party-state2. The fate of the
security services remained unclear. Kadar criticized the AVH’s methods, but not
the thrust of the security work or its ideological foundations, which were left un-
touched. Many Hungarians sincerely believed that the domestic intelligence ser-
vice was never resurrected after Nagy’s promise to disband the AVH. While some
naively took pride in living in the only communist country without secret political
police forces, others cautiously suspected that Kadar reorganized the AVH within
the regular police force. Because the uprising took the state security services by
surprise, and attested to their failure to predict popular support for student dem-
onstrations, communist authorities in Budapest accepted the KGB to operate di-
rectly on Hungarian territory. The AVH continued to recruit ordinary Hungarians
as informers and to conduct comprehensive surveillance operations, even after the
regime adopted the liberalized ”goulash communism” and the ruling party mem-
bership swelled3. Until 1989 the AVH operated under the direct control of the
party-state, the leadership of a Deputy Interior Minister, and the confines of a myr-
iad of secret internal orders and directives.
Those convinced that, compared to its Eastern European counterparts, the
mild ”goulash communism” of the 1960s and the 1970s required a smaller state
security force and elicited lower levels of daily secret surveillance of individuals
and groups voicing opposition to the communist regime, ideology and leaders
were disappointed to find out that the AVH kept tabs on opposition leaders for the
1
In June 1988 the Committee for Historical Justice (Tortenelmi Igazsagtetel Bizottsaga) was
founded illegally. Its founding platform insisted on ”the full moral, political and juridical
rehabilitation of victims, both alive and dead, from the retribution which followed the [1956]
revolution”. The committee demanded ”reliable history-writing on the post-1956 period,
publication of documents about 1956, and a national memorial, as well as the reburial of those
executed”. Heiro NYYSSONEN, ”Salami Reconstructed…cit.”, p. 168.
2
By 1963, all political prisoners arrested in conjunction with the 1956 revolution were
released. The number of party members in Parliament was the lowest in 1953 (69.9 percent), and
the highest in 1958 (81.6 percent). See ibidem, p. 150.
3
In 1985 the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party membership reached some 871 000 in a
total population of about 10.5 million.

276 LAVINIA STAN
benefit of the Workers’ Party even after 23 October 1989, the day marking the offi-
cial proclamation of the post-communist Republic of Hungary. The AVH report-
edly identified 2 029 new surveillance targets (victims) in the first six months of
1989 alone, and there are reasons to believe that rate was not significantly lower
than that registered throughout the decade1. During the June-September roundta-
ble talks organized that year, the ruling party received regular information reports
on the opposition’s activities, thus having the upper hand in a negotiation it al-
ready initiated and shaped to its liking2. While publicly committed to peaceful de-
mocratization and increased power sharing with the opposition, top governmental
officials like President Matyas Szuros, Premier Miklos Nemeth, Minister of State
Imre Pozsgay, Exterior Minister Gyula Horn, and Deputy Premier Peter Medgyessy
continued to receive secret intelligence reports.
Following the roundtable talks, the Constitution was amended in October
1989 to allow for a multiparty system, and free elections were organized in 1990.
Soviet troops were gradually withdrawn by mid-1991, thereby ending some 47
years of military occupation. Secret services were also reorganized, but not before
facing the most severe scandal in their history, popularly called the Dunagate. On
5 January 1990 the Alliance of Free Democrats and the Alliance of Young Democ-
rats publicly showed operative information reports proving that secret services
had collected information on the opposition in spite of the new constitutional
changes endorsing a multiparty system. While their master, the Workers’ Party,
formally agreed to democratic changes, secret services continued their usual opera-
tive activities, identifying individuals and groups perceived as the ”hostile opposi-
tion”, and serving up information to the communist leadership. Security services
had remained behind the times, as the transformation they envisaged was largely
superficial, leaving their core secret operative activities unaffected. The opposition
called on the government to distance itself from the unlawful activity of secret ser-
vices, and to dismiss those responsible for gathering the information. Following
lengthy investigations into the Dunagate scandal, on 21 January 1991 the Main Di-
vision III/III was disbanded without a legal successor. For many Hungarians, the
move aimed to shrewdly preserve the bulk of the communist secret services at the
expense of one of its divisions, treated as the main scapegoat. Division III/III has
remained the only intelligence service declared unconstitutional3.
The scandal brought about a limited reorganization of security services, after
several similar proposals were rejected both during and immediately after the
roundtable talks. On 6 September 1989 the negotiating subcommittee charged with
finding methods to avoid violence and to guarantee a peaceful regime change in-
terviewed Deputy Interior Minister Ferenc Pallagi about the status of the security
services. Pallagi blatantly lied, claiming that since December 1989 secret services
had reported to the government not to the ruling party, and that all security-re-
lated tasks were performed by the regular police not by an independent secret
1
Renata UITZ, ”Missed Opportunities for Coming to Terms with the Communist Past: The
Hungarian Saga of Lustration and Access to Secret Service Files”, paper presented at the
American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies conference, Salt Lake City, 3-6
November 2005, p. 16.
2
Bela REVESZ, Dunagate I, II and III, no press, Budapest, 1995.
3
See P.N. NAGY, ”A vad titka” (”The Secret, the Accusation”), Nepszabadsag, 19 June 2002,
quoted in Csilla KISS, ”The Misuses of Manipulation: The Failure of Transitional Justice in
Post-Communist Hungary”, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 58, no. 6, September 2006, p. 928.

service. Paradoxically, the subcommittee failed to question Pallagi in detail, and

showed more interest in recovering the confiscated samizdat literature and dis-
mantling the Workers’ Guard, the ruling party’s armed unit. Following opposition
leader Ferencz Koszeg, these two topics were launched as top negotiation priorities
in an effort to divert attention from the more critical issue of state security services.
A week later opposition leader Peter Tolgyessy demanded the creation of a
self-standing security service without knowing that secret services were already
operating outside of the regular police. The ruling party rejected the proposal.
With this, the fate of the security services remained undecided and outside the
purview of the new Constitution.
The legislation governing the activity of the post-communist security services
included Act X of 1990, which terminated the state security tasks of the Interior
Ministry, laid down the procedure for authorizing special clandestine methods,
and served as basis for Governmental Decree 26/1990 and Act CXXV of 1995,
which provided a new legal framework for national security. Security tasks were
bestowed on two newly-created civilian structures: the National Security Office
(Nemzetbiztonsagi Hivatal or NBH), responsible for gathering and processing both
domestic and foreign intelligence information, and the National Security Services
(Nemzetbiztonsagi Szakszolgalat or NBSzSz), responsible for protecting the national
interest within the country’s borders and providing protection for Hungarian gov-
ernment officials and diplomats both inside the country and abroad. The NBH has
fulfilled national security tasks and has operated under governmental direction
and parliamentary supervision, with a nationwide scope of authority and a budget
of its own. In addition to civilian structures, Hungary maintains military intelli-
gence forces, including the Military Security Office (Katonai Biztonsagi Hivatal or
KBH) and the Military Detection Agency (Katonai Felderito Hivatal or KFH).
Lustration without Lustrati

As a result of the 1990 general elections, political power reverted to a loose
coalition of opposition parties, which together controlled a comfortable majority of
230 seats (out of the total 386) in the unicameral legislature. The Hungarian De-
mocratic Forum (Magyar Demokrata Forum), the Independent Smallholders’ Party
(Fuggetlen Kisgazda Part) and the Christian Democratic People’s Party (Keresztenyde-
mokrata Neppart) formed the government under the leadership of Premier Jozsef
Antall. While committed to sidelining the communists, the ruling partners were
unable to bridge their differences and pursue lustration concomitantly with de-
signing strategies to move the country away from communism and closer to de-
mocracy and free market economy. Political instability and the nomination of a
new government headed by premier Peter Boross, after Antall’s untimely death,
postponed the adoption of a screening law until the weeks leading to the 1994 elec-
tions, by which time a number of drafts had been already discussed and rejected.
As serious procrastination threatened to block de-communization altogether,
deputies of the ruling coalition introduced the legislative proposal in the house be-
fore fine-tuning its details. This oversight came to haunt them later, when the
screening law was seriously challenged by the Constitutional Court. Because of its
delayed adoption, in which premier Antall was believed to have played a key role,
the bill did not apply to members of the first democratically elected Parliament.

278 LAVINIA STAN
The Lustration Act was preceded by another legislative proposal never seriously
debated in Parliament. On 3 September 1990 deputies Gabor Demszky and Peter
Hack, representing the opposition Alliance of Free Democrats, called for the opening
of all secret police files and the drafting a list of all secret officers and informers who
worked for Division III/III. The list was to be deposited with the President of Hun-
gary, the Prime Minister and the legislative national security committee. Public office
holders whose name appeared on the list could resign within 60 days, in which case
their tainted past remained secret. The identity and past involvement with commu-
nist secret services of those who refused to give up their office were made public.
The proposal failed to gain support, because rumor had it that the ruling coalition
planned to employ the files to compromise their political rivals. According to uncon-
firmed reports, while in office Prime Minister Antall handed out to his opponents
within the governmental coalition and his own party sealed envelopes allegedly con-
taining incriminating data about their ties to the communist secret political police. A
victim of the process was chauvinist politician Istvan Csurka, then a member of the
Hungarian Democratic Forum. After some hesitation, Csurka ultimately admitted to
have signed a collaboration pledge under the code name ”Rasputin”, but claimed
that he never provided any information reports1.
The Law on the Background Checks of Individuals Holding Certain Important
Positions (Act XXIII of 8 March 1994 or the Lustration Act) subjected some 12 000
present officials to a screening process by at least two three-judge panels, which
had to examine the archives of the domestic secret service departments and com-
plete their work between 1 July 1994 and 30 June 20002. The panels examined
whether selected public office holders had collaborated with the communist do-
mestic state security, supplied secret reports as informers, received secret informa-
tion reports, or belonged to the fascist Arrow Cross Party. Collaboration with the
communist secret services was established if a pledge to collaborate was found to-
gether with proof that the person was remunerated for his or her services. Those
screened were not required to give depositions concerning their past before the
lustration panel. Vetted officials included only those who had taken an oath before
Parliament or the President of the Republic: the President, ministers, deputies,
judges, journalists working for public mass-media outlets, and leaders and manag-
ers of state universities and public companies. If collaboration was determined, the
information was made public only if the persons refused to resign from their post.
Those persons could keep the job even if such information was publicized. Thus,
the law lustrated only a tiny fraction of public officials who wanted to continue to
keep secret their tainted past. In practice, no Hungarian public official unmasked
as a former collaborator chose to step down, either before or after sensitive infor-
mation was made public.
The Hungarian Lustration Act represented a milder solution compared to
similar proposals adopted in neighboring countries, as it neither declared incom-
patible the holding of present public office with past collaboration with the secret
police, nor proposed to unveil the entire communist surveillance system. It pro-
1
I thank Peter Hack for this information. Some of these details are reported by Csilla KISS,
”The Misuses of Manipulation…cit.”, p. 930.
2
”Hungary: Law on the Background Checks to be Conducted on Individuals Holding
Certain Important Positions. Law no. 23 (8 May 1994)”, in Neil KRITZ (ed.), Transitional Justice:
How New Democracies Reckon with Their Authoritarian Past, US Institute for Peace, Washington,
DC, 1995, pp. 418-425.

moted limited transparency rather than punishment. Complete transparency, the

kind that permitted the public to find out the tainted past of post-communist po-
litical luminaries, came only when public officers rejected the resignation offer.
Hungary’s toothless lustration was the result of its liberalized communist past, ne-
gotiated transition, and post-communist present. Following historian Laszlo
Varga, soft lustration was ”a direct continuation of the ’soft’ dictatorship, or Gou-
lash Communism, of the previous era in that those who held high positions in the
old regime were permitted to remain in leading posts under the new dispensa-
tion”1. Lustration was not discussed during the roundtable talks, but there was a
strong desire on negotiating partners to maintain the credibility of the talks by not
attacking the credibility of the players. Afterwards, lustration was reluctantly pur-
sued in a general climate of public disinterest in such matters, and a wide-spread
belief that the best revenge was to live well, not to ban communist officials from
playing a role in post-communist politics2. Proponents of lustration stressed that
public office holders with a tainted past were susceptible to blackmail3. Their crit-
ics mocked the threat of blackmail as unreal, although former secret officers have
often come forward to disclose information about post-communist politicians who
used to work for them as secret informers
The change in government brought about by the 1994 elections raised a num-
ber of important challenges to the lustration process. Dissatisfied with the poor
performance of the center-right government, Hungarians brought the former com-
munists back in government. The Socialist Party and the Alliance of Free Democ-
rats, which together controlled 278 seats in Parliament, nominated Socialist Gyula
Horn as premier. The ruling coalition represented an uneasy partnership between
the former communists and the former hard-core anticommunist dissidents, one
time arch-enemies united in their efforts to contain the political right. The new rul-
ers asked the Constitutional Court to review the constitutionality of the Lustration
Act. On 24 December 1994 the court passed Decision 60, which deemed the law
partly unconstitutional and offered July 1996 as deadline for its implementation.
The court criticized the act on several grounds. First, it declared that one of the
main functions of lustration – to protect democratic transition against those with a
compromised past – was no longer relevant. The Hungarian transition had oc-
curred five years earlier, and thus its protection could not serve as a rationale for
lustration. Second, the court explained the need to balance the right of personal
data protection (provided by Article 59 of the Constitution) with the right to ac-
quire and disseminate information of public interest (protected by Article 61 of the
Constitution). It held that public persons do have a smaller sphere of privacy than
private persons, and thus it would be just to come down in favor of the principle of
freedom of expression/acquisition of information4. Third, the court declared un-
constitutional and discriminatory the fact that the act allowed for the verification
of members of the public print media, but not members of the electronic media5.
1
Perry GERSON, ”Dunagate’s Waters Run Deep”, The Budapest Sun, 9 March 2000.
2
As argued by Gabor HALMAI and Kim Lane SCHEPPELE, in their suggestively-titled
chapter, ”Living Well Is the Best Revenge…cit.”.
3
Edith OLTAY, ”Hungary’s Screening Law”, in Neil KRITZ (ed.), Transitional Justice…cit., p. 667.
4
Wojchiech SADURSKI, ”’Decommunization’, ’Lustration’ and Constitutional Continuity...cit.”,
p. 24.
5
Abid HUSSAIN, ”Civil and Political Rights, Including the Question of Freedom of
Expression. Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Protection and Promotion of the Right to

280 LAVINIA STAN
In response to the court’s recommendations, in July 1996 the Socialist-domi-

nated Parliament set up the Historical Office and amended the Lustration Act to
significantly narrow the scope of mandatory lustration and end its application in
year 2000. After screening committees examined the records of some 600 officials,
in April 1997 they announced that several deputies were suspected of having
worked as secret agents1. During the ensuing public scandal, premier Horn admit-
ted the screening process revealed his own prior activity as a communist-era spy,
both on account of his service in the militia assembled to help crush the 1956 revo-
lution and because later he received secret information as Exterior Minister. Ignor-
ing the public outcry, Horn declined to resign and said he regarded the matter as
closed. His revelations and his refusal to repent for his past mistakes cost Horn and
his Socialists valuable electoral support2. The following year, general elections
brought the opposition Fidesz (renamed Fidesz-Hungarian Civic Party), the Hun-
garian Democratic Forum and the Smallholders’ Party back to power. Act XC of
2000 extended the scope of mandatory screening to journalists working for elec-
tronic and printed media and leaders of political parties receiving national budget
shares. The new legislation opened the possibility for voluntary lustration for at-
torneys, notaries, religious leaders and mass-media journalists and reporters not
subject to mandatory screening. Mandatory screening was extended until 2004 and
the pool of people to be screened was enlarged from 900 to some 17 000, but the
purview of lustration remained limited to involvement with the domestic intel-
ligence branch3.
After the 2002 elections, the Socialist Party and the Alliance of Free Democrats
again formed the cabinet with a narrow parliamentary majority. Soon after taking
office, Socialist premier Peter Medgyessy was denounced by the leading conserva-
tive daily Magyar Nemzet as a communist-era spy. According to documents – some
of questionable authenticity – the daily published on 18 June, the premier worked
between 1961 and 1982 as the counter-intelligence secret agent code-numbered
D-209. At first, Medgyessy denied all accusations, insisting that he already had
been subject to lustration and cleared of past collaboration, but after more details
about his past emerged he defended himself by saying he was an ”honest,
law-abiding and patriotic citizen” who had only served his country as Deputy In-
terior Minister and member of the Finance Ministry’s counter-intelligence service.
As he said, ”for five years [1977-1982] I helped ensure that foreign informers did
not get a hold of Hungarian secrets so as to prevent Hungary from being admitted
to the International Monetary Fund”. He further suggested that Hungarians
should thank him for securing the country’s accession to that international struc-
ture in 1982 despite opposition from Moscow and the KGB, and that further disclo-
sure of his past would violate the data-protection and national-security legislation.
Freedom of Opinion and Expression”, United Nations Economic and Social Council, Commission
on Human Rights, New York, 29 January 1999.
1
Neil KRITZ (ed.), Transitional Justice…cit., note 261, p. 184.
2
Timothy GARTON ASH, History of the Present: Essays, Sketches and Dispatches from Europe in
the 1990s, Vintage, London, 2001, p. 305.
3
Elizabeth BARRETT, Peter HACK, Agnes MUNKACSI, ”Lustration in Hungary: An
Evaluation of the Law, Its Implementation and Its Impact”, paper presented at the American
Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies conference, Boston, 4-7 December 2004. The
paper is an abridged version of an earlier draft prepared for the Institute of Criminal and
Transitional Justice, New York. I thank Barrett and Hack for making a copy of this paper
available to me. See also Csilla KISS, ”The Misuses of Manipulation…cit.”, p. 933.

His case officer, lieutenant-colonel Lajos Toth, publicly contradicted Medgyessy,

saying the premier’s counter-intelligence activities were directed against the West,
not against the Soviet Union1.
Both the opposition and the government demanded details on the premier’s
past. The opposition asked the Alliance of Free Democrats to support a no-confi-
dence vote against Medgyessy. After some initial hesitation, the junior governing
partner decided to support the premier and thus avoid the fall of the entire cabinet.
The opposition had to give up on the no-confidence motion, although a public poll
revealed that 66 percent of respondents believed the premier should step down2.
The same poll showed that only 15 percent of the respondents were ”very inter-
ested” in finding out which politicians collaborated with the communist secret po-
lice, 49 percent was ”not at all interested”, and twice as many thought that the
scandal hurt the opposition more than the government3. The scandal revealed
some important weaknesses of the Lustration Act, and resulted in a mushrooming
of legislative amendments. Medgyessy was able to pass the screening process
originally because his primary ties were to the counter-intelligence division. The
Lustration Act called only for screening past involvement with Division III/III (do-
mestic repression), not with other state security branches, although in reality docu-
ments and information moved freely between branches. None of the changes pro-
posed to address this legislative loophole gained parliamentary support, in part
because ambiguity provided opportunities for political blackmail4.
On 24 June the government and the opposition proposed competing amend-
ments to Act X of 1990 on secret services. The act allowed the disclosure of the
identity of domestic informers only in the exceptional case of ”public figures”. The
opposition’s more radical proposal stipulated that former communist spies could
not occupy post-communist public office because of a ”conflict of interest”. The bill
asked for the public release of the names of all members of the Politburo and Cen-
tral Committee of the Workers’ Party, full time party secretaries, and secret intelli-
gence agents working for Division III/III. These individuals were barred from oc-
cupying high ranking state positions such as those of parliamentary deputies, dep-
uty ministers and ministers, President of the republic, Prosecutor-General, Su-
preme Court president or National Bank governor5. The house rejected the pro-
posal. The government’s more modest proposal asked for the release of names of
full-time former Division III/III spies, if they were public figures or sought public
office, and set up the Security Services Historical Archive to make available docu-
ments produced by Division III/III, but not files of Divisions III/I and III/II, classi-
fied as state secrets for reasons of national security. The opposition criticized the
proposal for ”authorizing merciless action against those on the lower echelons of
the party-state pyramid, while exempting actual regime operators”6. Presenting it to
Parliament, Justice Minister Peter Barandy said the bill promoted transparency in
public life and settled disputes on the communist past. As such, the rights of per-
sons figuring in secret documents were outweighed by the need for transparency
1
RFE/RL Newsline (18 and 19 June and 2 July 2002).
2
RFE/RL Newsline (24 June 2002).
3
Csilla KISS, ”The Misuses of Manipulation…cit.”, p. 935.
4
”Hungary”, East European Constitutional Review, vol. 11, no. 3, Summer 2002, available at
http://www.law.nyu.edu/eecr/vol11num3/constitutionwatch/hungary.html (accessed 10 June 2007).
5
RFE/RL Newsline (20 and 24 June 2002).
6
RFE/RL Newsline (10 September 2006).

282 LAVINIA STAN
and the demands of national security. The government further limited the catego-
ries of screened public officials, and set up lustration committees consisting of 12
judges appointed by Parliament to four-year terms1. On 10 December 2002 the
house adopted the amendments with 173 votes in favor, 168 votes against and 3
abstentions. As a result, lustration was restricted to the President, ministers and
deputy ministers, leaders of the Constitutional Court, the Supreme Court, the
Prosecutor General’s Office, the State Audit Office, the Ombudsman, the Central
Bank, the county council presidents, and mayors of towns with more than 10 000
residents. Vetting did not affect church leaders, journalists working for private
news agencies or members of trustee boards founded by Parliament or govern-
ment2. At the same time, the Historical Office was replaced with the Security His-
torical Archive3.
Medgyessy was not the only top official to confess his tainted past. The head of
the Hungarian Police, Major General Laszlo Salgo, had to admit he reported the ac-
tivities of fellow citizens. He did not resign his position. Soon afterwards, a
well-known ex-communist journalist casually mentioned that he knew the father of
a deputy Zoltan Pokorni was a former spy. For Pokorni, who immediately resigned
his position as Fidesz chairman, it was a tragedy to uncover the past, to understand
why his parents split in the early 1970s after his mother discovered that her hus-
band had been involved with the secret police since 1956. Pokorni’s father was a po-
litical prisoner between 1953 and 1956, and he could only survive by reporting4. In
response to these two cases, on 9 July 2002 Parliament set up two parallel investiga-
tive committees. The first committee was formed at the request of the opposition to
investigate Medgyessy’s career as a secret agent, and establish whether he had
worked for Divisions III/III (domestic repression) or III/II (counter-intelligence).
Chaired by Hungarian Democratic Forum deputy Laszlo Balogh, the committee
wrapped up its activity on 15 August in the midst of a fierce public debate, without
producing a final report or uncovering anything substantive. Committee members
representing the government and the opposition blamed each other for the failure.
Government representatives insisted that Medgyessy’s counter-intelligence activity
served the national interest and he was not morally responsible for communist
wrongdoings. By contrast, opposition representatives concluded that Medgyessy
had been involved in activities typical of an oppressive regime, was vulnerable to
blackmail, and posed a threat to national security. On 20 August the Socialist com-
mittee members presented Parliament with a report claiming that Medgyessy did
not violate past or present legal regulations. Their colleagues representing the oppo-
sition never drafted a final conclusion. Apparently the premier even benefited from
the procedure, with his support in opinion polls increasing.
The other committee was set up at the government’s request to look into the
past of all post-communist government officials. Chaired by Free Democrat deputy
Imre Mecs, who spent two years on death row after 1956, the committee explored the
past of some 200 senior top public officials by relying on information provided by
the National Security and the Historical Offices. Unsurprisingly, the information it
1
RFE/RL Newsline (12 and 26 September 2006).
2
Parliament rejected a proposal of the radical populist Hungarian Justice and Life Party,
whereby church leaders could have been screened if 20 percent of all active priests had voted in
favor of such action. See Neil KRITZ (ed.), Transitional Justice…cit., p. 665.
3
RFE/RL Newsline (11 July and 11 December 2002).
4
RFE/RL Newsline (8 July 2002).

unearthed tended to be detrimental to the opposition. On 31 July the committee an-

nounced that five unnamed ministers of the previous cabinet were communist spies,
and revealed that a former minister signed a cooperation pledge and three others
filed information reports. A week later opposition members walked out of the com-
mission, accusing the Socialists of using it to divert attention from Medgyessy’s
past1. Soon afterwards, Mecs announced that ten former ministers had collaborated
with the AVH: five served in the 1990-4 cabinet of Jozsef Antall, two in Gyula Horn’s
cabinet of 1994-8, and four in Viktor Orban’s cabinet of 1998-2002. This time, Mecs
pledged to release the names of those individuals2. The ombudsman Attila Peterfalvi
recommended against such a move and criticized the committee on grounds that its
activity infringed the data protection law and violated the prohibition of ex post
facto legislation. President Ferenc Madl – a member of the first post-communist cabi-
net – also questioned the committee’s constitutionality and refused to undergo
screening, a position from which he later withdrew. Article 21 of the Constitution al-
lows Parliament to establish investigative committees, while Act LXIII of 1992 on
date protection permits the disclosure of the names and position of all government
officials whose name and rank do not constitute a state secret.
Dissatisfied with the slow pace of lustration, on 24 August Magyar Hirlap pub-
lished, without the consent of those named, the names of post-communist public
officials allegedly with ties to the communist secret services. The list included
members of the Orban cabinet (State Secretary Laszlo Bogar, PHARE Funds Minis-
ter Imre Boros, Finance Minister Zsigmond Jarai, Foreign Affairs Minister Janos
Martonyi, and Transport Minister Laszlo Nogradi), members of the Antall cabinet
(International Economic Trade Relations Minister Bela Kadar, Finance Minister
Ferenc Rabar, Defense Deputy Minister Erno Raffai, and Agriculture Deputy Min-
ister Laszlo Sarossy), Trade Minister Szabolcs Fazakas of the Horn cabinet, and
premier Peter Medgyessy (a former Finance Minister from 1996 to 1998). Those
named either denied the revelations or claimed they collaborated under duress.
The following week, Mecs released a list of tainted politicians that included all
names Magyar Hirlap identified but Jarai. As a result of his identification as Com-
rade D-8 of Division III/II, Boros was expelled from the Hungarian Democratic Fo-
rum, but continued to serve as an independent deputy. The final report the Mecs
committee submitted to Parliament included no names3.
On 25 September 2003 the press identified the public radio head Katalin Kon-
dor as a counter-intelligence agent working from 1974 to 1983. Kondor denied the
allegations, and opposition Fidesz leader Annamaria Szalai accused the ruling So-
cialists of resorting to trumped-up charges to smear the public radio for its refusal
to become a left-wing mouth-piece. Similar to Medgyessy, Kondor was unaffected
by the lustration law, which applied only to domestic security agents. Days later
Levente Sipos, chairman of the three-member commission supervising the transfer
of secret archives from the National Security Office to the Historical Archive, con-
firmed that Kondor appeared as an unpaid secret agent in documents transferred on
7 October, but admitted that her recruitment file was still missing4. After reading her
1
RFE/RL Newsline (10 and 31 July and 1 and 6 August 2002) and ”Hungary”, cit.
2
RFE/RL Newsline (8 and 15 August 2002). Two individuals served in more than one
cabinet.
3
On 23 September 2003, the Constitutional Court deemed both committees as unconstitu-
tional. See RFE/RL Newsline (19, 24 and 27 August 2002).
4
RFE/RL Newsline (26 September and 8, 9 and 14 October 2003).

284 LAVINIA STAN
secret file, Kondor announced that she never contacted Division III/II, the secret
documents described an attempt at recruiting her, and they included no informa-
tion reports filed by her. On 27 October Nepszava reported that a secret agent who
knew Kondor in the 1970s described her as a ”highly qualified and disciplined
agent working to high professional standards”. The agent claimed to have met
Kondor in a ”conspiracy flat”, and argued that Kondor helped to blow the cover of
an industrial spy who wanted to sell documents from strategically important insti-
tutions to foreign spies. Government representatives asked for Kondor to be
screened officially due to the fact that she helped to form public opinion in her po-
sition as head of a state-run media outlet1.
In February 2005 another scandal erupted in Budapest when the Political Cul-
ture Institute released a list of 19 post-communist politicians who allegedly col-
laborated with the communist secret services. The list, largely old news, named
people who admitted to having collaborated and individuals declared as former
collaborators by a screening court. The Institute announced it will continue to re-
lease new names from the list of 97 agents it uncovered through scientific research,
because it wanted to ”pressure politicians to keep their promises to disclose all for-
mer communist agents”. Among those named were former Socialist premier Peter
Medgyessy, Central Bank governor Zsigmond Jarai, and the parents of writers Pe-
ter Esterhazy and Zoltan Pokorni, who is also a former Fidesz chairman. Also
named was Istvan Csurka, leader of the xenophobic Justice and Life Party (MIEP),
represented in Parliament from 1998 to 20022.
Public Access to the Secret Files

Act XXIII of 1994 on the Screening of Holders of Some Important Positions,
Holders of Positions of Public Trust and Opinion-Leading Public Figures and on
the History Office granted access to the secret political police archive. Promoted by
the Socialist government, the act provided for extremely limited access to few files.
One could only request to read his own secret file, from which the names of in-
formers and third parties had been blackened. To protect personal data, sensitive
information was erased from documents supplied to ordinary citizens and re-
searchers. Curiously, even the act of having been recruited as an informer was clas-
sified as sensitive information, in a move which rendered the entire file access ef-
fort pointless. The fact that someone had acted as a secret informer for the commu-
nist political police was a piece of personal data that needed to be strictly pro-
tected, unless that person was a ”public figure”. Secret informers were denied ac-
cess to the reports they had submitted to the state security.
A newly-created History Office became the custodian of the secret archive,
and had to receive from post-communist information services the archive gener-
ated by all branches of Division III. Important archival materials remained classi-
fied. They included files needed for the uninterrupted functioning of the intelli-
gence services, and files containing both the vital data that could lawfully be han-
dled by the security services and the data that could be disclosed, if the separation
1
RFE/RL Newsline (15, 26 and 27 October 2003).
2
Jurnalul naţional, 12 February 2005.

of these data proved technically impossible. It was up to the intelligence services

alone to determine which files could be transferred to the History Office, as the leg-
islation did not provide for any review procedure in this case. Most pre-1980 secret
files were declassified, but the History Office received only five percent of the files
produced by the military and counter-intelligence services. Although the file trans-
fer had to occur within 60 days, it was completed only in 2000. The following year,
the office asked Parliament to recognize it as an archive, distinguish clearly be-
tween victims and spies to grant them different levels of access to their own files,
and release more secret archival materials to researchers. Those requests were
granted in 2003.
Act III of 14 January 2003 on the Disclosure of the Secret Service Activities of
the Communist Regime and on the Establishment of the State Security Historical
Archive turned the Historical Office into a Historical Archive responsible for both
communist secret files and documents produced as part of the lustration process1.
The activity of the Historical Archive was supervised by the Speaker of Parliament,
who appointed and dismissed the archive chair. Victims of communism were
granted access to all secret files. To gain information about the communist repres-
sion mechanisms and clearly distinguish between communist and post-communist
information services, researchers were granted broader access to secret files and
the mass-media could widely publicize the role of the communist secret services.
Any person could read or publish data needed to identify a ”public figure” as a se-
cret full-time agent or part-time informer. If the identified persons refused to rec-
ognize themselves as public figures, the courts could be asked to identify the per-
son as a public figure. File access was allowed to the extent it did not endanger na-
tional security interests. To this end, data that remained classified included the
names of post-communist secret agents, the names of agents whose public identifi-
cation would lead to their deportation from a foreign country, prohibition to enter
another country, criminal prosecution or a threat to their and their relatives’ lives,
safety and freedom. After the Medgyessy scandal, Act III was amended to allow
for greater file access. As a result, victims could access the records of those who
spied on them, provided those records are over 30 years old. Some documents re-
main classified for longer periods of time in the interest of privacy: state secrets, of-
ficial secrets and confidential business data2.
Given the way the legislation was formulated, file access depended heavily on
the willingness of the post-communist information services to relinquish the com-
munist-era secret files. By 2000 the services announced that they had declassified
1 788 archival ”items”. According to their own declarations, three-quarters of those
items were victims’ files, while the remainder represented ”object files” (reporting
on Hungarian émigré organizations), ”B” (personal) and ”M” (job) agent files from
the 1950s. After another periodical file revision, in late 2002 the Service transferred
one million secret pages, including 650 000 pages of intelligence reports and briefs
from 1957 to 1975 (recorded on 210 microfilms); 4 000 pages of assessments pro-
duced in 1975 (1611 files in total); seven files produced from decrypted materials
(stored on microfilms or paper); 50 000 pages of encrypted materials produced by
foreign ministries, embassies and international organizations (around 60 000
1
Act III of 2003 is available online at http://www.th.hu/html/en/acts/ABTL_4_2003_evi_III_tv_e.pdf
(accessed 10 June 2007).
2
”Hungary to Open Spy Files”, Deutsche Welle, 9 December 2004, http://www.dw-world.de/
dw/article/0,2144,260572117,00.html (accessed December 2006).

286 LAVINIA STAN
page-long micro-fiches pages and 17 film rolls); 10 000 pages produced before
1970; and 98 search files compiled on individuals and organizations before 1970 (in
total 112 volumes of 8 000 pages). The service claimed it handed over a total of 400
linear meters of secret documents. As of 2000, the Historical Archive housed some
70 000 investigation files, 15 000 operative files, 5 600 recruitment files, 8 000 work
files and almost 4 000 ”building” files (covering life in economic units), reports,
studies, lists and manuals. Hungarians have been slow to ask for access to files.
During the 1997-2000 period, only 5 000 persons request to read their files. In al-
most half of all those cases, no secret file was found1.
Extant files represent only a fraction of the original archive. Communist secret
services regularly destroyed materials deemed unimportant, and carried out docu-
ment destruction campaigns in 1956, the early 1970s and late 1989. There are no re-
liable estimates of the number of documents destroyed in regular and irregular file
selections. Varga claimed that 70 percent of secret files were lost in 1989 and 1990,
when, ”as part of the last throes of the communist regime, a frenzied wave of
shredding swept through the secret services”2. Rainer argued that ”the destruction
of documents took place at a panic-stricken speed” and affected the observer files
still in use and some archived material. As a result, ”most of the pre-1956 operative
files have vanished and so have the ones for immediately before 1989”. About
100 000 of the 110 000 agent-recruitment files were also lost3. As no independent in-
vestigation was ever carried out to estimate the number of extant files, conspiracy
theories abound. Some say the secret archive was moved to Moscow, others be-
lieve it remained in Hungary at the disposal of security services eager to determine
the course of the new democracy, and still others argue that most files were de-
stroyed4. In September 2002 the Historical Office admitted that 54 of its original se-
cret files had been replaced with photocopies. Some of the missing documents con-
cerned Gabor Szalay of the ruling Free Democrats, who admitted his collaboration
with Division III/II (counter-intelligence) from 1978 to 1988. During investigations,
the legislative security committee interviewed the head of the Interior Ministry re-
cords office, the head of the Historical Office, and Gabor Kuncze, Interior Minister
in 1995 when the original documents went missing5.
Szalay’s file was not the first to be altered. During the 1989 roundtable talks
the secret political police made considerable efforts to conceal its surveillance op-
erations directed against the anticommunist opposition. In July 1989 the Interior
Ministry selected the files that needed to be closed and archived because surveil-
lance of those targets had been terminated. In the process, observers alleged, the
secret services covered not only their domestic activities, but also their counter-in-
telligence and military intelligence operations. In October that year, Division III/III
reviewed its operative records with an eye to destroying the files incompatible with
the changed legal situation, which allowed opposition activity. On 18 December
1
Janos M. RAINER, ”Opening the Archives…cit.”.
2
Perry GERSON, ”Dunagate’s Waters…cit.”, p. 20.
3
Janos M. RAINER, ”Opening the Archives…cit.”, p. 115.
4
According to Rainer, during the Dunagate scandal ”the ’observer files’ still in use were
destroyed (these have been kept on members of the opposition) and the closed files were not
spared either. Most of the pre-1956 operative files have vanished and so have the ones for
immediately before 1989 (the destruction was begun at the two ends, with 1945 and 1989). About
100 000 of the 110 000 agent-recruitment files fell victim”. The data seems exaggerated. See ibidem.
5
RFE/RL Newsline (24 September and 1 October 2002).

Pallagi authorized the destruction of files still used by agents on a daily basis,
some archived files detailing the activity if victims, agents, informers, and collabo-
rators. Files detailing ongoing operations were altered to remove all signs of sur-
veillance of crimes against the state which ceased to exist. The order asked for the
destruction of archived files detailing the surveillance of schools, opposition par-
ties, religious groups, and the production and distribution of samizdat literature.
Among the ”network” files slated for destruction were selected files of retired re-
cruiting agents (beszervezesi dosszie or ”B” dosszie), files detailing confidential inves-
tigation methods, combinations or security games, files of recruitment agents who
were also Workers’ Party members, and files of retired network members (kizart
halozatok). Only the personal information cards of active agents were preserved.
Work files (munka dosszie or ”M” dosszie) containing information reports received
from network persons were cleansed. Disregarding the services’ own internal rules
of data organization, Pallagi asked for the removal of memos reporting file de-
struction. The opposition leaders were told of this file destruction campaign only
after it was completed.
The autumn of 2004 turned up more former spies among elected officials, while
various lists of agents emerged on the internet and in the press. This prompted new
interest in parliamentary circles to amend the legislation exposing communist secret
agents. Completely unexpected, Socialist premier Ferenc Gyurcsany took the lead in
advocating full disclosure of all secret agents. His vague initial policy proposal met
the liking of all political parties represented in Parliament, but the more concrete the
proposal became the more rapidly it fell short of consensus. Ultimately, the Constitu-
tional Court rejected the legislative changes adopted in 2005. That year the opposi-
tion Fidesz called for opening all communist secret archives, including the files still
housed with various ministries, estimated to total around one linear kilometer. The
party further asked for the public disclosure of the communist past of post-commu-
nist politicians, and the marginalization of tainted public figures who ”pursued state
security activities against Hungarian citizens, not upon coercion but on their free
will”. The resolution called for sanctions for those who tampered with the secret ar-
chives, a clearer definition of the ”public figure” term, and an investigation of the in-
volvement in human rights violations of former communist party officials1. The pro-
posal received a cold shoulder in Parliament.
Court Proceedings
In Hungary economic injustices inflicted under communism were redressed
through the compensation law of 1991, but little was done about the political
crimes committed by communist officials. In many cases the relatives of those exe-
cuted, tortured and harassed during the communist period still wait for the names
of those responsible to be revealed. While some offences committed by communist
officials and secret agents were legal under the communist law, many other of-
fences amounted to crimes even by those standards but the political circumstances
of the time impeded victims from asking for an investigation or trial. For example,
contrary to communist legislation minors were executed for their involvement in
1
The Position of Fidesz – Hungarian Civic Union on the Opening of Former State Security Files, 17
March 2005.

288 LAVINIA STAN
the 1956 revolution and other adult protesters were tortured during interrogation
and died as a result of their beatings. Kadar’s regime ended these practices only as
a result of international pressure. As Pataki noted, individual officials whose iden-
tity remained unknown were responsible for ordering the shooting into defense-
less crowds in Mosonmagyarovar, Salgotarjan and other towns during and after
the 1956 revolution1. Because the period with the gravest crimes accompanied the
1956 uprising and the limitation periods for these crimes had ran out, criminal
suits against human rights violators could not be brought easily.
Hungary was first among Eastern European countries to adopt the legislative
framework needed for the criminal prosecution of communist officials. The law on
the prosecutability of communist crimes was introduced in Parliament by the Hun-
garian Democratic Forum deputies Zsolt Zetenyi and Peter Takacs and approved
in December 1991 by a large majority, despite warnings that such a measure might
be impractical for legal, political and moral reasons. The bill called for the suspen-
sion of the statute of limitations for cases of treason, premeditated murder and ag-
gravated assault leading to death in those cases where, for political reasons, prose-
cutions had not previously been possible. The law covered crimes committed dur-
ing a period of time which started with 21 December 1944, the day when the first
Hungarian Parliament convened in Debrecen following the era of Admiral Miklos
von Horthy, and ended with 2 May 1990, the day when the first freely elected
post-communist Parliament met. Its primary aim was ”not to punish the criminals,
but to unmask them”, as its jurisdiction was rather limited2. The law only covered
acts that were crimes at the time when they were committed, targeted only those
cases where there had been no trial due to political reasons, and provided for
lighter sentences than normal, where applicable.
Court trials were not directed against ordinary communist party members, but
against those involved in torturing or killing innocent individuals. Yet, the presi-
dent refused to sign the law and instead he sent it to the Constitutional Court,
which unanimously overturned the bill as lifting the statute of limitations and fail-
ing to define treason. The court justified its decision by adherence to the rule of law
principles, and argued that ”legal certainty, based on objective and formal princi-
ples, takes precedence over justice which is partial and subjective at all times”3.
Stressing strict adherence to the rule of law, the court refused to let the political
change lead to a devaluation of the fallen regime’s legislation. Instead the court
identified the security of law, understood as ”the protection of rights previously
conferred, non-interference with the creation or termination of legal relations, and
limiting the ability to modify existing legal relations to constitutionally mandated
provisions”, as the highest principle. In emphasizing procedural over substantive
justice, the court forced Parliament to reconcile the quest for a just outcome with
the requirement of formal legality4. As Teitel noted, the decision further ignored
international legislation with respect to crimes against humanity:
1
Jan PATAKI, ”Dealing with Hungarian Communists’ Crimes”, RFE/RL Research Report,
28 February 1992, p. 21.
2
Jan PATAKI, “Dealing with Hungarian Communists’ Crimes”, cit., pp. 21-22.
3
”Hungary: Constitutional Court Decision on the Statute of Limitations, No. 2086/A/1991/14
(5 March 1992)”, in Neil KRITZ (ed.), Transitional Justice…cit., pp. 629-640.
4
Christiane WILKE, ”Politics of Transitional Justice: German, Hungarian, and Czech
Decisions on ex post facto Punishment”, paper presented at the annual conference of the American
Political Science Association, Boston, 28 August 2002, p. 6.

”Protection of the rule of law also implies adherence to fundamental in-

ternational law norms such as the principle of the imprescriptibility of crimes
against humanity. The failure to refer to any national or international prece-
dents on this question is a glaring omission in the Hungarian constitutional
court’s opinion”1.
In February 1993 Parliament amended the 1973 Criminal Code to allow the
prosecution of communist-era crimes for which the limitation period had run its
course, and passed an ”authoritative resolution” reading that the statutes of limita-
tions should not apply to the 1944-1989 period. After the Constitutional Court re-
jected both decisions, Parliament adopted the Law on Procedures Concerning Cer-
tain Crimes Committed during the 1956 Revolution based on international instru-
ments such as the Geneva Convention Relative to the Treatment of Civilians in the
Time of War and Relative to the Treatment of Prisoners of War of 1949 and the
New York Convention on the Non-Applicability of Statutory Limitations to War
Crimes and Crimes against Humanity of 1968. The law interpreted the 1956 events
as war crimes and crimes against humanity. For these types of crimes the statutes
of limitations were excluded by the Geneva and New York Conventions, which
Hungary had ratified. The Constitutional Court again struck down some parts of
the law, but upheld its main provisions grounded in these international norms. Ac-
cording to the court, ”the legal system of Hungary shall respect the universally ac-
cepted rules of international law, and shall ensure, furthermore, the accord be-
tween the obligations assumed under international and domestic law”. The law,
ensuring the enforcement of ”universally accepted rules of international law”, en-
tered into force in October 19932.
While the law was procedurally acceptable, many wondered whether commu-
nist-era crimes could really qualify as crimes against humanity under a regime
where political killings were usually masked as suicides. Unlimited privileges for
the nomenklatura and a broad array of controls over society exercised through le-
gal measures, a lack of human rights and due process, the absence of individual
remedies, censorship, controlled mobility inside the country and abroad, a selec-
tive system of benefits to promote loyalty to the system and to create an atmos-
phere of constant fear – those were the main crimes of the communists during the
last two decades of its existence. In that environment, homicide acts, disappear-
ances, torture, though occurred, were not mass-scale, but rather isolated cases.
For Sadursky, the Constitutional Court’s intervention in the
”parliamentary action aimed at bringing the perpetrators of some of the
crimes to justice can be seen as an arrogation of the power, by the Court, to
dictate the terms of the transition, under the guise of a self-righteous legalism
and commitment to the rule of law. For this reason perhaps, the decision was
so broadly applauded by the Western observers and commentators: they
could identify with the Court speaking the idiom of liberal constitutionalism
and the ’civilized’ rule of law, as opposed to the apparently revengeful and
populist Parliament”.
1
S.J. SCHULHOFER, M. ROSENDELF, Ruti TEITEL, R. ERRERA, ”Dilemmas of Justice”, in
Neil KRITZ (ed.), Transitional Justice…cit., p. 659.
2
K. MORVAI, ”Retroactive Justice Based on International Law: A Recent Decision by the
Hungarian Constitutional Court”, in Neil KRITZ (ed.), Transitional Justice…cit., p. 662.

290 LAVINIA STAN
At the same time he warned that ”there is nothing canonical about this par-
ticular interpretation of the rule of law” because
”by denying Parliament the authority to define the parameters of transition –
the proportions of continuity and discontinuity with the old legal system –
the Court opted for a highly arbitrary interpretation of the rule of law to
prevail over politically defined understanding of the mix of continuity and
discontinuity”1.
Teitel also observed that the court decision on the statute of limitation
amounted to a ”brilliant power grab”, which only apparently ”represented a vic-
tory for the rule of law”2.
On 30 October 1993 Parliament passed unanimously a version of the law re-
vised in light of the Positional Court’s recommendations. The new legal framework
defined by Act XC allowed the Ministry of Justice to investigate fifty episodes of
mass shootings that occurred from 23 October to 28 December 1956, during the
revolution. In several cases, once investigations were concluded the Prosecutor
General promptly brought charges, and court proceedings were launched by the
Budapest City Court, the only court allowed to hear those cases. The first trial
started in mid-1994. Six months later the court reached an impasse, when two of its
chambers adopted two different conclusions, each appealed to the Supreme Court.
One chamber ruled that the government forces’ shooting into unarmed demonstra-
tors in December 1956 in the town of Salgotarjan were not war crimes, but could
count as crimes against humanity. The shootings were deemed to be ”prohibited
acts in the case of armed conflict not of an international character”. Two of the
twelve defendants were found guilty, and were each sentenced to five years in
prison. In a similar case related to the same incident, another chamber of the Buda-
pest City Court ruled that the acts were to be judged by domestic, not interna-
tional, norms. As it decided that the statute of limitations applied to the case, the
chamber set it aside. Instead of ruling on the two cases before it, the Supreme
Court unexpectedly petitioned the Constitutional Court for an interpretation of Act
XC of 1993. The petition claimed that the law was unconstitutional because it failed
to specify both the procedures under which cases could be brought before the ordi-
nary courts in Hungary and the criminal procedure applicable to those cases. The
Constitutional Court sided with the Supreme Court and asked Parliament to
amend the law before the ordinary courts could hold more trials3.
Conclusion
Mild lustration not leading to loss of public office, delayed and limited access
to the secret archives, and very few court cases bringing to justice communist offi-
cials and secret agents responsible for human rights violations – these are the
1
Wojchiech SADURSKI, ”’Decommunization’, ’Lustration’ and Constitutional Continuity...cit.”,
pp. 42-43.
2
Ruti TEITEL, ”Paradoxes in the Revolution of the Rule of Law”, Yale Journal of International
Law, vol. 19, 1994, pp. 244-245.
3
Gabor HALMAI, Kim Lane SCHEPPELE, ”Living Well Is the Best Revenge…cit.”,
pp. 166-171.

results of the Hungarian post-communist transitional justice process. Weak politi-

cal will and general public apathy prompted Hungary to shy away from compre-
hensive lustration, full opening of secret files and vigorous prosecution of commu-
nist officials and spies, and encouraged it instead to embrace softer methods of
atonement, healing and retribution. Act XXXVI of 1989 overturned the court judg-
ments handed down in connection to the 1956 revolution, Act XXVI of 1990 an-
nulled politically-motivated court verdicts and condemnations handed down from
1945 to 1963, while Governmental Decree 93 of 1990 redressed some injustices re-
sulted from the communist labor law. This legislative framework, however,
brought vindication only to those whose conviction was somehow related to the
1956 events and specifically included the words ”revolution” or ”political”. Echo-
ing general public sentiment, philosopher Gaspar Miklos Tamas, a former opposi-
tion activist, said he would send the secret archive to the bottom of the Danube
river, signaling thus his personal preference for the Spanish solution of ”forgiving
and forgetting”. The patchy archival material that has survived the extensive de-
struction sweep of the 1989-1990 might just allow Hungarians no alternative but to
forget about ever piecing together the puzzle of the activity of the communist-era
secret information services. Tamas’s radical position would allow Hungary to con-
template its future by forgetting its past, but would also leave important moral
questions unanswered, bringing Hungarians little truth and reconciliation. Luck-
ily, his advice was not heeded by the Historical Archive, whose secrets are yet to
be uncovered by a new generation of historians.

292 LAVINIA STAN

”The Harvest of Anger” 293
”The Harvest of Anger”

Politics of Salvation and Ethnic-cleansing
in 1940s Romania:
Fascist Thinkers and Authoritarian Doers∗
MIHAI CHIOVEANU
”It is an anti-Semitic delirium that nothing can stop.

There are no breaks, no rhyme or reason […] This is sheer
uncontrolled bestiality without shame or conscience,
without goal or purpose. Anything, absolutely anything, is possible”
Mihail SEBASTIAN (October 20, 1941)
”As for the Jewish question, today in any case one could say that a man
like Antonescu, for example, proceeds much more radically in this matter
than we have done until now. But I will not rest or be idle until we too have
gone all the way with the Jews”
Adolf HITLER (August 20, 1941)
During the Second World War, between 270 000 and 320 000 Jews, 12 500
Roma and Sinti, and thousands of Ukrainian and Russian civilians died at the
hands of the Romanian authorities. The huge number of victims is the direct result
of an intentional, state sponsored and organized policy of ethnic-cleansing imple-
mented from 1940 up to 1944 by an authoritarian and semi-reactionary regime
with certain fascist features, and backed for a short period of time by a fascist party
and its paramilitary formations1.
In Romania, unlike in Nazi Germany, the fascists played mostly the role of
”thinkers” rather than doers in the Holocaust. However, a considerable number of
Romanian fascists, the infamous legionari, perpetrated deadly assault against the
Jews long before September 1940, as well as in the period after January 19412, while
the Bucharest pogrom from January 1941, with its 122 Jewish victims, comes
entirely to the responsibility of the Iron Guard. This is not to exonerate and thus
∗
A draft of the present paper was presented at the 12th ASN World Convention held at
Columbia University, New York, in April 2007. The author expresses his gratitude for the kind
financial support offered by Higher Education Support Program/Open Society Institute. I am
also grateful to Professor Daniel Barbu (University of Bucharest), Professor Armin Heinen
(University of Aachen), and Mrs. Radu Ioanid (USHMM-Washington D.C.) for their critics,
suggestions and comments on the draft.
1
Michael MANN defines it as a ”fascist fellow-traveler” that borrowed corporatist and
fascist trappings. See Michael MANN, Fascists, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2004,
p. 293. See also, Saul FRIEDLANDER, The Years of Extermination, HarperCollins Publishers, New
York, 2007, p. 70.
2
Many legionari were identified as perpetrators in the Holocaust after January 1941. Yet, this
time, they acted as army and gendarmerie soldiers and officers, and as civilians, but no longer as
members of a fascist militia and party in control of the state and its institutions.

294 MIHAI CHIOVEANU
sanitarize Romanian fascism (and fascists), as the legionari played a vital, essential
role in the complex process that ultimately led to genocide yet, of a different kind1.
As my paper attempts to indicate, apart from the long lasting anti-Semitic rage
and hate2, anger as a strong political motivation3, and ethnic-cleansing as an ideo-
logical core constituency, which altogether played a central role in shaping An-
tonescu’s regime policies during the Holocaust, represent but the legacy of Roma-
nian fascism, a ”form of palingenetic, revolutionary ultra-nationalism”4, heading for
a transcendental and cleansing nation-statism through paramilitarism5. Conse-
quently, Antonescu’s regime was not simply a puppet and one of ”Hitler’s willing
executioners”, as Holocaust historians sometimes portray them. In other words,
Romanians followed their own path, developed and later implemented their own
genocidal project, somewhat independently from Nazi Germany, whose presence
and overwhelming role in Eastern Europe in the 1940 was only to favor, and in
some respects facilitate, the Romanian actions6. Nevertheless, one should keep in
mind the fact that the Romanian actions also gave a new impulse to the German
policies as long as the Legionar rebellion (and the pogrom) was for Hitler a sign of
growing awareness and anti-Semitism, with Europeans following the German
anti-Semitic lead, the Romanian army and gendarmerie sometimes outperformed
Einsatzgruppen D in 1941, and Romanian murder policies ”mixed in a particularly
lethal brew” with the German ones7.
Following this, the Romanians rabid anti-Semitism, an aspect that was
over-researched8, will be discussed briefly, as my main focus is on anger as a politi-
cal key motivation of the revolutionary Iron Guard, the Romanian fascist and para-
military movement, and latter on of the frustrated and unrestrained dictatorship of
1
See Armin HEINEN, Legiunea Arhanghelului Mihail. O contribuţie la problema fascismului
internaţional, Editura Humanitas, Romanian transl. by C. and D. Esianu, Bucureşti, 1999, pp. 411-424.
Much to radical and rebellious, immature and therefore unable to consolidate power, the legionari
went within months into an open conflict with Antonescu, the army, and the regime. Banned, and
with a leadership forced to fly into exile in the aftermath of their failed revolution, the legionari
simply missed the moment to act as doers, as Romania decided to wage war on USSR, and the
Romanian Jewry, only months later.
2
See Robert PAXTON, The Anatomy of Fascism, Penguin Books, London, 2005, pp. 20, 79, 97.
Paxton defines the Legion of the Archangel Michael as the most ecstatically of all fascist parties
and one of the ”readiest to kill Jews and bourgeois politicians”.
3
I will not use anger simply as a journalistic convention and approach it as a natural
response, a reaction of a human being to a situation of mortal danger, but as a relevant factor that
distorts the decision making process, and it is often dramatized, ritualized and turned into
routine. See Peter CALVERT, ”Autocracy, Anger and the Politics of Salvation”, Totalitarian
Movements and Political Religion, vol. 1, no. 1, Summer 2000, pp. 1-2.
4
Roger GRIFFIN, The Nature of Fascism, St’Martin’s Press, New York, 1991, pp. 26-29.
5
Michael MANN, Fascists, cit, p. 13.
6
See Cristopher BROWNING, The Origins of the Final Solution. The Evolution of Nazi Jewish
Policy, September 1939-March 1942, University of Nebraska Press, Yad Vashem, Lincoln, Jerusalem,
2004, pp. 275-277. There was no need for the Germans to tell Romanians that Jews are deadly
enemy as the large scale killing perpetrated by the Romanians following the German example
were but the peak of a long anti-Semitic tradition. Romanians wasted no time to implement their
pre-war plans, with Germans observing than trying to control and direct the Romanian cleansing,
to mold the disorganized mass violence into a controlled pattern of systematic extermination.
7
Saul FRIELANDER, The Years of Extermination, cit, pp. 166,169, 225.
8
See Leon VOLOVICI, Nationalist Ideology and Antisemitism. The Case of Romanian Intellectuals
in the 1930s, Pergamon Press, New York, 1991; also Carol IANCU, Evreii din România (1919-1938).
De la emancipare la marginalizare, Editura Hasefer, Bucureşti, 2000.

Ion Antonescu that turned to the armed forces, police, and the gendarmerie as pro-
fessional practitioners of violence, as to enforce his ideal vision of the nation and
society, and implement his Politics of Salvation1. Accordingly, I will point out that
ethnic-cleansing was triggered not only by the hyper-nationalism and ardent, vio-
lent anti-Semitism but also by the determination, and possibility, especially with
the advent of war against USSR, of the Romanian government to vent ”righteous
anger” on the weak, thus adding the ”cleansing of the ground” to the (sense of)
magnitude of an otherwise failed domestic policy and uncertain and much too
costly military ”victory” against the external enemy.
In this sense, I will not follow the entire process in which hundred of thousands
of Romanian and Ukrainian Jews perished in nocturnal death marches, sealed wag-
ons, of starvation, plagues, public executions, and mass killing operations that of-
ten turned into a carnage that exhausts the reader2. Instead, I will try to find an ex-
planation for the paroxysmal violence of the mid 1940-late 1941 period, and the en-
thusiasm of the perpetrators, manifested on so many levels, from the simple sol-
dier and gendarme to the high rank officer, from the anonymous civil servant to
the top bureaucrat invested with the superior and implacable authority of the
State3. This kind of approach offers me an excellent methodological hint and justi-
fies a fresh look into the ”unmasterable issues” of fascism and the Holocaust in Ro-
mania, as my selection of themes and the interpretation that derives from them
aims first to explore and then synthesize several aspects that were hitherto ne-
glected, or rapidly discarded by historians.
One particular aspect that draw the special attention of many historians writing
or simply touching upon the Romanian Holocaust, is the huge number of Jewish
victims in the first stages of the war due the fascist and military violence of Roma-
nian mass killings in savage massacres that do not resemble the latter bureaucratic
killings4. The striking cruelty of the less structured in its brutality (when compared
to the nazi one) Romanian process of destruction of the Jews, a process that did not
included gas chambers, but in which not one community was spared, pinpoints the
existence of one factor, other than anti-Semitism and ethnic-cleansing, which plays
an important role in the equation of the Romanian Holocaust5. A second relevant
1
The issue was briefly introduced by Vladimir Tismăneanu in the case of Romanian fascism
and Sorin Alexandrescu in the case of Antonescu’s regime. See Vladimir TISMĂNEANU, Dan
PAVEL, ”Romania's Mystical Revolutionaries: the Generation of Angst and Adventure Revisited”,
East European Politics & Societies, vol. 8, no. 3, 1994, pp. 402-438. See also Sorin ALEXANDRESCU,
Paradoxul român, Editura Univers, Bucureşti, 1998, pp 155-158.
2
For an excellent and accurate account of the crimes perpetrated by the Romanians during
the Holocaust see Radu IOANID, Evreii sub regimul Antonescu, Editura Hasefer, Bucureşti, 1998.
3
In his forthcoming book on the Romanian Holocaust Armin Heinen introduces no less than
five categories of violence: dictatorial, fascist, military, collective, and bureaucratic. For a brief
presentation of his thesis and arguments see Armin HEINEN, ”Locul pogromului de la Iaşi în
cadrul Holocaustului Românesc”, in George VOICU (ed.), Pogromul de la Iaşi, 28-30 iunie 1941.
Prologul Holocaustului din România, Polirom, Iaşi, 2006, pp. 129-132. I will focus mainly on the
handicraft killing and butchery with drilling insensitivity, and despite strain, on the fascist and
military violence of June 1940-October 1941.
4
Michael MANN, The Dark Side of Democracy. Explaining Ethnic Cleansing, Cambridge University
Press, Cambridge, 2005, pp. 305-306
5
Radu IOANID, The Sword of the Archangel: Fascist Ideology in Romania, Bolder, New York,
1990, p. 207. See also Lucy DAWIDOWICZ, Războiul împotriva evreilor. 1933-1945, Romanian
transl. by C. Paţac, Editura Hasefer, Bucureşti, 1999, p. 348; Andreas HILLGRUBER, Hitler, Regele
Carol şi Mareşalul Antonescu. Relaţiile germano-române. 1938-1944, Romanian transl. by S. Neagoe,
Editura Humanitas, Bucureşti, 1994, p. 280.

296 MIHAI CHIOVEANU
aspect that comes to the fore is the fact that, despite the early gruesome violence,
and than the Romanian determination to go in line with the Nazi plans, paradoxi-
cally, by the end of the war, half of the Romanian Jews were still alive1.
In this respect, anti-Semitism, already a tradition and a major constituency of
the Romanian political culture by the time Antonescu and the Iron Guard came to
power, yet only with the 1930s, and rather unsuccessfully, turned into state policy,
is to offer but limited accounts when and if analyzed separately. Starting with the
1920s, first the National Christian Defense League (LANC), and than the Iron
Guard, turned Romanian anti-Semitism radical and eliminationist. Both A.C. Cuza
and the legionari portrayed the Jewish minority as criminal and dangerous, para-
sitic and immoral, exploiting the Romanian ”proletarian” nation, disloyal to the
state, therefore an enemy population that has to be watched, controlled, deprived
of civil and political right and propriety, and whenever possible forced into emi-
gration or simply thrown outside the borders of Romania. The only, otherwise
essential difference between the two major anti-Semitic parties was that
C.Z. Codreanu and his legionari, unlike the Cuzişti, always depicted the struggle
against the Jews as a life and death matter, as a war that has to be carried out not by
legal means as at stake was the very survival of the nation2. Constantly reiterated
by the radicals, this type of ideas and messages were on the long run mimetically
imported by other politicians and parties, as to turn the Jewish Question into the
most important issue in Romanian society. Consequently, banning the Jews was
increasingly considered to be righteous, and a mean to save the country. Yet, most
of the politicians at the time remained quite moderated in their anti-Semitic
endeavor, stick to the law, and stressed the idea that all proposed solutions to the
Jewish Question have to be ”civilized”3.
The situation changed drastically from 1938 to 1940, with the collapse of the
democratic system, and values. With the gap between declarations and intentions,
and than state policy bridged hastily, Romania introduced several, progressively
more severe anti-Semitic legislations, constantly deteriorating the situation of the
Jews4. The worst was yet to come with September 1940, when Carol II political mis-
calculations facilitated the advent in power of an authoritarian and nationalistic
general, Ion Antonescu, backed by a fascist party and militia, the Iron Guard.
1
See Robert S. WISTRICH, Hitler and the Holocaust, A Modern Library Chronicles Book, New
York, 2003, pp, 155-157; Raul HILBERG, Perpetrators, Victims, Bystanders. The Jewish catastrophe,
1933-1945, HarperCollins Publisher, New York, 1992, p. 85; Bela VAGO, ”The Reactions to the
Nazi Anti-Jewish Policy in East-Central Europe and in the Balkans”, in François FURET (ed.),
Unanswered Questions. Nazi Germany and the Genocide of the Jews, Schocken Books, New York, 1989,
pp 231-232; Martin GILBERT, Holocaust. A History of the Jews of Europe During the Second World
War, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, New York, 1985, p. 637.
2
”Programul Ligii Apărării naţionale Creştine”, in Jean ANCEL (ed.), Documents Concerning
the Fate of Romanian Jewry during the Holocaust, vol I, New York-Jerusalem, 1985-1986, doc. 10,
p. 118; Corneliu Zelea CODREANU, ”Discurs parlamentar” (21 decembrie 1931), in Lya
BENJAMIN (ed.), Documente. Comisia internaţională pentru studierea Holocaustului în România,
Polirom, Iaşi, 2005, p. 54.
3
CAROL II, ”Declaraţie de Presă”, Universul, 13 ianuarie, 1938.
4
Christopher BROWNING, The Origins of the Final Solution…cit. pp. 210-212. As Browning
put it ”a proper anti-Semitic stance from Romania” was a way to improve the relation with
Germany, deteriorated after the assassination of Codreanu. Romanian oil was not enough, nor the
fact that Romania left the League of Nations. Nuremberg inspired legislation was introduced,
increasing Romania’s dependency on Germany and generating a wave of spiraling anti-Semitism
of a new type.

Within months, this uninspired political maneuver, aiming to divert the attention
of the public opinion, in a desperate attempt to secure the position of the king and
his entourage, the infamous camarilla, while giving satisfaction to a furious and
frustrated population and army, anti-Semitic and thus ready to turn the Jews re-
sponsible not only for the territorial loses at the hands of the Soviets but for all the
failures of Romania since 1920, was to generate a ravaging outburst of violence
that would radically change the political landscape in Romania, and seal the fate of
the Romanian Jewry1. This particular episode and the future development and dy-
namic of the events that altogether make the Romanian Holocaust indicate that an-
ger represents a factor that can not be ignored as it might shed a new light, provide
a new range of nuances, offer new dimension to the understanding of Romania’s
war regime eliminationist anti-Semitism, and thus facilitate the comprehension of
the multifaceted process that led to genocide.
In October 1942, in one of his (in)famous letters to the Romanian politicians
and/or leaders of the Jewish community, Ion Antonescu, in an attempt to justify
and legitimize his anti-Semitic policy, recalled the anger of Romanian politicians –
and founding fathers of the modern state – of 1878 and 1923, spawn with the ”de-
grading and humiliating conditions” generated by the domestic and international
pressures to grant citizenship to the Jews, ”which has led to the Judaization of the
country and has compromised the Romanian economy and the purity of our
race”2. This reference to the past was by no means accidental, allowed Antonescu
to place himself in the line of traditional and respectful national(istic) politics, nev-
ertheless accuse the corrupted politicians of the time for ”capitulating” to the Jews
and freemasons in establishing the democratic-liberal system, which granted con-
stitutional rights to non-Romanians.
On that occasion Antonescu was not totally wrong as anger represented a key
motivation in Romanian anti-Semitic politics long before the 1930s and 1940s. Ro-
manian liberal governments, as well as other parties and politicians paraded anger
episodically, in 1878 and 1923 mainly as they had the sense of being humiliated,
but also on other occasions. However, none of the Romanian governments before
1940 turned to the armed forces as to turn anger into politics. Restrained by party
discipline, liberal-parliamentarism and later democracy, and international treaties,
Romanian politicians had to operate with basic political strategies3. In a formally
liberal democracy, which Romania was before 1938, anti-Semitic anger rarely ex-
ceeded the form of a calculated dissent. Perpetuated and progressively turned into
a key motivation, voiced by several emblematic figures of intellectuals and politi-
cians that constantly blended their organic nationalism with an often rabid
anti-Semitism4, this kind of anger became the legacy of the authoritarian, national-
istic, and radical right thinkers for the fascist doers.
Unlike Antonescu, the legionari, who were the first to take anti-Semitic anger
that seriously as to turn it into politics, included references to Mihai Eminescu,
Ioan Slavici, Nicolae Iorga, A.C. Cuza, Nicolae Paulescu and many other ”prophets
1
Tuvia FRILING, Radu IOANID, Mihail IONESCU (eds.), Final Report. International Com-
mission on the Holocaust in Romania, Polirom, Iaşi, 2005, pp. 50-54.
2
Jean ANCEL, ”Archival Sources concerning the Holocaust in Romania”, in Mihail
IONESCU, Liviu ROTMAN (eds.), The Holocaust and Romania. History and Contemporary
Significance, Editura Semne, Bucureşti, 2003, p. 65.
3
Raul HILBERG, The Destruction of the European Jews, Quandrangle, Chicago, 1961, p. 670.
4
Michael MANN, Fascists, cit, p. 263.

298 MIHAI CHIOVEANU
of Romanian nationalism” but none of the traditional and respectful politicians, as

the latest were the legionari political enemies. Moreover, such references were ren-
dered illogical as the legionari constantly stressed the idea that their political ideol-
ogy and program were brand new. Yet, despite their different (constructed) pedi-
grees, the legionari and Antonescu’s anger, and anti-Semitism, were intrinsically
and intricately linked1.
Romanian fascism, like all other European classic fascisms, was a modern,
secularized form of millennialism and overtly utopian variant of revolutionary ex-
treme nationalism, at the heart of whose ideology, policies, tactics, and actions lies
a vision of national rebirth in a post-liberal new order. Guided by a visionary elite,
the Iron Guard had one major political task: to overcome the forces of decadence
and disintegration and thus, turn the historical nation-state, and the core ethnic
group, into a rejuvenated, harmonious community of destiny. The movement’s
radical vision of society, and friend and foe strategic logic, which included numer-
ous alleged enemies (Jews, communists, liberals, and so on) that had to be purged
along the way, led not only to the legitimization of violence but a sacralisation of it.
A salvific doctrine born under ”wrecked circumstances”, and a ”divination of
Romanianism”, promising the resurrection of the nation, a rebirth and regenerated
New Man2, ready to fight and sacrifice himself ”not (for) a New but Another Roma-
nia”3 that would arise with its victory, Legionarism had no other goal than to raise
Romania from misery to glory, and the Romanian soul from perdition to redemp-
tion. Furthermore, it aimed to create a mystical, transcendent brotherhood of new
men, able to accomplish the national commandments failed by the politicians of
the old generation4 – cleansing Romania of Jews and other ethnic minorities in-
cluded5. Consequently, the Legionar national and political revolution, the ”Great
Palingenetic Event” of the ”generation of doers”, was to bring social justice, dig-
nity, purify the nation from foreign influences and Western models, and finally
create a new, ethnocratic, ”Romania of the Romanians”, the ultimate solution to
the existing crises6 and the only possible alternative to the atheist, positivist spirit
of the French revolution of 1789 and the Romanian 1848 revolution7, as well as to
the destructive, secular, mundane, anti-religious political religion of communism8.
Aiming to redeem Romania ”from sin” by means of militant hyper-national-
ism, Iron Guard exploited the image of a weak and corrupt state, and portrait itself
1
By 1942, it would have been not only senseless but also impossible for Antonescu to include
any reference to the ideology and politics of the legionari, his deadly enemies since January 1941.
2
C.Z. Codreanu, the Căpitan of the Legion, and the great educator of his legionari was, like
Mussolini, a Messiah evangelizing the masses and spreading the gospel of a new society and a
new man, and, like Hitler, a crusader fighting the materialistic world, and Jews as agents of
capitalism, liberalism, democracy, and bolshevism altogether.
3
Radu IOANID, The Sword of the Archangel…cit, pp. 75-76.
4
Vasile MARIN, ”Crez de generaţie: ideologia faptei”, Axa, 22 ianuarie 1933.
5
Michael MANN, Fascists, cit, pp. 265-270. From late 19 century onward the dream of a
Romanian nation purged of all non-Romanians elements, Jews first, was an aspiration for many
nationalists. Unlike Codreanu, prone to his doctrine of acting and tactics of planned campaigns of
violence, whose anti-Semitism was encapsulated in a ”death and mercy to the Jewish wasp nest”
formula, most of the traditional nationalists were thinkers and not men of action.
6
Vasile MARIN, ”Extremismul de dreapta”, Axa, 28 octombrie 1933; see also Mihail
POLIHRONIADE, ”Proletariatul intelectual şi revoluţia naţională”, Lumea Nouă, V, nr. 2, 1936.
7
See Nichifor CRAINIC, ”Omagiu unui adversar: d. C. Rădulescu Motru”, Calendarul, I,
nr. 212, 7 noiembrie 1932.
8
Ioan Victor VOJEN, ”Problema comunistă în Vechiul Regat”, Axa, I, nr. 4, 22 decembrie 1932.

as the only moral and political force able to mobilize the nation against the internal
enemies. Ultra-nationalistic, rabid anti-Semitic and anti-communist, fanatic and vio-
lent, the Legion seduced the Romanians with the promise of a ”better place in the
sun” for Romania, social justice and dignity for the integrated by the Legion peasants
and workers, of a new state that would protect the Romanians, the People not the
populace, from political manipulations and economic exploitation1. The costs to be
paid along the road were irrelevant as long as the legionar revolution was to save
Romania from an imminent and everlasting disaster2, and thus change the history
and destiny of the nation3. Accordingly, anger represented a core constituency of the
ideological matrix of the Iron Guard4, a revolutionary organization aiming to enforce
an ideal vision of society, and implement politics of redemption that never excluded
– in fact massively relied on – extensive use of physical compulsion to create a better
world5. Obviously, Jews came among the most targeted groups, as for the legionari
fighting the generic Jew and Judaism equated, one way or the other, the struggle
against all the enemies of the legion, and Romania: moderate politicians, masons, lib-
eralism, democracy, parliamentarism, communism, capitalism and so on6.
Fortunately, up to 1940, when they seized power together with Antonescu, the
legionari were to a certain extent successfully restrained by the democratic experi-
ment. Furthermore, being much too rebellious and aiming for a total revolution
from bellow, the legionari were overthrown from power within months, thus miss-
ing the chance to complete the radical departure of Romania from its ”traditional”
structures, institutions, and norms. Unfortunately, for more than one decade, they
had the time to ritualize and routinise, as thinkers but also as doers, their anger
and aggressive vision that rejected any form of political accommodation, sublima-
tion, bargaining. As the events of 1940-1944 indicate, in many respects: the idea of
national rebirth and national purification by means of ethnic-cleansing, the ideal-
ized Romania of the Romanians, politics of salvation based on a friend and foe
logic, negations and style and so on; the fascists were the path breakers for An-
tonescu’s regime politics.
Unlike the legionari, Antonescu was not mystical and revolutionary, his vision
of politics was rather limited and more pragmatic. His nationalism was more
primitive, less elaborated than the legionar one, but by no means less extreme:
1
Irina LIVEZEANU, Cultural Politics in Greater Romania. Regionalism, Nation-Building & Ethnic
Struggle, 1918-1930, Cornell University Press, Ithaca, 1993, pp. 336-337.
2
Mircea ELIADE, ”De ce cred în biruinţa Mişcării Legionare”, Buna Vestire, I, nr. 241, 14
decembrie 1937.
3
IDEM, ”Noua aristocraţie legionară”, Vremea, XI, nr. 522, 23 ianuarie 1938.
4
Legionar anger was not only natural and episodic but also simulated and constant, an
elaborated ideological, political and cultural construct that often represented the very essence of
the Iron Guard politics.
5
Florin MÜLLER, ”The Antonescu Dictatorial Regime (September 6,1940-August 23, 1944).
Sociopolitical and Ideological Dimensions”, in Mihail IONESCU, Liviu ROTMAN (eds.), The Holocaust
and Romania...cit, p. 20. Contrary to the opinion of many historians, the legionar spirit, violence and
anger was not altered by the 1938 purges and thereafter the advent to power of the Iron Guard.
6
Mihai CHIOVEANU, Feţele fascismului. Politică, ideologie şi scrisul istoric în secolul XX,
Editura Universităţii din Bucureşti, Bucureşti, 2005, p. 314. Unlike the anti-Semitism of other
nationalistic and radical right parties in Romania, the legionar one was not sectional. The idea
that all Jews are enemies of the Romanians was turned by the legionar leadership into a
monomaniacal obsession, while for other fascists it represented an essential element that had to
be subordinated to the organization mystical ultra-nationalism.

300 MIHAI CHIOVEANU
”We have to inspire Romanians with hatred against the enemies of the
nation. This is how I grew up, with hatred against the Turks, the Kikes and
the Hungarians. This sentiment of hatred against the enemies of the nation
must be pushed to the ultimate extremes”1.
His idea to cleanse Romanian territories of alien oppressor2, strengthen the

borders, and achieve national purity was rather reactive than part of a broader,
proactive, modernizing vision of the nation3, Antonescu being nothing but a na-
tionalist that could and had to harness radical populism to anti-Semitism in par-
ticular, and xenophobia at large. Nevertheless, his anger, and extensive use of vio-
lence, also ”righteous”, and motivated by a fierce desire to change things for the
better, were, at least when it came to the initial declarations, not marked by an irra-
tional and arbitrary pursuit of revenge, thus heading, like the legionar ones, to un-
wanted consequences and unsatisfactory result4. Still, within the context generated
by the war, the ultimate expression of human anger5, with Romania sided by nazi
Germany in its ”holly war” against USSR, the regime and its politics, marked by
perpetual and ubiquitous paranoia, turned increasingly punitive, and finally gave
up rational and controlled anger.
An authoritarian leader, whose popularity and legitimacy was based on plebi-
scites, domestic order, prestige from sound victories on the front6, and a broad
populist appeal supported by an irritable rejection of the old, corrupted, political
system, Antonescu assumed autocratic powers on the ground of national emer-
gency and against the political parties, the royal dictatorship, and even his insur-
gent fascist ”children” when needed7. When it comes to fate of the Jews and the
means to solve the Jewish question, the fact that Antonescu was not a ”revolution-
ary” fascist but an authoritarian, semi-reactionary politician, makes little differ-
ence. As the war fueled the political imagery of the regime with the external and
internal threat represented by Judeo-bolshevism, and Jews as agents, saboteurs,
and finally an enemy population, Antonescu turned his anger into legitimate
politics. Ethnic cleansing became a priority, thus giving primacy to Antonescu over
civilian establishment and securing the interest of the army, the professional prac-
titioners of violence8. By that time there was no need for the Antonescu’s regime
to think, as everything was already in place: an ideology shaped by a century of
1
Ion Antonescu, quoted in Michael MANN, Fascists, cit, p. 290.
2
Antonescu never gave up his plan of a purified Romania, and stated up to 1944 that if he
would win the war all ethnic minorities would be purged in a ”civilized way”. Yet, from 1941 to
1943 he made extensive use of anger, and vent vengeance on the weak and unprotected, meaning
the Jews and the Roma, who, unlike other minorities (Poles, Hungarians, Bulgarians, Germans),
were subjected to ethnic cleansing by mass killing and deportation.
3
Michael MANN, Fascists, cit, pp. 294-295.
4
Ion Antonescu was looking for a long term, legal, official, and coordinated revenge. For the
legionari instant revenge was a priority, and meant to give them the sense of holding power, being
unrestricted, a first and immediate confirmation of their political victory over the enemies.
5
Peter CALVERT, ”Autocracy, Anger and the Politics of Salvation”, cit, p. 5.
6
Florin MÜLLER, ”The Antonescu Dictatorial Regime…cit.”, p. 23.
7
The conflict was generated not that much by ideological incompatibilities but by the fact
that while for Antonescu the 6 September 1940 represented the end of a revolution, for the
legionari it marked only its beginning.
8
Like most armies, the Romanian one was an autocratic institution, hierarchically organized,
with a rigid internal discipline, licensed to kill as to defend the state, no matter the form of government
See Peter CALVERT, ”Autocracy, Anger and the Politics of Salvation”, cit, p. 6.

anti-Semitic thinking, the creation of an ethnocratic state as a political goal, no mat-

ter the costs and repercussions, a propaganda that motivated the perpetrators and
demonized the victims thus turning them fit for the destruction1.
On the first six months of 1940 Romania lost several provinces at the hands of
the neighboring countries. The Romanian nation felt humiliated and betrayed, the
Romanian army turned frustrated, Carol II dictatorship, as well as the political par-
ties and politicians were altogether distrusted, made responsible, and blamed for
the collapse, finally, ethnic minorities were regarded as disloyal to the state and
therefore as enemy populations. In the case of Bessarabia and North Bukovina
more than in other cases, the Jewish population of the two provinces was accused
on the basis of a long lasting political myth for helping the Red Army, acting as
Bolshevik agents, propagating communist ideas, attacking the Romanian army,
and terrorizing the Romanian population2. This image was as powerful as to later
motivate and justify the anti-Semitic policy of the Antonescu regime, and the
atrocities perpetrated by the Romanian army, gendarmerie, and sometimes civilian
from 1941 onward3. However, a closer look into the events suggests that in 1940
and later on 1941 the Romanian authorities overreacted as to turn the accusations
into a rationale for the mass killing and deportation of the Moldavian, Bessarabian
and Bukovinian Jews4.
For some of the anti-Semites, the events of June 1940 were but a confirmation of
their fears and, consequently, just struggle against the Jews, while others live the
reader with the impression that they were suddenly and abruptly ”illuminated”. As
Nicolae Iorga blatantly put it in his ”Why so much hatred?” article, published in Nea-
mul românesc of July 6, 1940, voicing his anger and nonetheless his anti-Semitism:
”Is this the reward for our benevolence and tolerance? We have ac-
cepted the Jewish seizure and domination for many decades, and Jewry is
taking revenge in these hard times in which we are living. And there is no
disownment, from anywhere, no vehement and public break with the acts of
the murderous gangs of sanguinary sect members. Organized madness
against us has swept boroughs, towns, and villages”.
Following the same logic, Ion Antonescu was to reply Fildermann in October
1941, in a public letter, that the Romanian killings and the deportation of the Jews to
Transnistria were in response to Jewish hate and the suffering of the Romanians from
June 1940. This time, past events were recalled as to trigger present deeds, namely
ethnic cleansing5. However, the text lives the reader with a strong sense of a simu-
lated anger, with betrayal, grievance, and national reassertion, turned into a perfect
travesty and strong justification for the horrific treatment applied to the Jews:
”You wish now to transform yourselves from accused into accusers, act-
ing as if you have forgotten the reason which caused the situation of which
1
Tuvia FRILING, Radu IOANID, Mihail IONESCU (eds.), Final Report…cit., pp. 114, 132.
2
George VOICU, ”The Notion of Judeo-Bolshevism in Romanian wartime Press”, Studia
Hebraica, nr. 4, 2004, pp. 59-64.
3
After 1990 this episode was used by some Romanian historians, such as Florin Constan-
tiniu and Gheorghe Buzatu, as to explain, justify, and even excuse the Romanian atrocities and
anti-Semitism of 1941-1944. See Sorin ALEXANDRESCU, Paradoxul român, cit., p. 156.
4
Michael BURLEICH, The Third Reich, A New History, Pan Books, London, 2001, pp. 610,
613-614.
5
Ibidem, pp. 625-626.

302 MIHAI CHIOVEANU
you complain […] From the cellars of Chişinău our martyrs are removed
daily, terribly mutilated cadavers thus rewarded for the friendly hand which,
for twenty years, they stretched out to those ungrateful beasts…”1.
In other words, it indicates that with the attack on USSR Antonescu seized
the opportunity to not that much ”trample down the cringing shades of yesterday
dishonor” but, behind the display of a vengeful, bellicose, and xenophobic ideol-
ogy, to articulate a strong rationale for his genocidal policy. The fact that An-
tonescu knew months before about the nazi plan to invade USSR, as well as their
intention to exterminate the Soviet Jews and political commissars in Aktionen, is to
strength the argument. The Romanians were made aware on the future develop-
ments of the extermination plan by their partners, and had the time to plan their
own war for extermination2.
In June 1940, whit the retreat of the Romanian troops from Bessarabia and
North Bukovina to Moldova, numerous but scattered deadly assaults on the Jews
by civilians and soldiers, and one massacre – the Dorohoi pogrom, generated by
panic, frustration, therapeutical violence, lack of discipline, and a recrudescence of
anti-Semitism – occurred in the Old Kingdom. Out of fear of disorders, panic, and
anarchy, Romanian civil and military authorities made efforts to stop the violence,
isolate the aggressors, reorganize military units, and reestablish control and order
as to diminish the side effect of the deep crises. Though protecting the Jewish
population was no priority3, with some local authorities even issuing express or-
ders to custom officers not to allow any Bessarabian Jew to cross the border into
Romania, as they were soviet agents4, the attitude of the authorities triggered even
more anti-Semitism, and spread anger and hate toward the Jews5. Moreover, most
of the military reports insisted on the fact that most of the communists attacking
the army and the authorities in Bessarabia were Jewish – references to Jewish
groups mobilized with the attack of the Red Army as to harass the Romanian
army, loot, kill, terrorize the population and the authorities, desecrate the Roma-
nian national symbols, and so on; were often included6. Other reports mention the
great number of Romanian Jews trying to cross the border into the Soviet territory,
thus indicating their hostility toward the Romanian state7. Soon, most of the au-
thorities were to accept the idea that all the attacks and acts of revenge on the Jews
in Romania were totally justified by the hostile attitude of the Bessarabian Jews8,
and later on came to the conclusion that one way or another the Jewish question –
like when there were no other critical issues ranging from domestic to international
policy, army equipment and discipline, and so on; to explain the crisis – has to be
solved. The government started working on a new, radical version of We the People,
1
Ion Antonescu, quoted in Saul FRIEDLANDER, The Years of Extermination, cit., pp. 226-227.
2
Jean ANCEL, ”Archival Sources concerning the Holocaust in Romania”, cit, pp. 62-63.
3
Mihai STOENESCU, Armata, Mareşalul şi Evreii, RAO, Bucureşti, 1998, pp. 141-142.
4
AMR, fond Microfilme, reel 1078, c 0572.
5
Though a significant number of civilians, Russians, Ukrainians, Bulgarians and Romanians,
dissatisfied with the corruption, abuses and bad treatment by the Romanian authorities in
Bessarabia since 1918 welcomed the arrival of the soviets, it was mainly for the Jews to be held
responsible and demonized. Irina LIVEZEANU, Cultural Politics in Greater Romania…cit., pp. 112,
122-123, 149; also Mihai STOENESCU, Armata, Mareşalul şi Evreii, cit, pp. 66-67.
6
Arh. MapN, fond MStM, dosar 941, fila 558.
7
AMR, fond 948, dosar 941, file 217-226.
8
ANIC, fond PCM, dosar 482/1940, fila 18.

taking the nazi anti-Semitic legislation as both a juridical and political role model,
in a pursuit of a not yet transcendental but definitely cleansing nation-statism by
means of law1. The ideal ”Romania for the Romanians” was reiterated, and so was
”ethnic purification”, with deprivation of rights, emigration, and border exchanges
of population as ”civilized means” to achieve it2.
This time, unlike in other occasions, the clichés: the Jew as a Communist agent,
the Jewish disloyal, enemy population and so on, were the product of army and in-
telligence, and meant to intoxicate the state and army leadership. Media, some-
times circulating terrific, often fictional stories by soldiers and Romanian refugees,
launched a virulent anti-Semitic campaign that ultimately generated a real psycho-
sis, with the desperate efforts of the authorities to play it down by means of censor-
ship lingering unsuccessful3. The banned at the time legionari, and the nazis, had a
rather insignificant contribution.
The new government, headed by Ion Antonescu, installed on the 6 September
1940 by the king as a desperate measure to secure his position, did not radically
departed from this type of approach toward the Jewish question, at least not in the
first months. The resolution to the Jewish Question, ”vital for the Romanian peo-
ple”, excluded, at least in theory and declarations, any violent means, had to be
progressive and methodical as not to jeopardize the existing economic order, and
offend the dignity and morality of the Romanians4. With Antonescu in favor of
state authority and law as pillars of the new Romanian Order, the legitimate and
just ”liberation from the yoke of foreign exploiters”, was not to exceed confiscation
of Jewish rural proprieties, concentration of Jews in urban areas, emigration when-
ever possible5.
This type of legalist attitude and tactics render the legionari anger and frus-
trated as for them, as well as for some of the local authorities and nevertheless ci-
vilians infected with the fascist virus6 there was no need for a protective toward
the Jews legal framework, which was but to haze and postpone the Romanianiza-
tion process – confiscation of propriety – isolation, pauperization, and finally emi-
gration of Jews from a land were there was no future for them. The legionari were
looking for rapid results, and thus favored swift and violent, arbitrary methods7.
Traces of the future conflict between Antonescu and the legionari are visible even in
respect to the two conflicting approaches toward the Jewish question of the fascist
and the authoritarian camps. The differences were so visible that the leaders of the
Jewish community regarded Antonescu, ”an authoritarian and moral man” as they
put it, as a protector of the law, begging him not to follow the fascist path, and not
to turn the Jewish question into a political diversion and springboard. Unfortu-
nately, this is exactly what Antonescu did once the legionari were defeated. Only
his approach was sectional, not all Jews being, as for the legionari, equally danger-
ous and therefore subjected to purges.
In the case of Antonescu it was chiefly for the ”Bolshevik-Jew” catchy theme
to make his special interest as to become a monomaniacal obsession. As official
1
Lya BENJAMIN, Legislaţia anti-evreiască, Editura Hasefer, Bucureşti, 1993, doc. 4, pp. 51-54.
2
ANIC, Fond PCM, dosar 327/1940, file 31-32.
3
Lya BENJAMIN (ed.), Documente. Comisia internaţională…cit., pp. 73-74, 78-79.
4
ANIC, fond PCM, CM, dosar 1770/1940, vol. 2, file 783-784.
5
Lya BENJAMIN (ed.), Documente. Comisia internaţională…cit., pp. 111-112.
6
Jean ANCEL (ed.), Documents…cit., vol. I, doc. 121, pp. 528-530.
7
Lya BENJAMIN, Legislaţia anti-evreiască, cit., doc. 16, pp. 74-78.

304 MIHAI CHIOVEANU
documents indicate, on several occasion, Ion Antonescu and the legionar minister
of interior, general Petrovicescu discussed the situation and activity of communists
in Romania, ”of which 90% are kikes”, and proposed solutions as to put an end to
the threat: expulsion for the Hungarians, Bulgarians, Russians, and concentration
camps for the Jews1. However, not only some Jewish Bolshevik agents were tar-
geted but the entire Jewish population in Romania, as they were working against
the Romanian state, and the Bessarabian Jews, crossing the border in organized
groups as to make propaganda in favor of USSR and against Romania, thus incit-
ing the Romanian ones to turn against the authorities2. That was, according to nu-
merous official reports, to explain the ”defiant” and pro-soviet attitude of Jews in
Moldova in general, and Iaşi in particular, in spite of the ”deep fear” of the very
same population of potential armed retaliation for present and also past attitude
and participation in anti-Romanian actions. Consequently, following the implaca-
ble logic of ”we do not know who are guilty ones, they are all guilty”, Antonescu,
one of the Grand Symplificateurs of his time, continued to take advantage of the
echo of the 1940 events, and the fabricated presence of a shrewd and cruel Jewish
enemy within and outside the borders of Romania as to offer a rationale for his fu-
ture policies3. Within months, the Romanian army, in many cases the same military
units that left the province in the summer of 1940, entered in Bessarabia in a set up,
foul state of mind, motivated by anger and revenge, this time convinced that the
Jew is the mortal enemy of the Romanians.
Meanwhile, the impatient legionari, unhappy with the long preparations and
delays, continued to attack the Jewish population, loot, destroy, and kill, coming
soon to the conclusion that a massive strike against the Jewish peril and his allies
and protectors, Antonescu and his oligarchic regime included, is needed4. In Janu-
ary 1941, in less then three days, more than 120 Jews were slaughter in unimagin-
able ways, Synagogues burned out, and Jewish stores were devastated during a
bloody pogrom5.
Antonescu had the power and the means to stop, if not to prevent, the pogrom
but no reason. For him, the legionar assault on the Jews was an opportunity to de-
monize his radical and rebellious partners on one hand, and a perfect litmus test
for his future actions on the other, indicating to what degree the civil population
would support similar strikes, or turn into indifferent and/or intimidated and thus
reduced to silence bystanders6. Moreover, his victory over the rebellious, which
was to put an end to the reign of terror, was to shed a new light on the govern-
ment, state institutions and the army, creating a positive image and generating a
degree of confidence that they all desperately needed after the failure of 1940.
Lastly, anger and personal feelings also played an important role. No matter how
much he disliked the ”legionar gangsterism”, Antonescu had no reason, and could
not find one, to protect the Jews, who that much harmed Romania in the past. As
1
Marcel-Dumitru CIUCĂ, Aurelian TEODORESCU, Bogdan Florin POPOVICI (eds.),
Stenogramele consiliului de miniştri în perioada guvernării Antonescu, vol. I, Arhivele Naţionale ale
României, Bucureşti, 1997, pp. 366, 601, 628, 687.
2
Arh. MapN, dosar 155, fila 162-172.
3
Mihai STOENESCU, Armata, Mareşalul şi Evreii, cit., p. 95.
4
Michael BURLEICH, The Third Reich…cit., pp. 610-611.
5
Raul HILBERG, The Destruction of the European Jews, cit, p. 672.
6
Michael BURLEICH, The Third Reich…cit., p. 611.

he blatantly put it: ”I will not sacrifice Romanian lifes (of officers and soldiers) to
protect the kikes”1.
Crushed by Antonescu and his army2, the legionari missed the moment to im-
plement their political vision and program. Yet, as individuals they were allowed
to further display their hate toward the generic Jew, the Bolshevik-Jew, the diabolic
Jewish conspiracy against civilization and culture, to instigate and indoctrinate the
population and the army rank and file, and take part in the massacres, this time as
soldiers and civilians, and not members of a fascist party and militia3. One way or
the other, they legitimized the policy and actions of Antonescu who, on his turn,
sponsored their newspapers. War propaganda relied heavily on former legionar
and pro-legionar publications when it came to the ”holly war against bolshevism
and the Jew”, the ”eternal enemy” with myriad faces (agent, exploiter, disloyal,
terrorist, spy, saboteur and so on and so forth)4.
With the legionari defeated and the Iron Guard banned, the situation of the
Jews did not changed for the better, as many might have hoped, at least not in the
long run. Except for street violence and random terror the semi-reactionary regime
of Antonescu was not that different from the fascist one. Romanianization contin-
ued and it was justified as part of the process of national rebirth and purification,
and anger was turned progressively into a political motivation as Antonescu’s dis-
courses and policies included more and more references to Jewish saboteurs, Jew-
ish communists, an enemy population siding Romania’s external enemies, whether
USSR or Hungary. Fewer and fewer Jews were trusted by the authorities and con-
sidered loyal, and not even they were desirable on a long run5.
Before the war started, Jews from Moldavian villages were deported to towns
and camps in South Romania6. The effort to remove the Jewish population away
from the front line, otherwise irrational, non-realistic, lacking logic, and indicating
the monomaniacal obsession with the Jewish peril7 was designed not so much to
secure the area but to incite the population8 and the army reminding them that the
Jews are a disloyal and suspected enemy population9. The final preparations for
the invasion of USSR were to trigger a rampant anti-Semitism as to facilitate ethnic
cleansing by means of deportation and mass killing. Official military reports from
1
Pe marginea prăpastiei. 21-23 ianuarie 1941. vol. 1-2, Editura Scripta, Bucureşti, 1992, pp. 126,
138, 149, 154.
2
Tuvia FRILING, Radu IOANID, Mihail IONESCU (eds.), Final Report…cit., p. 110. The
rebellion represents a failed attempt of the Iron Guard to conquer the state and its institutions.
The legionar terror generated repulsion along army, police and gendarmerie lines.
3
Radu IOANID, The Sword of the Archangel…cit., pp. 74-75.
4
Aurel POPOVICIU, ”Un popor de duşmani, trădători şi spioni care n-au iubit niciodată pe
români”, Curentul, an XIV, nr. 4809, 7 iulie, 1941.
5
Lya BENJAMIN, Problema evreiască, Editura Hasefer, Bucureşti, doc. 71, pp. 190-191.
6
Tuvia FRILING, Radu IOANID, Mihail IONESCU (eds.), Final Report…cit., p. 118.
7
As Eugen Cristescu, the chief of the Romanian intelligence, put it, it would have sufficed to
watch closely and control an already terrorized and terrified population. See Mihai STOENESCU,
Armata, Mareşalul şi Evreii, cit., p. 235.
8
On the return of the survivors of the two death trains from Călăraşi back to Iaşi, many
civilians expressed their dissatisfaction that the kikes escaped as to return.
9
Lya BENJAMIN (ed.), Documente. Comisia internaţională…cit., pp. 186-188. The deportation
was for the government a pre-emptive strike meant to remove a ”hostile population” away from
the front line. Any attempt from the Jews to disobey the orders was punished by shooting. The
police had the task to identify all potential instigators and soviet agents among Jewish males from
16 to 60 years old, and send them to camps.

306 MIHAI CHIOVEANU
that period indicate that the myth of the Bolshevik-Jew was already at work, and
anger a strong political motivation as the entire ”Judeo-Bolshevik population” was
to be evacuated, and all Jewish males were considered suspects, an thus subjected
to summary investigations and execution by shooting1.
When war broke out, and Einsatzgruppen D was sent to the front, in Iaşi, they
were to ”rapidly discover they arrived amid a genocide already well underway”2.
Though imprecise, as the German special killing squads were already in there at
the beginning of the pogrom, and took part in it, Michael Burleich’s account makes
its point. The initiative and coordination for the mass slaughter in Iaşi goes to the
Romanians. The pogrom, carried out by Romanian state institutions, in a frontier
city with 50% of the population Jewish, and a hotbed of radical and rabid
anti-Semitism, where from June 1940 to June 1941 Jews were continuously under
attack from legionari and Bessarabian refugees, ended up with more than 10 000
victims. Due the existence of a great aversion toward the Jews the authorities were
aware of, there was no need for Antonescu to issue any specific orders before, only
later to justify the deeds in an official communicate. Communist Jews were (made)
responsible for the events in Iaşi, with 500 Bolshevik-Jews executed for their
crimes3. Propaganda did the rest, announcing that the ”Bolshevik kike” was wiped
out from the city of Ştefan the Holly and Great4. No matter what the Iaşi Jews
might have done, or would have done in June 1941, their fate was sealed long be-
fore. But the pick of one long year of abuses, arrests, beatings, persecutions, hate
speech, and so on; the pogrom was the final test before launching the ethnic clean-
sing operations in Bessarabia and Bukovina. The local authorities, which were en-
couraged to keep the order by all means, the Romanian army, no longer victimized
by the state propaganda but presented in the aftermath of the pogrom as heroic,
with its pride retrieved and the ”shame of 1940 washed in the blood of the Jewish
plague”, lastly the civilians, who had to act patriotically, indicating to the police all
the ”suspects and strangers, under penalty of death”5, were tested one more time.
On a special order, issued on 4 July 1941, Ion Antonescu disapproves the
methods, the violence, massacres and lootings, by civilians and soldiers, but not
the ends. However, from that moment all initiatives to cleanse Romania of Jews as
to fulfill the expectations of the Romanian people rested with the government6. De-
portation, ghettoization, extermination were officially turned into state organized
and sponsored policy7.
Rather hard for the reader to believe that in the case of the Iaşi pogrom the
government and the local authorities were not in control, or lost it, and that made
possible the unrestrained outburst of sweeping anti-Semitic violence8. A further
look into the events suggests that the authorities reiterated and further fueled the
psychosis of 1940, and later allowed the army, gendarmerie, police, and civilians to
have their own struggle, and revenge, against the Jewish enemy. Yet, this time,
anger was triggered by both past events and present deadlocks, as the Jewish
1
Jean ANCEL (ed.), Documents…cit., vol. II, doc. 1, p. 1.
2
3
Arh. MapN, fond 948, dosar 2410, fila 372.
4
Soldatul, nr. 2, 1 iulie 1941.
5
Lya BENJAMIN, Legislaţia anti-evreiască, cit., doc. 42, p. 155.
6
7
Jean ANCEL (ed.), Documents…cit., vol. X, doc. 23, pp. 79-80.
8

population was held responsible for, and as to explain, the slow advance of the Ro-
manian army into the Soviet territory – the pogrom took place on the 28-30 June
1941, one week after the troops entered Bessarabia, with poor results1.
On the 8 July 1941, prime-Minister Mihai Antonescu delivered a speech to the
cabinet, deriding soapy vaporous philosophical humanitarianism of the tradition-
alist when it comes to the Jewish Question, furthermore informing his ministers
that from that moment on ethnic cleansing became a state matter and governmen-
tal venture, thus moving beyond riots, random terror, and pogroms:
”You must be merciless […] I do not know when, after how many centu-
ries, the Romanian nation will again enjoy this total freedom of action, with
the possibility for ethnic purification and national revision. This is the hour
when we are masters on our territory. Let it be used! I do not mind if history
judges us barbarians. The Roman Empire performed a series of barbarous
acts against its contemporaries, and yet it was the greatest political establish-
ment. There are no other favorable moments in our history. If needed be,
shoot with machine guns, and I say that there is no law”2.
The very same ideas were exposed within days, on the 12 July 1941, also by
the prime-Minister, at a meeting organized by the ministry of interior with the civil
administration of Bessarabia and Bukovina, as to inform them on the necessity and
meaning of a new concept, ”cleansing the ground”:
”This is the broadest and most favorable opportunity in our history for a
total ethnic unfettering, for a national revision, and for cleansing our people
of all those elements foreign of our soul..(that)..darken its future”3.
As a result, a Hell on Earth was brought with the Romanian troops entering in
Bessarabia and Bukovina and acting as an Iron Broom, cleansing villages and
towns by massacres, causing 25 000 deaths in less than one month4. As a memoir of
Traian Popovici, former mayor of Cernowitz indicates, the Romanian troops seized
the opportunity to release their long accumulated anger and hate, treating the Jews
as an enemy population and as to achieve the political goal of the government, the
physical destruction of the Jews5.
A huge number of Bessarabian and Bukovinian Jews died in the first days and
weeks after the invasion, and most of them thereafter, to the end of 1942. In some
cases the entire population of one village was killed on the spot, in other cases only
the leaders of the community, often Rabies and well-doing, middle class Jews that
were by no means communists. Like in Iaşi, in most cases, there was no need for
exact orders from above, as the central authorities preferred to let the anger and
thirst of revenge work as to put things in motion, than reestablishing order within
days6. Yet, nothing was accidental but carefully orchestrated by the authorities.
Plans were designed for the removal of the Jews from the liberated territories by
organized teams that had to act prior to the arrival of the troops. According to the
Chief of general Staff, Iosif Iacobovici:
1
Radu IOANID, The Sword of the Archangel…cit., p. 204.
2
3
Mihai ANTONESCU, Pentru Basarabia şi Bucovina. Îndrumări date administraţiei desrobitoare,
Bucureşti, 1941, pp. 60-61.
4
5
Lya BENJAMIN (ed.), Documente. Comisia internaţională…cit., pp. 571-592.
6

308 MIHAI CHIOVEANU
”The mission of these teams is to create in villages an unfavorable at-

mosphere towards the Judaic elements, thereby encouraging the population
to seek and remove them on its own by whatever means it finds most appro-
priate and suited to the circumstances. At the arrival of the Romanian troops,
the feeling must already be in place and even acted upon”1.
The strategy was simple and efficient: first offer satisfaction to the mob and
vengeful army, allowing them to kill and loot, second deport the survivors to the
camps in Transnistria or simply force them across the Bug2. According to general
Constantin Vasiliu, mass killing on the spot was favored indicating that cleansing
the ground means what it says:
”Exterminate on the spot all Jews in rural areas; arrest all suspects, party
activists, and people who held accountable positions under the soviet author-
ity, and send them under escort to the (gendarmerie) legion”3
A specific and crystal clear order that at the lower level was often translated
in terms of:
”Exterminate all Jews, from the babe in arms to the impotent old man,
all of them endanger the Romanian nation”4.
No attempts were ever made by the government and the officers to put an end
to the killings, on contrary, as violence against the Jewish enemy population was
righteous and meant to further strength the combat spirit of an army fighting not
against civilians but soviet agents and partisans5. As Mihai Antonescu put it:
”Our Army has been humiliated, forced to pass under the Caudine Forks
of its barbaric enemies, accompanied solely by the treacherous scorn of the
accomplices of Bolshevism […] who had desecrated the altar in the land of
our ancestors […] the Yids”6.
Blaming the Jews not only for the events of 1940 but for all the evils of the so-
viet occupation, accusing them for acting as communist agents and collaborators,
demonizing them when depicting the destroyed churches and the mass graves of
the 200 000 Romanians killed by the Soviets7, the authorities kept the killing ma-
chine oiled and ready for brutal and swift, spontaneous and disorganized, dis-
persed and capricious massacres that are unique in the history of the Holocaust,
the result of an odd mixture of destructive spirit and opportunism8. The Jewish
population was aware, though not responsible, of all the horrors made by the Sovi-
ets and circulated by the Romanian propaganda, as they were also aware of the
Romanian ”revenge”, thus running by thousands to USSR, only to be captured
later and executed by the Romanians and the Germans, in Odessa.
1
Arh. MapN, fond Armata IV, reel 781, file 145-146.
2
Radu IOANID, The Sword of the Archangel…cit., pp. 214-215.
3
Constantin Vasiliu, quoted in Jean ANCEL, ”Archival Sources concerning the Holocaust in
Romania”, cit., p. 67.
4
Lya BENJAMIN, Problema evreiască, cit., doc. 109, pp. 298-299.
5
Mihai STOENESCU, Armata, Mareşalul şi Evreii, cit., p. 290.
6
Mihai Antonescu, quoted in Saul FRIEDLANDER, The Years of Extermination, cit., p. 226.
7
Andreas HILLGRUBER, Hitler, Regele Carol…cit., p. 280; see also Mihai STOENESCU,
Armata, Mareşalul şi Evreii, cit., pp. 290, 302.
8
Raul HILBERG, The Destruction of the European Jews, cit., pp. 668-669.

The harbor city of Odessa in Crimea, which was never part of Romania, was
conquered by the Romanian army after a long and grim siege ended with heavy
loses, more than 70 000. That was to make the Romanians enter the city in a ”foul
frame of mind”1, with reprisals starting before Antonescu issuing any orders2. The
Conducător (Antonescu) was only later to legitimize and justify the terrible massa-
cre perpetrated by the army against Jewish civilians, and not only in terms of re-
taliation for the bomb attack on the Romanian headquarters. In a letter to Filder-
mann he stresses the direct or indirect guilt and responsibility of the entire Jewish
population, acting as Bolshevik commissars, agents, and collaborators, pushing
from behind the Russians troops in a senseless massacre against the Romanian:
”Did you give any thought last year to what was in our hearts during
the evacuation of Bessarabia and what is happening to us daily and hourly
when we are paying with our blood […] with very much blood for the hatred
of your co-religionists in Bessarabia, to the manner in which we were treated
during our withdrawal from Bessarabia, and upon our return from the Dni-
ester to Odessa and in the regions of the Sea of Azov? […] During the Bolshe-
vik occupation, those whom you now bewail, informed on good Romanians,
thus surrendering them to the orgies of the Russians and bringing grief and
mourning into numerous Romanian homes […] Do not pity, if you really
have a soul, those who do not deserve it, pity those who merit it”3.
This time, anger played a more important role than ethnic cleansing, with the
retaliations resulting in 19 000 Jews killed in Odessa proper, and 40 000 more in
Dalnic, outside the city. Most of them were Jewish refugees from Bessarabia, and
thus, one way or the other, targeted for extermination4.
By the time Romanian army reached and conquered Odessa at the end of Au-
gust, beginning of September 1941, due the impact of the events, failures, loses,
dissatisfaction, and the continuous demonization of the Jewish people, Antonescu
was already in the logic and line of his former partners, the legionari: Jew was
Satan, and the war but a life and death struggle against him:
”The fight is Bitter. It is a fight of life or death. It is a fight between us
and the Germans, and the Jews […] I shall undertake a work of complete
cleansing, of Jews and of all others who have snuck up on us [...] had we nor
started this war, to cleanse our race of these people who sap our economic,
national, and physical life, we would be cursed with complete disappearance
[…] Consequently, our policy in this regard is to achieve a homogeneous
whole in Bessarabia, Bukovina, Moldova, and, I and you, if we live, and if not
someone else, in Transylvania”.
And continued:
”Do not think that when I decided to disinfest the Romanian people of
all Jews, I did not realize I would be provoking an economic crises […] dam-
ages to the nation. But if I win this war, the nation will receive its compen-
sation. We are undergoing a crisis because we are removing the Jews […]
1
2
Ibidem, p. 626.
3
Ion Antonescu, quoted in Ibidem, p. 625.
4
Lya BENJAMIN (ed.), Documente. Comisia internaţională…cit., p. 282.

310 MIHAI CHIOVEANU
Should we miss this historical opportunity now, we’ll miss it forever […]
And if the Jews win the war, we’ll no longer exist”1.
The war against the Jews was no longer a matter of tactics or profit but sur-
vival. Moreover, with Antonescu coming closer and closer to Hitler’s vision: ”At
the end of this struggle we will cleanse the world of them, or become the slaves of
the Jewish Beast”, the fate of the Moldavian, Bukovinian and Bessarabian Jews was
sealed forever. They were to be all deported into Transnistria2.
For the Romanian government Transnistria was a dumping ground for ethnic
undesirables, mainly Jews but also Roma3. At the same time, it was also a trap for
the Romanian administration, as the first intention was to push the Jews and Roma
across the Bug, and abandon them at the hands of the Germans. Unprepared as
they were, the Romanians turned the deportation to the camps into a death sen-
tence. Tens of thousands died here of typhus and starvation, in mass killings,
whether preventive or simply outbursts of therapeutical violence, executed by the
Romanians alone, together with German police and the Ukrainians, or at the hand
of the SS and the Todt4. Some of the episodes were as horrible and cruel as to leave
the fortuitous eye witness with the impression that he lives again scenes from the
legionar rebellion, with the slaughter performed this time under the patronage of
the state and army, and not of the Green Beast5. Few returned, from 1943 onward,
mainly orphans, with Antonescu bitterly opposing the solution as unacceptable
and unpopular, dangerous and catastrophic6.
From June 1941 to August 1944, the Romanian government, army, gendarme-
rie, and police, implemented an ethnic cleansing policy that took them, step by
step, from mass killing to ghettoization, deportations, the nazi Final Solution,
finally emigration, which by no means was motivated by humanitarianism7. Ro-
mania’s government made no attempt to save any Jew. True, half of the Romanian
Jews survived the war. Yet this is due to domestic and international protests and
interventions, massive bribe, a rapidly changing military and political situation
after the battle of Stalingrad. Prestige also played an important role. When the
Romanian authorities realized that they lost the initiative and control over the
deportation of the Jews living in Romania for the Final Solution at the hands of the
Nazi bureaucrats, a situation they disliked as it portrayed them as controlled,
puppets and ordinary Executioneries, the government made desperate efforts to
depart from the nazi plan. Postponing the deportations, later on abandoning the
plan from late 1942 to early 1943, and thereafter mocking the SS, the government
made several attempts to improve Romania’s image in the West8. They went as far
as to falsify and destroy documents, and rejected the advise of the nazi officials to
continue with the implementation of the Final Solution as it was already too late
for Romania to persuade the Western allies on its innocence when it comes to the
Holocaust. However it would be a mistake to interpret the Romanian policy on the
1
IDEM, Problema evreiască, cit., doc. 109, pp. 298-299.
2
Jean ANCEL (ed.), Documents…cit., vol. II, doc. 31, pp. 57-58.
3
4
5
Lya BENJAMIN (ed.), Documente. Comisia internaţională…cit., p. 301.
6
ANIC, Fond PCM, dosar 166/1940, file 74-75.
7
Radu IOANID, The Sword of the Archangel…cit., p. 226; see also Andreas HILLGRUBER,
Hitler, Regele Carol…cit., p. 283.
8
See Saul FRIEDLANDER, The Years of Extermination, cit., pp. 450-451, 483.

basis of political and military tactics and calculation, and in the absence of anti-Semi-
tism as an ideology and ethnic cleansing as a political goal1.
From 1941 onward, a free of Jews Romania was for Antonescu and his regime
a major aspiration and a legacy for the future. Up to 1944, at least Ion Antonescu
continued to justify his policy in terms of revenge and survival, expressing his re-
grets that he refrained from deporting all Jews from Romania due to international
and domestic pressures2. Antonescu portrayed himself as a Savior of the state and
nation, and believed in his mission. As his initial plans, reforms, and hopes failed
away, with no possibility to give satisfaction and respond to the huge expectations
of the population, he rapidly turned to war as a way out from the existing crises.
Once he touched the limits of his governance, and in impossibility to find further
excuses – such as the monstrous legacy of the corrupted Carol II regime, and the
disaster generated by the legionari – he turned, as others before him to the Jew, the
eternal scape goat. War on USSR, and the Jews was for him like a breath of fresh
air. Anger was turned into a strong political motivation, and ethnic cleansing into a
policy that was to solve all past and present problems. From 1942 onward, the Ro-
manian government abandoned anger as a political motivation as it proved to be
extremely corrosive to the structure of an ordered society. It also gave up military
violence in favor of bureaucratic violence. For many Romanian and Ukrainian Jews
that shift came already too late.
1
Andreas HILLGRUBER, Hitler, Regele Carol…cit., p. 286.
2
ANIC, fond CM, dosar 166/1940, file 98-99.

312 MIHAI CHIOVEANU

Palestinian Nationalism 313
Palestinian Nationalism:
From Secularism to Islam
DAN STOENESCU
For most of the last half of the 20th century to nowadays, Palestinian nationalism
puzzled Middle Eastern scholars. Although it was not as old as Arab nationalism,
Palestinian nationalism fought for independence against Israel and for emancipation
of Palestinians in the countries they sought refuge in. As opposed to other kinds of
nationalisms, Palestinian nationalism is intrinsically related to the question of the
Palestinian refugees. Palestinian nationalism is in great part the product of the refu-
gee camps, intellectuals in the Diaspora and freedom fighters, many of whom were
refugees or internally displaced people. The timeline for the development of Pales-
tinian nationalism starts in 1948 when Israel declared its independence and contin-
ues to develop in the regional context of the Middle East. In the 1950s and 1960s it is
influence by Nasser’s Pan-Arabism. The Arab defeat of 1967 gives impetus to this
movement, bringing it closer to Islam, later on, in the 1980s all the way to this day.
The objective of this essay is to critically analyze the modern developments of
Palestinian nationalism. This concept was always an integral part of the political
discourse in the Middle East from 1948 onwards and even more after 1967.
Through the years and influenced by the political changes in the region, Palestin-
ian nationalism went through a metamorphosis. Palestinian intellectuals of the
1950s and 1960s were linking it with Arab nationalism, later on after the great de-
feat of 1967 Palestinian nationalism started to re-emerge as a force of its own fight-
ing for the liberation of Palestine. From the late 1980s to this day Palestinian na-
tionalism is not anymore the traditional nationalism propagated by intellectuals in
the 1960s but started to incorporate a new Islamic identity that transcends the bor-
ders of Palestine and in the same time fights for its independence.
The essay is divided in three parts and tries to answer to three essential ques-
tions. The first part will analyze the concept of nationalism and its implications for
Palestinian nationalism. What are the theoretical approaches when analyzing nation-
alism and how it is this relevant when analyzing Palestinian nationalism? The second
part will search for the reasons of the emergence of Palestinian nationalism in the Oc-
cupied Territories and in the countries that host large numbers of Palestinian refu-
gees. What are the factors that determined the development of modern Palestinian
nationalism? The third part will look into the relationship between Palestinian nation-
alism and Islam. Is it possible nowadays to incorporate the ideas of Palestinian na-
tionalism into a broader Islamic view for the future of Palestine? Furthermore, the
third part will look into the relationship between land, nationalism and Islam and will
analyze the rise of Hamas and its role in the development of Palestinian nationalism.
Theoretical Perspectives
Scholars in the field of nationalism studies argue that the present concept of
nationalism is a modern combination of Enlightenment and liberal ideas of self

314 DAN STOENESCU
ruling, French revolutionary ideas of the community and egalitarianism among

citizens and German conceptions of a nation formed by history, traditions and
common culture1. Even the UN Charter considers national self-determination as a
universally accepted principle and as a base for the modern world order2.
There are many reasons that encourage nationalism. These reasons include
dislike of alien cultures, hostility to global media, attractions of secession, the loss
of local control to foreign investors, hostility to immigration, fears of unemploy-
ment, resentment of supranational institutions such as IMF or World Bank, and
fears of terrorism and subversion. Furthermore, reasons opposing nationalism are
shared prosperity, economic integration, migration, travel and tourism, employ-
ment abroad, global threats, world-wide communications, end of belief in eco-
nomic sovereignty3.
In the Palestinian context the factors that promote Palestinian nationalism are
the occupation of Palestine by the state of Israel, the mistreatment of Palestinians
by Israel and some Arab states4, the lack of economic opportunities for Palestinians
in the West Bank, Gaza and the countries where they sought refuge, the lack of citi-
zenship rights for many Palestinian refugees, dislike of Western and Israeli mili-
tary presence in the Middle East.
Halliday argues that there are positive and negative features of nationalism. A
positive feature is the fact that nationalism offers a principle of legitimacy and reali-
zation of democratic principles and at the same time encourages human creativity
and diversity. Furthermore, another important feature is the sense of belonging that
nationalism provides. This is based on common things such as language, culture,
socio-political experiences, economic interests, a collective memory and role in his-
tory. On the negative side, nationalism could create conflicts and violence (milita-
rism, xenophobia, chauvinism, imperialism) and could obstruct cooperation5.
Furthermore, according to Halliday there are a few national symbols that could
unite nations. Those symbols are: heroes, flags, colors, language, food and drink,
clothing, commemorative holidays, anthems and general dislike for some non-na-
tionals6. In the case of Palestinian nationalism there are definitely features that would
confirm this unity: the common sense of dispossession and historical identity, the
Palestinian patriotic songs, dancing the Dabki, folk rhetoric and the hate of Israel.
Anthony Smith argues that there are seven main themes that shape the national-
ist doctrine. According to him humanity is naturally divided into nations and each
nation has a peculiar character. In his nationalist view the nation, encompassing the
entire collectivity, is the foundation for power, freedom and self-realization, every
1
Fred HALLIDAY, ”Nationalism”, in John BAYLIS, Steve SMITH (ed.), The Globalisation of
World Politics, 2nd edition, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2001, p. 445.
2
Ibidem, p. 447.
3
Ibidem, p. 442.
4
Palestinian refugees in many Arabic countries do not have the full rights to work. In
Lebanon, for years, Palestinians were not allowed to work in dozens of professions. In Egypt
Palestinians experienced worsening treatment after the signing of the peace treaty with Israel in
1978. More recent examples of punitive treatment of Palestinians include Kuwait’s expulsion of
tens of thousands of long-term residents in the wake of the 1991 Gulf war and the Libyan
government’s move in 1995 to show its displeasure with Arafat’s peace negotiations with Israel
by not renewing the one-year residency visas of some 30 000 Palestinians and beginning
deportations.
5
Fred HALLIDAY, ”Nationalism”, cit., pp. 450-451.
6
Ibidem, p. 451.

person needs to belong to a nation. In terms of territoriality, Smith says that na-
tions can only be fulfilled in their own states. The rise of the nation-state brings
global freedom and harmony and loyalty to the nation state is supreme1. Smith’s
vision is a representative perrenialist perspective of the concept of nationalism.
The concept of nationalism could be seen from two perspectives: perennialism
and modernism. On one hand perennialism, places the nation in a fixed time and
implies that the task is to discover that fixed point. On the other hand, modernism
recognizes that definitions change over time and uses parts of the past, selecting
according to the present needs, and combining them with elements of other cul-
tures2. In analysing modern Palestinian nationalism a modernist approach is more
suitable since it avoids the inflexibility of history’s normative claims and allows a
more flexible and historically precise portrayal of nationalism.
If we want to properly understand Palestinian nationalism we have to take a
closer look towards Arab nationalism. According to most scholars, Arab nationalism
has three main dimensions. The first two dimensions are the ways traditionally Ar-
abs saw themselves, as a whole (qaumi) and locally (qutri), depending on the circum-
stances3. For example, when Nasser wanted to influence the Arab countries to agree
with Egypt, he stressed the qaumi while Sadat stressed the qutri when he signed the
peace with Israel, in order to downplay his responsibility for the Palestinians4. The
third obvious dimension is Islam5 because it was revealed to the Arabs and the
Quran is written in Arabic, the language of God. In the past decade the qutri dimen-
sion and Islam played an important role in shaping Palestinian nationalism.
The Emergence and Development

of Palestinian Nationalism
In order to understand Palestinian nationalism it is important to understand its
historical link with Arab nationalism. The creation of the state of Israel and the 1948
war represented a true renaissance for Arab nationalism. This time the Arabs were
not against the traditional imperialist forces of the West but also against the Zion-
ists6. Furthermore, the new nationalistic wave was led by Egypt’s Gamal Abdel
Nasser and his nationalist-socialist brand of Arab nationalism driven by anti-Imperi-
alism, socialism, neutralism, republicanism, and Arab unity7. Although many Pales-
tinians supported pan-Arabism hoping that it will bring them back their homeland,
Gamal Abdel Nasser was a great disappointment for many because he accepted the
Rogers Plan8. This was an important moment in which Palestinians realized they
have to look after themselves and not wait for salvation from their Arab brothers.
1
Anthony SMITH, Theories on Nationalism, 2nd edition, Duckworth, London, 1983, p. 21.
2
Fred HALLIDAY, Nation and Religion in the Middle East, Saqi Books, London, 2000, p. 54.
3
Ibidem, p. 45.
4
Ibidem, p. 48.
5
Ibidem, p. 46.
6
William L. CLEVELAND, A History of the Modern Middle East, Westview Press, Oxford,
2000, pp. 260-263.
7
Don PERETZ, The Middle East Today, Prager Publishers, Westport, Connecticut and London,
1994, pp. 148-149.
8
Rosemary SAYIGH, ”Palestinian Identity Among Camp Residents”, Journal of Palestine
Studies, vol. VI, no. 4, Spring 1977, p. 9.

316 DAN STOENESCU
The reasons that determined the emergence of a new Palestinian identity dif-
ferent from the Arab identity among Palestinian refugees are many and they are
influenced by socio-political and economical factors. Certainly the history of dis-
placement that differed from that of other Arab people, poverty, oppression, un-
certainty of Arab support, discrimination of Palestinians in other Arab countries,
and the development of new sub-regional identities among Arabs, all these were
determining factors in the emergence of a new Palestinian identity1. The tension
between Palestinians and the Arab world was one of sublimation and it forced
Palestinians to look for a transnational, transpolitical, transhistorical world in or-
der to find normality2.
Ever since the 1970s Palestinians stopped to consider themselves Arabs only,
as it used to happen during the Nasserite period, due to three decades of suffering
and a sense of disappointment with the Arab governments3. In spite of that, his-
torically many factions within the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) held
more of an Arab nationalist view and they never renounced the pan-Arab ideals al-
though Fatah itself was more inclined to adopt a more Palestinian nationalist ideol-
ogy. Even nowadays the most fervently pan-Arab members of the PLO are justify-
ing their views by stating that the Palestinian struggle must be an important ele-
ment in a pan-Arab movement. This was the case for the Marxist Popular Front for
the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), which not only considered the ”Palestinian
revolution” as the first stage towards Arab unity, but also as inseparable from a
world anti-Imperialist struggle.
According to Sayigh, beginning with mid-1970s, there is strong evidence that
shows that the new generation of Palestinian refugees – jeel al-nakba4 (the genera-
tion of the disaster) has a different sense of identity in comparison to their parents.
Compared to their parents that felt a sense of helplessness (from 1948 to 1968), this
sense of new identity is due to the fact that the new generation of children born in
exile are more politically motivated and they feel different from Syrians, Jordani-
ans, Lebanese and Egyptians although hate for Israel unites them5.
Musa Budeiri6 claims that Palestinian nationalism appeared much later than
other national movements and developed only after the Ottoman era and the Brit-
ish Mandate. Palestinian nationalism was a result of oppression and displacement
of Palestinians by the Israeli state and started to develop after 1967 in the refugee
camps. Therefore Palestinian nationalism is not native to Palestine itself but it is
rather a product of disillusion and hope of refugees in the camps, amongst intellec-
tuals of the Diaspora and PLO fighters.
Palestinian nationalism amongst refugees and amongst other Palestinians is a
clear statement of existential malaise expressed by the culture of fighting oppression.
1
Ibidem, p. 21.
2
Fawaz TURKI, ”Palestinians Estranged”, Journal of Palestine Studies, vol.5, no. 1/2, Autumn
1975-Winter 1976, p. 85.
3
Rosemary SAYIGH, ”Palestinian Identity…cit.”, p. 3.
4
Al-Nakba comes from the Arabic term meaning the catastrophe. This term defines the sum of
events prior to Israel’s declaration of independence and the 1948 Arab-Israeli War that erupted
following the invasion by neighbouring Arab states and resulted in flight or expulsion of over 700 000
Palestinian refugees and the destruction and abandonment of hundreds of Palestinian villages.
5
Rosemary SAYIGH, ”Palestinian Identity…cit.”, pp. 8-9.
6
Salim TAMARI, ”Fading Flags: The Crises of Palestinian Legitimacy”, Middle East Report,
no.194/195, ”Odds against Peace”, May-August 1995, p. 11.

For example ”folk rhetoric, the erotic delight of the glittering arabesques of swear
words in Palestinian phraseology”1 stopped being means of communications and
started to express this kind of national malaise. Furthermore, ”dancing the Dabki,
ululating at weddings, hysterics at public happenings”2 are not anymore expres-
sions of joy and abandon but they convey now rage and constriction.
In mid-1970s the concept of Palestinian nationalism was not very developed and
camp refugees had highly conflicting views about what does it mean to be a Palestin-
ian. Research conducted in Palestinian refugee camps observed the fact in order to
stress unity, there is no social differentiation among Palestinian refugees in terms of
the way they perceive themselves3. Furthermore in relation with other Arabs, Pales-
tinian refugees perceive themselves as Arabs but they emphasize that they have cer-
tain extra traits such as ”courage; readiness to sacrifice; faithfulness and education”.
Although these traits are also common to the perceived identities of other Arab peo-
ple, Palestinians see them more from a perspective of intensity of these traits since
they had to endure occupation and to fight for their freedom for many decades4.
The particularity of the historical experience of Palestinians created a very
unique kind of nationalism in which the experiences of oppression of the Palestini-
ans living in the Occupied Territories and those living elsewhere as refugees blend
and become essential. Because of these experiences many Palestinians have an im-
pulse to deny their identity:
”A Palestinian from Jaffa, born in Lebanon, who grew up in Kuwait,
held a Jordanian passport, studied in Cairo and came from Palestine is a per-
son with an acute crisis of self. He wants to flee-outward. He has hitherto in-
ternalized, individualized and stylized his discontent by letting it invade his
consciousness and catch flame only there. The outside world was not his”5.
Palestinian nationalism is rooted in the miseries and suffering of Palestinian

people thus forming a specific sub-culture and counter-politics of the refugee
camp. For many Palestinian refugees Palestine and being a Palestinian is not al-
ways something to be proud of. Sometimes being a Palestinian means ”work per-
mits, police permits, laissez-passer, neglect, isolation and exclusion”6.
The Palestinian refugee communities around the Arab world were considered a
threat to the stability of the political regimes of their host countries and the refugees
felt abandoned in the same time by Arab leaders. For example, in Lebanon the PLO
was a key player in the Lebanese Civil War (1975-1990) taking advantage of the high
numbers of Palestinian refugee camps in the country and thus loosing the compas-
sion of the Lebanese. By 1970, Palestinians, both Jordanian citizens and refugees,
were almost as numerous in Jordan as King Hussein’s own Bedouins. Arafat used
over 20 000 PLO fighters to exercise control over much of the Palestinian population.
Because of the terrorist activities of militant factions of the PLO, King Hussein was
forced to expel the organization since it became a threat to the country’s stability.
Also in Egypt Palestinian refugees are watched by the State Security since they are
the main suspects in illegal arms trade over the border to Gaza.
1
Fawaz TURKI, ”Palestinians Estranged”, Journal of Palestine Studies, vol. 5, no.1/2, Autumn
1975-Winter 1976, p. 88.
2
Ibidem.
3
Rosemary SAYIGH, ”Palestinian Identity…cit.”, p. 13.
4
Ibidem, pp. 18-19.
5
Fawaz TURKI, ”Palestinians Estranged”, cit., p. 83.
6
Ibidem, p. 84.

318 DAN STOENESCU
In this context, in the end of the 1970s, Palestinian nationalism developed

mainly among refugees and created a sort of radical nationalist identity like noth-
ing that existed before1. Historically it was shown that continued struggle can lead
to a sense of national solidarity. The best example of this solidarity is the emer-
gence of Palestinian nationalism, a sense of identity that transcends confessional
lines and even Arab identity, a solidarity that is intrinsically linked to the land of
Palestine and to the fight against oppression.
Palestinian nationalism was not only a product of Israeli repression but also
one of suppression on the side of host Arab governments. This was the case in Jor-
dan where following the September 1970 fighting, the anti-Palestinian general feel-
ing amongst native Jordanians created a back-clash amongst Palestinians thus
re-enforcing their sense of identity. Collective killing of Palestinians on the East
Bank aroused a sense of solitude and dispossession not only amongst them but
also amongst Palestinians in the West Bank that experienced the same alienation
under Israeli occupation.
By the summer of 1971, the Jordanian army crashed the Palestinian groups in
the country and once again many Palestinians had to find refuge elsewhere. Many
notable Palestinians went to the West Bank with Israeli approval2. The tragedies of
1970 and 1971 helped building a sense of unity among Palestinians from refugee
communities and the ones in West Bank and Gaza. Palestinian nationalism seemed
to be the ideological answer for fighting oppression either from the Israelis or from
some Arab states such as Jordan or Lebanon.
Another repression of Palestinian nationalist movement done by Arab govern-
ments was in Gaza, in the beginning of the 1960s. Although Nasser allowed Pales-
tinians to organize themselves very well in Egypt and actually strongly supported
them, the same kind of freedom was not allowed to them in the Gaza strip. The
main reason was a security fear amongst the authorities that the same kind of free-
dom of organization in Gaza would boost Palestinian nationalism and thus chal-
lenge the Egyptian occupation. Moreover, the Egyptian military developed strong
commercial ties with the Gazan elite thus having now economic reasons for keep-
ing Palestinian nationalism in check3.
Like many other forms of nationalism, Palestinian nationalism perpetuated it-
self not only through political ways but also through education and culture. For
example, a recent study on Palestinian textbooks reveals a new development of
Palestinian nationalism. The oppression and propaganda of Israel created a
counter-reaction thus giving an impetus to Palestinian nationalist forces. In Pales-
tinian textbooks the geographic extent of the Palestinian nation, includes all the
territory west of the Jordan River, while in many illustrations the slogan ”Jerusa-
lem Is Ours”4 appears. Furthermore the maps indicate only a Palestinian state ig-
noring the existence of Israel and thus, according to many Israeli scholars, promot-
ing a destructive kind of nationalism among Palestinian youth.
1
E.G.H. JOFFE, ”Arab Nationalism and Palestine”, Journal of Palestine Studies, vol. 20, no. 2,
June 1983, p. 167.
2
Issa AL-SHUAIBI, ”The Development of Palestinian Entity-Consciousness: Part II”, Journal
of Palestine Studies, vol. 9, no. 2, Winter 1980, pp. 69-70.
3
Laurie BRAND, ”Nasir’s Egypt and the Reemergence of the Palestinian National Movement’,
Journal of Palestine Studies, vol. 17, no. 2, Winter 1988, p. 43.
4
National Education, Textbook for the Sixth Grade, Palestinian Ministry of Education,
Ramallah, 2000-2001, p. 24.

Furthermore, Palestinian literature is a powerful venue for nationalism to be

propagated to the masses. In Palestinian poetry, Palestine is portrayed as a lover or
as a mother. For poets Palestine is far and wide, known and yet to be known, is al-
ways her, the breast to suckle, the lap to sit on, the power to appeal to in a moment
of crisis, a virgin garden1. Palestinian nationalism will always have sorrow at-
tached to it because even if someday Palestinians will have an independent home-
land it will be only a fragment of what Palestine used to be. ”Living in the ghourba,
having no homeland became for the Palestinians the homeland.”2
From Secular Nationalism

to Islamic Nationalism
Since the society in many Arab countries is culturally very traditional com-
pared to the West, the dimension of Islam was always significant for the people
but not that much for the secular governments. The 1967 defeat and the disap-
pointment of Nasserist policies created a new momentum for Islam, thus convert-
ing this ignored third part of Arabism3 in the dominant one. The influence of this
movement can be also observed in the metamorphosis of Palestinian nationalism
in the past two decades.
Joffe argues that in the case of Palestinians there are three conflicting identi-
ties: Muslim, Arabic and secular4. Moreover, after 1967 when Palestinian national-
ism developed more, the question of identity began to be divisive. Neither Arab-
ism nor secular ethnic nationalism, that led to Camp David as it was the case of
Egypt, proved to be solutions for the identity crises and problems of Palestinian
refugees. Therefore, from the perspective of many Palestinian leaders, the return to
”pure Islamic social organization”5 might solve the question of identity for Pales-
tinians in the occupied territories and in the refugee camps, thus integrating them
into the bigger Muslim World and giving them more hope.
From a historical perspective, Arabs, including Palestinians, always tried to
have Islam as a fundamental part of their Arab identity for several reasons. On one
hand, Peretz argues that Islam is seen as a way to resist the ”Christian” West from
the Crusades to the present day6, thus legitimizing religion as a factor that brings
freedom in the Arab world. Furthermore, for Muslims, Islam is more important
than any other concepts including nationalism. In order to understand why many
Muslims can not accept the idea of a nation, it is necessary to look into the concept
of the all-inclusive umma (community of believers), a concept that does not have
national borders and operates under the concept of dar-ul-islam (the house of Is-
lam) which differentiates between the believers and the infidels7.
1
Fawaz TURKI, ”Palestinians Estranged”, cit., p. 94.
2
Ibidem, p. 95.
3
Pan-Arabism became even more popular in the aftermath of the Iran-Iraq war since
Saddam Hussein managed to gather most of the Arab countries against the historical Persian
enemy. Although Iraq did not manage to take over the Arabic province of Khuzestan, the Arab
public sympathized with the Iraqis and their Pan-Arabic ideals.
4
E.G.H. JOFFE, ”Arab Nationalism…cit.”, p. 157.
5
Ibidem, p. 157.
6
Don PERETZ, The Middle East Today, cit., p. 155.
7
Sami ZUBAIDA, Islam, The People And The State, I.B. Taurus & Co. Ltd, London and New
York, 1993, p. 130.

320 DAN STOENESCU
Islamic thinking developed in mid-nineteenth century as a fight against Euro-

pean colonialism. Many Islamic thinkers blamed the corruption of Islam on the
Westernization of Middle Eastern societies and on colonialism1. Islamic scholars of
that time believed that:
”In the political domain, the invention of modernity lies in the emer-
gence of an autonomous political space, separate from both the religious and
private spheres and embodied in the modern, law-based based state”2.
The abovementioned ”law-based state”, nonetheless was a secular political sys-

tem in which religious law did not play any role. This system was the embodiment
of the West and its influence in the Muslim world. Many Islamic scholars of the 19th
and early 20th century considered this style of secular government as immoral and
corrupt, since it separated religion and religious law from the government.
This kind of ideas influenced Hassan Al-Banna, the founder of the Muslim
Brotherhood. Al-Banna was born in 1906 in Al Mahmudiyya, Egypt, and was
raised in a traditionally religious environment. Nevertheless through his schooling
he became familiar with modern western ideas3. The Muslim Brotherhood and Is-
lamic politics have a long historical relation to Palestine. Since the 1936 Great Pal-
estinian Revolt, the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt started paying attention to the
problem of the ”Zionist invasion” in Palestine4.
At a conference in 1936, the Muslim Brotherhood founded the General Central
Committee to Aid Palestine. Headed by Al-Banna, this committee was also meant as
protest against the British lenience towards the Zionists5 and to educate the masses
about Palestine6. Moreover, members of the Muslim Brotherhood formed militias in
Palestine, in order to attack Jewish settlements and supplying arms to local Palestin-
ian fighters7. This was the beginning of the Egyptian aid towards Palestine in the
years following the Great Palestinian Revolt, even though the Muslim Brotherhood
would not officially be founded in Palestine until 19468. The Muslim Brother’s
”efforts and their commitment to the Palestinian cause were driven by their
doctrinaire perspective and faith in the concept of one Islamic nation and the
brotherhood of all Muslims and the imperative to engage in jihad for the
cause of God”9.
1
J.M.S BALJON, Modern Muslim Koran Interpretation (1880-1960), E.J. Brill, Leiden, Netherlands,
1961, p. 3.
2
Olivier ROY, The Failure of Political Islam, trans. C. Volk, Harvard University Press,
Cambridge, MA, 1994, p. 8.
3
John L. ESPOSITO, Voices of Resurgent Islam, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1983,
pp. 9-10.
4
Khaled HROUB, Hamas: Political Thought and Practice, The Institute for Palestine Studies,
Washington D.C., 2000, p. 12.
5
Zionism also went through a similar process (secular and territorial) between the 1930s and
the 1950s. Later on after the 1967 and 1973 Wars, the religious nature of Zionism became even
more evident.
6
Ziad ABU-AMR, Islamic Fundamentalism in the West Bank and Gaza: Muslim Brotherhood and
Islamic Jihad, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, IN, 1994, p. 3.
7
Khaled HROUB, Hamas: Political Thought and Practice, The Institute for Palestine Studies,
Washington D.C., 2000, p. 13.
8
Hisham AHMAD, Hamas: From Religious Salvation to Political Transformation, PASSIA,
Jerusalem, 1994, p. 14.
9
Khaled HROUB, Hamas: Political Thought...cit., p. 13.

The activities of the Muslim Brotherhood were viewed favourably in Palestine,

and with the support of Hajj Amin Al-Huseini, the Brotherhood in Palestine was
able to grow efficiently. Moreover, it is important to note that the Muslim Brother-
hood’s approach towards the Palestinian issue was the motivating force that al-
lowed the growth of the organization in other Middle Eastern countries such as
Jordan and Syria1.
Even though the Muslim Brotherhood was one of the most combative groups
in the 1948 war, the organization did not join the armed resistance movement.
Hamas scholar Khaled Hroub states:
”The mainstream Brotherhood chose the alternative of consolidating the
power of its existing organization in the expectation that, when it succeeded
in its mission, it would liberate Palestine with the support of the Islamic
world. The Brotherhood felt it could appeal to the fact that Muslims every-
where had a sacred duty to save Jerusalem, which was the first qibla in Islam,
and to liberate the land of al-isra’ wal mi-raj”2.
Thirty years later, when Hamas broke from the Muslim Brotherhood, its lan-
guage and the ideological weight placed on the actual land of Palestine would be
particularly evocative of the Muslim Brotherhood in the years leading up to the 1967
Arab-Israel war. By the first Intifada of 1987, the aggravating situation in Palestinian
Territories reached its zenith, especially in Gaza after the Israeli army stormed the Is-
lamic University and opened fire, wounding many of defenceless students3.
The turn of Palestinians to political Islam was influenced by pre-existing cul-
tural orientations4 and it is closer to popular expectations, thus ensuring national
cohesion in a faster and easier way. In the Middle East, resurgence of political Is-
lam started with the 1979 Islamic revolution in Iran5. Since the Iranian revolution,
Islamic discourse has become a very powerful ideology of protest and Islamist
movements constitute the main opposition forces of opposition to the state in most
Middle Eastern countries. In the Palestinian case the blending of nationalism with
Islamic ideology is a natural process and represents no surprise since previously
all other venues of fight for liberation had been used.
Although about 90% of Palestinians are Sunni Muslims, Islamic political doc-
trines, never fully entered the Palestinian movement until the 1980s. From an Is-
lamic perspective, the struggle for Palestine was viewed exclusively from a reli-
gious standpoint, as a struggle to retrieve Muslim lands and the holy places of Al
Quds (Jerusalem). Nevertheless, in the late 1990s, Muslim sympathy with the Pal-
estinian struggle, led to many Islamic movements accepting nationalism as a justi-
fiable ideology. In the case of Hamas – the Palestinian offshoot of the Muslim
Brotherhood – Palestinian nationalism has almost completely blended with the
pan-Islamic ideology thus planting the seeds for a future Hamas control in the Pal-
estinian territories in 2006.
1
Ibidem.
2
Ibidem, p. 27.
3
Ibidem, p. 39.
4
5
Moreover Iran became a country exporting the Islamic Revolution believing that only this
way Muslims and non-Muslims can liberate themselves from the oppression of tyrants who serve
the interests of international imperialism. This has been especially true with respect to Iran’s
policy toward Lebanon, the strategic alliance with Syria and, to a lesser degree, its policy in the
Persian Gulf.

322 DAN STOENESCU
According to Joffe ”the Arab failure over Palestine has forced Arab popula-
tions back to indigenous sources of inspiration”1. Although Palestinian nationalism
and nationalism in general were antithetical to Islam, the persistence of Israeli
presence in the Palestinian Territories and the Western involvement in the Middle
East triggered an approach between Islam and Palestinian nationalism. The idea of
complementarity between Islam and Arab nationalism was stated by politicians
such as colonel Qadafi of Libya since 1982 and it was re-enforced by the rise of
radical Islamic movements around the Middle East in countries such as Lebanon,
Saudi Arabia or Egypt.
In order to increase its legitimacy and mobilize the Palestinians the PLO lead-
ership also started to use Islamic symbols and rhetoric in the 1990s. Yasser Arafat
was not only the first president of the Palestinian Authority or the leader of the
PLO; he was also the father of Palestinian nationalism. Although he was a secular
leader having a leftist background and ideology, Arafat did not hesitate to link his
nationalist ideology to Islam in order to advance his political agenda.
Although Arafat established the Fatah movement for Palestinian Liberation in
1959, the Israeli annexation of East Jerusalem in 1967 was the starting point for in-
corporating Muslim thought into his nationalist ideology2. This way Arafat was
trying to link the holy Muslim places of Jerusalem to the Muslim psyche and thus
trying to get involved in the Palestinian struggle all Arab and Muslim countries
who initially saw the Palestinian question as an Arab-Israeli affair. After Arafat’s
death, the fact that Palestinians wanted to bury him in Jerusalem, near the Noble
Sanctuary further shows the strong link national Palestinian symbols have with Is-
lam3. Another example of blending nationalism with Islamic ideology is the fact
that in the May 1992 elections for the Chamber of Commerce in Nablus, the na-
tional list ran under the title ”The National-Islamic Current”. Furthermore, Fatah
activists participated in rising of open Korans in their student council electoral
campaign at Al-Najah University in Nablus4.
As expressed by Fatah, Palestinian nationalism is Islamic in content and lacks
a proper social agenda. Therefore it was easy for many Palestinians to switch their
allegiance in the late 1980s from Palestinian secular factions to organizations such
as Hamas or Islamic Jihad, maintaining in the same time their nationalist ideology
and even considering it as complementary to Islam5. Moreover, the PLO and Fatah
lost massive popular support among the Palestinian people after they left into exile
in Tunis and after they became involved in the peace negotiations. For this reason
the increasing popularity of Hamas was no surprise.
Although Arafat tried to incorporate Islam into the Palestinian national move-
ment he did not entirely succeed simply because Islam was not the base for his po-
litical ideology. Khan argues that ”in order to create a good-cop bad-cop scenario
to deal with Israel” Arafat allowed Hamas to grow and thus endangering the unity
of Palestinian and creating a rift which may endanger the emergence of an in-
dependent Palestinian state6.
1
2
Muqtedar KHAN, ”Religious, Secular Divide Arafat’s Religious Legacy”, Science and
Theology, January 25, 2005, http://www.ijtihad.org/Arafat-Religion.htm (accessed on 02/05/2006).
3
Ibidem
4
Ronni SHAKED, Aviva SHABI, Hamas: Palestinian Islamic Fundamentalist Movement, Keter,
Jerusalem, 1994, p. 243.
5
Salim TAMARI, ”Fading Flags…cit.”, pp. 11-12.
6
Muqtedar KHAN, ”Religious, Secular…cit.”.

In 1987, on December 6th, an Israeli settler was stabbed to death by a member

of Islamic Jihad; in the frenzy that followed, on 8 December an Israeli truck ran
over 13 Palestinian workers returning home from work, killing four and wounding
nine. In the same day, in Jabaliya, the hometown of three of the workers people
started to protest. The protests spread across the Palestinian Territories and there-
fore 8 December is considered the start of the first Palestinian uprising, or Intifada1.
On 9 December, in Gaza, the members of the Political Bureau of the Muslim Broth-
erhood met to discuss earlier events.
Those present at this meeting – Sheikh Ahmed Yassin, ‘Abdul ‘Aziz al-Rantisi,
Salah Shehadeh, Muhammad Sham’ah, ‘Isa al-Nashshar, ‘Abdel Fattah Dukhan,
and Ibrahim al-Yazuri – decided that this was the best time to begin a confronta-
tion with Israel. Furthermore, the first communiqué from what would become
known as Hamas was issued2. Although Hamas was first considered the armed
wing of the Muslim Brotherhood, the growth of the organization, transformed
Hamas in an entirely separate body, even though its ideology clearly comes from
the Muslim Brotherhood’s beliefs.
Islamic Resistance Movement (known better by its Arabic acronym – Hamas),
played a vital role in the first Intifada (which erupted in December 1987), as well as
in the second Intifada (which erupted in September 2000). Through effectively com-
bining nationalist slogans with religious symbols, Hamas managed to mobilize
huge masses of people and gained their trust. The founding of Hamas in 1987 re-
flected the increasing power and influence of Islamism in Gaza and the West Bank.
In spite of the fact that Hamas draws its support mainly from marginalized groups,
its support base also includes representation from almost all social classes – intel-
lectuals and illiterate people; businessmen and fellaheen (farmers); laborers and
white-collar employees; the young and the old; women and men alike3.
In the new political context of 1987 it was absolutely necessary for Hamas to vali-
date{ the struggle with the Israelis as a Muslim obligation in direct connection with
the teachings of Islam. Such a validation came from the notion that Palestine was and
should be an Islamic state, and the occupation of Muslim Palestine was the main rea-
son to fight Israel. Hamas’s argument is based on the idea that the land of Palestine is
Muslim and should remain as such since it stated so according to Islamic law.
From its establishment Hamas had to deal with the opposing ideas of advocat-
ing for the establishment of a supra-national Islamic state based on the laws of the
sharia’a4 and in the same time fighting for the establishment of an independent Pal-
estinian state. Aburaiya argues that Hamas managed to establish itself as the main
political actor in the Palestinian Territories and draw support from Palestinian
refugees due to three main factors:
”First, the failure of the PLO to achieve what in the eyes of the majority of
the Palestinians consider as a minimum for political settlements with Israel.
Second, Hamas’ effective co-optation and Islamization of secular Palestinian
1
2
Ibidem.
3
Shaul MISHAL, Avraham SELA, The Hamas Wind – Violence and Coexistence, Tel-Aviv
University, Tel-Aviv, 1999, p. 9.
4
Sharia’a is the body of Islamic law and means ”way” or ”path”. It is the legal framework
within which the public and some private aspects of life are regulated for those living in a legal
system based on Muslim principles of jurisprudence. This body of Islamic law deals with all aspects
of daily life including politics, economics, banking, business law, sexuality and social issues.

324 DAN STOENESCU
nationalism. Third, Hamas’ ability to interpret Islam in a way that enables it

to maintain a balance between pure ideological discourse and vision and re-
alistic and pragmatic political behavior”1.
Moreover, Hamas was the first organization that introduced Islamic national-
ism into its political discourse.
After the Oslo accords of September 1993, Palestinian nationalism could also
be analyzed through its manifestations on the Palestinian street. Symbols always
comprise a very important part of any nationalistic movement and in terms of Pal-
estinian nationalism even the national symbols started to be influenced by Islam.
Such an example is the Palestinian flag. Forbidden during the Israeli occupation
the Palestinian flag proudly displayed in Oslo and immediately after the establish-
ment of the Palestinian Authority it became a symbol of unity and mass mobili-
zation. The flag also portrayed the ever-changing political situation of Palestinian
nationalism. For example, in mid 1990s, Hamas2 invented its own Palestinian flag
inserting the shahadeh (Muslim profession of faith) in the wide center strip to differ-
entiate it from the flag of Palestinian nationalism. The Hamas flags are very popular
with the masses nowadays.
Another shift of nationalist symbols towards Islamic symbols is the prepon-
derance of the Al Aqsa mosque in the Palestinian nationalist discourse. The dome
of the Al Aqsa Mosque is the logo of the Palestinian television channel while small
scale copies of the mosque are displayed at anti-Israeli demonstrations. After 2000,
when the second Intifada actually started at the Al Aqsa mosque, the mosque be-
came a nationalist symbol of resistance having in the same time powerful religious
significance not only for the Palestinians but also for all Muslims since it is one of
the holiest places of Islam. Moreover the mosque is also present as a symbol for the
al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades, a Fatah affiliated group that draws its ideology from
Arab nationalism3.
Furthermore a Hamas leaflet evokes the unforgivable loss of the ”blessed
al-Aqsa mosque” to Islam4. For Palestinian nationalism the Islamic symbols of Je-
rusalem became essential. On the centrality of Jerusalem to the Palestinians and the
need of it being controlled by Muslims, Hamas writes:
”In the event of al-Isra’ wal-Mi’raj, God placed the crown of the proph-
ets’ seal as the master of the men of the soil of Palestine. In no other capital
and in no other city on earth but Jerusalem did an event like al-Isra’ occur, so
that it might become the sister of Mecca in history and so that the Muslims
might know that the abandonment of Jerusalem is tantamount to the aban-
donment of Mecca and al Madina”5.
This kind of stance on Jerusalem unmistakably reflects Hamas’ practical endeav-

our to appeal to Muslims around the world. This appeal is a practical endeavour
1
Issam ABURAIYA, ”Hamas and Palestinian Nationalism”, p. 2, http://www.humanities.
uci.edu/history/levineconference/papers/aburaiya.pdf (accessed on 02/05/2006).
2
Salim TAMARI, ”Fading Flags…cit.”, p. 11.
3
”Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades, Palestinian Nationalists”, Council on Foreign Relations,
http://www.cfr.org/publication/9127/alaqsa_martyrs_brigades_palestinian_nationalists.html (accessed
on 02/05/2006).
4
”Leaflet No. 2”, in Shaul MISHAL, Reuben AHARONI, Speaking Stones: Communiques from
the Intifada Underground, Syracuse University Press, Syracuse, NY, 1994, pp. 204-205.
5
”Leaflet No. 8”, in ibidem, p. 217.

simply because unlike Palestine, which is not referred to in the Quran or hadith lit-
erature, the holy city of Jerusalem is recognized as the location of the ”furthest
mosque”, which Muhammad travelled to on his night journey1 and it was the place
of the first qibla (direction of prayer). Moreover, Hamas regards Palestine as the
most sacred place after Mecca and al-Medina, and giving up even a piece of it is
”to forgo the faith of the nation and of Islam”, and betrays prophet Muhammad
and all the martyrs of Islam2.
In the 2006 elections Hamas appeared in front of the electorate of the Palestin-
ian Territories with a political program based on a number of principles arising
from Islam since according to Hamas this is as consensus point among all Pales-
tinians as well as among the Arabs and Muslims in general. These principles recog-
nize Islam as a base for political, economical, social and legal development. More-
over they recognize historical Palestine as a part of the Arab and Islamic land and
the Palestinian people as one unit, part and parcel of the Arab and Islamic nation.
Hamas’ political program stresses the support for the resistance of Palestinians
against occupation and the future establishment of a complete sovereign Palestin-
ian state having Jerusalem is its capital3.
The text of Hamas’ 2006 political program also known as the list for Change
and Reform encompasses all areas of interests for the Palestinian people: guiding
principles, domestic policy, foreign relations, administrative reform and combating
corruption, legislative policy and judicial reform, public freedom and citizen
rights, educational and pedagogical policy, preaching and guidance, social policy,
cultural and media policy, woman, child and family issues, youth issues, housing
policy, health and environment policy, agricultural policy, economic, financial and
monetary policy, labour and workers issues, transportation and crossings4.
The Change and Reform list of Hamas became very appealing to the Palestinians
not only because of the need of a viable alternative to Fatah but also because during
the electoral campaign, in the beginning of 2006, verses from the Quran were cited fre-
quently in order to give a truly theological base to the political program. For example
Hamas’ 2006 political program refers to Islam and God so many times:
”Allah Says in the holy Quran and this (i.e. Allah’s commandments
mentioned in the above 2 verses 151 & 152) is My straight path, so follow it,
and follow not (other) paths, for they will separate you away from this path.
This He has ordaining for you that you may become Almuttaqin (pious) – Al
Anaam Surah 153”5.
In the introduction to the political program Hamas categorically states:

”Due to our conviction that we are defending one of the greatest bays of
Islam; due to our responsibility towards our struggling people and their holy
and just cause; due to our duty to contribute in reforming the Palestinian real-
ity, to alleviate the suffering of our brave people, consolidate their resistance
and protect them against corruption; and due to our hope to consolidate our
1
Quran 17:1.
2
”Leaflet No. 74”, in Shaul MISHAL, Reuben AHARONI, Speaking Stones...cit., p. 283.
3
HAMAS, ”The Text of Hamas Legislative Elections Program”, The Muslim Brotherhood
(Ikhwan) Official Website, www.ikhwanweb.net/images/Hamas_Program.doc, p. 2 (accessed on
16/11/2006).
4
Ibidem, p. 1.
5
Ibidem, p. 2.

326 DAN STOENESCU
national unity and to reinforce the domestic Palestinian front: we decided to

participate in the Palestinian legislative elections 2006”1.
The position of Hamas relating to the question of land in Palestine is one of

the most important examples of how a national issue is transformed by an Islamic
organization and becomes an issue with theological nuances going far beyond the
nationalistic discourse. In its political program Hamas’ claim to the land is made
based on Islamic legal principles. The Hamas view concerning the land is most evi-
dently articulated in its initial communiqués and charters2.
When Hamas was founded in 1987, its vision for Palestine was a land ”from
the river (Jordan) to the (Mediterranean) sea”. Moreover, the organization consid-
ered the entire Palestinian territory as a waqf land, meaning a property that has
been endowed for charitable purposes for an indefinite period of time. The notion
of waqf, and the group that uses the land is one of the key methods of engaging the
Palestinians on the Hamas side.
On 14 December 1988, in the first communiqué of Hamas, the organization
calls the ”Muslim masses” to fight in order to regain their land and rights in the
”homeland” and to restore the pride of the Palestinian nation3. Since Hamas was a
new group on the Palestinian political scene it was absolutely necessary for it to
gain legitimacy among the people that were already mobilized in the first Intifada.
Hamas had to establish itself among the nationalistic, secular groups fighting the
Israeli occupation. The novelty was that the new popular group held Islamic be-
liefs and became even more involved in the fighting, even more than older groups
such as the Islamic Jihad.
Since the beginning of 1988, Hamas’s political program began to visibly reveal
its Islamic identity. In its first communiqué that year, the organization already con-
siders Palestinians as being murabitun, Muslims whose duty is to defend the borders
during the early period of Muslim conquests4. In this leaflet, released by Hamas it is
written: ”O murabitun on the soil of immaculate and beloved Palestine”. Evoking the
past and linking it to the present is a way of obliging the Muslims of Palestine, to join
in the resistance and defend their ancestral Muslim land of Palestine5.
The historical approach is not new to Hamas. In most of the organization’s
rhetoric there are many links to the Crusades and the Western invaders, links that
are brought all the way to the present Western and Israeli involvement in Pales-
tine. Furthermore in this communiqué, Hamas denounces the Camp David Ac-
cords between Israel and Egypt and sees them as Egypt’s ”falling asleep” to the
Palestinian cause6.
The historical approach continues also in the second leaflet in which Hamas
evokes the loss of land in both 1948 and 1967. Again the murabitun are mentioned
but this time in a much sturdy way than in the previous flyer:
”Our people the murabit on its soil in which they have mingled their
blood with the blood of their ancestors, fighters of the holy war among the
1
Ibidem, p. 1.
2
3
”First Communiqué of Hamas”, in Khaled HROUB, Hamas: Political Thought...cit., p. 265.
4
”Leaflet No. 1”, in Shaul MISHAL, Reuben AHARONI, Speaking Stones...cit., p. 201.
5
Ibidem.
6

immaculate Companions of the Prophet (sahaba), and their righteous and

merciful descendents”1.
Strengthening foreign relations with Arab and Muslim countries is of primor-

dial and strategic importance for Hamas. This way the Palestinian nation is better
integrated into the Muslim Ummah. Furthermore, Hamas promotes in its foreign
policy an ”activation of the role played by Arab and Islamic masses to support the
resistance of people against occupation, and the refusal of normalization with the
enemy”2. Even in the third section of the 2006 political program, Hamas makes ref-
erences to the Ummah stressing the importance of fighting sectarian, local and
moral calls that seek to divide the Muslim Ummah. Only after making reference to
the importance of the relations with other Arab and Muslim countries and the im-
portance of the Ummah, Hamas’ foreign policy focuses on the international com-
munity and the fight for the Palestinian cause, the sovereignty of a Palestinian
state, the illegitimacy of the occupation and its consequences3.
In the light of secular nationalism, for many years, Palestinians considered them-
selves as being either Muslims or Christians, seeing no contradiction between their re-
ligious and ethnic identity. Historically, Palestinian nationalism is the main political
ideology for Palestinian Christians who disregard issues of religious identity or faith
in their political struggle. Most Palestinian Christians cultivate a secularist outlook in
order to strengthen the bonds of unity with their fellow Palestinian Muslim compatri-
ots. Most Palestinian intellectuals would agree that sectarian hatreds and interconfes-
sional bloodletting is absent among Palestinians and the Palestinians are united
against the Zionist occupier. In the 2006 elections some Christians even voted for
Hamas in order to protest the rampant corruption of the Fatah-led government.
In spite of the fact that many might consider Hamas an Islamic organization
that focuses solely on Muslims, Hamas’ political program mentions also the Chris-
tians who are considered as ”people of the book” (people mentioned in the Quran).
The Christians of Palestine are considered part of the Palestinian nation. The fight
against Israeli occupation is a common purpose for both Christian and Muslim Pal-
estinians. In the context of preserving the Palestinian presence in Jerusalem,
Hamas calls for ”resisting enemy attempts towards Jerusalem Judaization and pro-
tecting Palestinian Islamic and Christian holy places from Zionist desecration”4.
Furthermore, Hamas calls for ”keeping both Muslim and Christian Palestinian en-
tailments away from aggression and cheat as well as developing such entailments
in a way that suits their moral and materialistic values”5.
Taking into consideration the more recent blending of militant Islam and Pal-
estinian nationalism in the mainstream political discourse, the status of Palestinian
Christians is declining. In recent years, the resurgence of militant Islamism among
the Palestinians revealed that Christians are actually increasingly sidelined and
rendered largely irrelevant in the general struggle for the liberation of Palestine6.
The fact is that if the Islamists ever fulfilled their dream of defeating the Israelis the
1
”Leaflet No. 2”, Shaul MISHAL, Reuben AHARONI, Speaking Stones...cit., p. 204.
2
HAMAS, ”The Text of Hamas Legislative Elections Program”, cit., p. 4.
3
Ibidem.
4
Ibidem, p. 3.
5
Ibidem, p. 4.
6
Charles M. SENNOTT, The Body and the Blood: The Holy Land’s Christians at the Turn of a New
Millennium, Public Affairs, New York, 2001, pp. 409-450.

328 DAN STOENESCU
ideology of Palestinian nationalism will not protect the Christians from the oppres-
sion of the radical Islamist groups that are becoming even more powerful day by
day1. Furthermore, in 2006, the new Hamas cabinet obviously does not have any
important Christian members as Fatah used to have.
Islam forms the basis for the national development of Palestine in the view of
Hamas. All areas of society have to abide to Islam according to the party’s ideology
and political program. In terms of civil law, for example, Hamas stresses the impor-
tance of the Shar`ia courts (Islamic courts). As the bases of law in the Palestinian Terri-
tories Hamas advocates the need to pass laws originating from Islamic law and juris-
prudence in order to encourage the ”development of Palestinian Muslim society”.
Furthermore, Hamas calls for passing legislation related to Palestinian (Shar`ia)
religious courts at different levels, in order for these laws to be applied in the same
ways in the courts of Jerusalem, West Bank and Gaza. For example entailment law,
heritage law and laws regarding non Muslim factions are considered matters that
need to be dealt with in religious courts. Moreover, Hamas even supports a greater
representation of religious courts in the Palestinian constitutional court2.
In their policies regarding women, Hamas recognizes that the Palestinian
woman is not only a partner in building and development but also in Jihad and re-
sistance. Furthermore, Islamic education is considered by Hamas as essential for
women in order for them to have an ”independent character based on virtuous-
ness, modesty and moral obligation”3.
In terms of educational and pedagogical policy Hamas considers that it is the
duty of the young generation to determine the future of the Palestinian nation,
namely bringing freedom and independence. Therefore education is of outmost
importance for the Islamic organization. Although Hamas claims that ”education
should also go along with up-to-date systems”, Islam still remains the base of edu-
cation. Hamas considers that:
”Applying Principles on which the philosophy of pedagogy and educa-
tion is based, first of which, is that Islam is a comprehensive system that in-
cludes man’s welfare and that it preserves mans’ rights in parallelism with
community’s”4.
In the sixteenth section of Hamas’ political program dedicated to economic, fi-

nancial and monetary policy, again God is invoked:
”Allah (SWT) Says: ’Those who, when they spend, are not extravagant and
not niggardly, but hold a just (balance) between those (extremes)’ and: ’Allah
will deprive usury of all blessing, but will give increase for deeds of charity’”5.
In the epilogue of the political program, Hamas appeals directly to the voter in
order to convince the electorate that the organization is simply carrying God’s will:
”Dear voter,
When you are in front of the polls remember your responsibility be-
tween god hands […] You are entrusted with your testimony to choose your
1
Ibidem.
2
HAMAS, ”The Text of Hamas Legislative Elections Program”, cit., pp. 7-8.
3
Ibidem.
4
Ibidem, p. 6.
5
Ibidem

representative in the legislative council. When this representative speaks and

has the final word of the future, nation and religion; he expresses yourself, so
choose the best to please your generous god and your great prophet (Peace
Be Upon Him) […] Yes, choose the best to be happy and to please your peo-
ple God’s will. ’Islam is the solution’ is our way to change and reform. Our
program is our way to support the society which has been destroyed by the
occupation and protect its resistance. Our program is our way to support the
Islamic and national unity towards thorough national liberty. Our program is
the people’s and whole nation’s program”1.
The Hamas’ political program ends in a way that promises define rewards for
the Hamas voters:
”And say: Work (righteousness): Soon will Allah observe your work,
and His Messenger, and the Believers: Soon will ye be brought back to the
knower of what is hidden and what is open: then will He show you the truth
of all that ye did”2.
The continuing fighting in the Palestinian Territories and the low standards of
living brought the Palestinians closer to Hamas and gave them the power in 2006.
For the first time in the history of the Palestinian Territories the fight for independ-
ence and national self-determination was led by an Islamic party. Although, God
and nationalism came together under Hamas the prospects for liberating Palestine
through Islam seem bleak.
Conclusion
In the last decade, Middle Eastern scholars and political analysts have noticed
the emergence of a new kind of Palestinian nationalism – a spiritual and political
link that is evolving independently of state institutions and is following an Islamic
path. In 2006 this new Palestinian Islamic nationalism, permeated into the struc-
tures of the Palestinian Authority through the Hamas led government. Ironically
this new Palestinian Islamic Nationalism supports nationalism and Islam, two fea-
tures that historically seemed antithetical. The emergence of Palestinian Islamic na-
tionalism is not surprising since many Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza but
also the refugees, realize that PLO and its brand of secular nationalism did not
bring economic prosperity and independence for Palestine.
In its political discourse Hamas manages to use Palestinians’ claim to the land of
historic Palestine and makes it one of the most important aspects of its ideology. The
strength of Hamas does not come from their claim to the land of Palestine according
to the sharia’a, but from their aim to regain all of the land lost in 1948. This empowers
them and transforms its ideals truly into national ideals of the Palestinian people.
Since the Palestinians place a higher value on their ancestral land than any other na-
tion, allows for Hamas to use weak, fundamentalist arguments. Land, physically and
emblematically, defines national Palestinian identity and this exact fact gives Hamas
political strength. For this rationale, the link between the land and Palestinian na-
tional identity is crucial in understanding the shift towards Islam.
1
Ibidem, p. 14.
2
Ibidem.

330 DAN STOENESCU
This essay concludes that secular Palestinian nationalism was just a stage in
the development of Palestinian national identity and it can not succeed in the con-
temporary political situation of the region. The political circumstances transformed
the Palestinian nationalism into a Palestinian Islamic nationalism that sees the an-
swers in the Quran rather than in the traditional Nasserist ideology. Therefore,
nowadays Palestinian nationalism transformed itself and its adepts returned to the
traditional Islamic concepts in order to fight for the independence of Palestine.

Former le citoyen 331
Former le citoyen
La lecture roumaine d’un objectif européen
LIGIA LIVADĂ-CADESCHI
Au tournant du XVIIIe siècle, la société roumaine avait été prise d’une ardeur ré-
formatrice sans précédent, dont l’ampleur se laisse mesurer tant au niveau des domai-
nes visés, qu’à celui des échantillons sociaux qu’entraîne ce mouvement. Les Rou-
mains affirment leur appartenance à une Europe vue comme une entité politique et
culturelle porteuse de modernité et de progrès, aux antipodes de l’orientalisme otto-
man, barbare et despotique. L’enjeu essentiel de cette démarche est, sans nul doute,
un enjeu politique. Mais la tentation d’une régénération politique roumaine ne va
pas sans une nécessaire assomption de l’initiation de nouvelles constructions socia-
les, dont le principal promoteur aura été un personnage social tout aussi nouveau, le
sujet-citoyen, formé à l’école des valeurs européennes de l’époque. L’éducation,
l’instruction, l’école deviennent ainsi les principaux véhicules du renouveau.
L’intérêt porté à ces domaines n’était pas nouveau. Dès le milieu du XVIIIe siè-
cle, se mettant au diapason des idées des Lumières européennes, les princes pha-
nariotes s’étaient proposé d’exploiter les vertus politiques d’une instruction sco-
laire dont les échelons suivaient de près ceux de la hiérarchie sociale. Au niveau
européen, les préoccupations liées à l’enseignement primaire gratuit remontaient
au XVIIe siècle. Dans des établissements de bienfaisance ou dans des écoles primai-
res, les enfants pauvres recevaient un minimum d’instruction professionnelle et de
catéchèse visant à leur inculquer une attitude de soumission par rapport à la réalité
sociale existante1. Le XVIIIe siècle n’est pas non plus favorable à une scolarisation
des classes populaires, dans le vrai sens du mot2. Ce que l’on exige partout, à
l’époque, c’est une formation strictement professionnelle, précédée d’un enseigne-
ment général rudimentaire3.
Pour ce qui est des Pays Roumains, leur élite politique suivait sans nul doute
le rythme des idées de l’époque. Avant toutefois de donner des exemples en ce
sens, il convient de préciser que l’ensemble de notre démarche repose, quant aux
sources citées, sur des documents officiels, produits soit par les chancelleries prin-
cières, soit, plus tard, par les structures administratives supérieures, si bien qu’ils
rendent compte d’un certain nombre d’objectifs officiels, que les autorités es-
saient d’atteindre. En 1747, Grégoire Ghika II, prince de Moldavie, rappelait,
dans une charte d’organisation de l’enseignement, que, pour «le commun du
1
Jean-Pierre GUTTON, La société et les pauvres en Europe, PUF, Paris, 1974, pp. 152 et suiv.
2
À titre d’exemple: Mandeville (1705): «Les lumières augmentent et multiplient nos désirs
[…] La prospérité et le bonheur de chaque état exigent donc que les connaissances du pauvre
laborieux se terminent à ses seules occupations […] Chaque heure que les enfants pauvres
emploient sur les livres, c’est tout autant de perdu pour la société», apud Philippe SASSIER,
Du bon usage des pauvres. Histoire d un thème politique, XVIe-XXe siècles, Fayard, Paris, 1990,
p. 140 ou La Chalotais (1763): «Le bien de la société demande que les connaissances du peuple ne
s’étendent pas plus loin que ses occupations», apud ibidem, p. 140; l’idée apparaît aussi sous la
plume de Voltaire.
3
Jean-Pierre GUTTON, La société…cit., p. 168

332 LIGIA LIVADĂ-CADESCHI
peuple», fréquenter les écoles serait «fort profitable, tant du point de vue ecclésial,
que du point de vue politique»1. En 1775, Grégoire Ghika III, considérait quant à
lui que «puisque l’éducation rend les gens plus fidèles aux lois et à l’ordre social
[…], chez ces peuples [éduqués] on peut constater la bonne organisation des lois
politiques, l’essor des arts et métiers et une vie aisée et heureuse»2. La charte de ré-
organisation de l’enseignement en Valachie, donnée par Alexandre Ypsilanti en
janvier 17763, précisait que l’éducation scolaire était utile en ceci qu’elle rendait les
gens meilleurs citoyens, usant de leur raison et ayant comme seul but le bien com-
mun. Aux termes de la même charte, l’école princière de Bucarest allait accueillir et
abriter 60 boursiers pauvres, mais qui devaient être «nobles, à savoir fils de
boyards ruinés ou descendants soit de boyards, soit d’étrangers ruinés, mais en nul
cas roturiers ni paysans […] Quant aux fils de marchands et d’artisans, après avoir,
s’il le veulent bien, acquis des rudiments d’instruction, ils seront dispensés d’aller
à l’école et entreront dans un métier». Le document recommande, dans sa lettre et
dans son esprit, que les catégories sociales non privilégiées ne reçoivent qu’une
instruction élémentaire. Pour l’érudit grec Adamantios Coray, «il serait impossible
qu’ils deviennent tous des savants et, même si c’était possible, ce serait déraisonna-
ble. Que ceux qui veulent se retrouver loqueteux et mal chaussés enseignent donc
les mathématiques aux tailleurs et aux cordonniers»4; il serait cependant préférable
que la plupart des sujets sachent lire et écrire en leur langue maternelle.
Ces idées se perpétuent au siècle suivant. Dans sa charte de réorganisation de
l’enseignement de septembre 1814, le prince Jean Caradja affirme que «conserver
l’instruction est considéré comme le principal devoir de tout bon gouvernement»5,
et dans celle de 1818 que:
«L’éducation est le premier élément du bonheur» tant que «la préoccu-
pation du prince s’étend généralement à tous les échelons de la société et que,
préoccupé de fonder l’Académie, le prince ordonne que soient créées des éco-
les dans la langue du pays et qu’on y enseigne les différentes disciplines des
sciences et du savoir élémentaires»6.
Au début du XIXe siècle, l’Europe des Lumières devient le modèle plus ou

moins explicite de tous ceux qui souhaitent le renouvellement des anciennes struc-
tures. Au tournant du XVIIIe siècle, l’Europe avait déjà dépassé le modèle du bon
chrétien pour aborder l’éducation du citoyen discipliné, utile et patriote, apte à ré-
pondre aux nécessités économiques de l’époque, au sein d’une plus grande cohé-
sion sociale7. Pour ce qui est de l’instruction publique, les Roumains, comme les
1
V.A. URECHIA, Istoria Românilor, vol. I, Bucureşti, 1891, pp. 144-146.
2
Theodor CODRESCU, Uricariul cuprinzătoriu de hrisoave, anaforale şi alte acte din suta a XVIII
şi XIX, vol. I, Iaşi 1871, pp. 74-75.
3
La charte est publiée, en version grecque, par Eudoxiu HURMUZAKI, Documente privitoare
la istoria Românilor, vol. XIV-2, Bucureşti, 1917, pp. 270-278, en version roumaine par George
POTRA, Documente privitoare la istoria oraşului Bucureşti (1634-1800), Editura Academiei, Bucureşti,
1982, pp. 257-262; deux traductions de la version grecque ont été publiées par V.A. URECHIA, in
Istoria Românilor, cit., pp. 83-89 et vol. II, Bucureşti, 1892, pp. 154-160
4
Apud Ariadna CAMARIANO-CIORAN, Academiile domneşti din Bucureşti şi Iaşi, Editura
Academiei, Bucureşti, 1971, p. 43.
5
Apud ibidem, p. 52.
6
Nicolae IORGA, Istoria învăţământului românesc, éd. par Ilie Popescu-Teiuşani, Editura
Didactică şi Pedagogică, Bucureşti, 1971, p. 382.
7
Mirela-Luminiţa MURGESCU, Între «bunul creştin» şi «bravul român». Rolul şcolii primare în
construirea identităţii naţionale româneşti (1831-1878), Editura A 92, Iaşi, 1999, pp. 31 et suiv.

Européens, mettent l’accent sur l’éducation morale chrétienne, complément obliga-

toire de l’instruction scolaire élémentaire. Constantin Soutzo, membre du Comité
des écoles, soulignait dans un mémoire datant des années 1831-1832 que:
«En Valachie comme partout l’instruction pour produire des résultats
utiles, doit marcher étroitement unie avec l’éducation [...] (en) cette puissante
Europe éclairée dont nous faisons partie géographiquement, et que nous dé-
sirons imiter en institutions, en bonheur et en science [...], formée en principe
sur le système uniforme d’éducation morale de l’Évangile [...], toute
l’instruction n’est que de l’éducation. Dans les collèges, dans les maisons pa-
ternelles, dans les sociétés, un même esprit dirige l’enfant, le jeune homme,
l’homme fait; un même morale lui est inculquée, une même appréciation des
faits historiques ou contemporaine lui est donnée, un même but lui est indiqué
[...] sans cette harmonie, l’instruction combattant l’éducation et vice-versa,
nous n’aurons ni mœurs publics, ni science [...] ainsi point d’éducation, point
d’instruction»1.
Entre 1831 et 1858, l’administration des écoles s’approprie de façon unitaire

cette idée que:
«En ce XIXe siècle qui voit les nations européennes avancer rapidement et
sans interruption dans la voie du progrès et du perfectionnement, les plus im-
portants moyens d’avancer sont l’étendue de l’instruction populaire, assise sur
les principes de la religion et de la morale qui fondent les lois éternelles du bon
ordre, de la justice et de la vérité» (discours de Petrache Poenaru, juin 1841)2.
Au XIXe siècle, la tâche qui incombe au politique n’est pas celle de réformer les
structures sociales, mais de remodeler l’âme des classes populaires en les orientant
et en les dirigeant; le peuple n’est qu’un grand enfant qui risque de se nuire à
soi-même et de nuire à la société; il faut donc le protéger contre ses propres er-
reurs, et il est dans son intérêt de se soumettre, même malgré soi, aux règles qui le
sauveront de lui-même3. Le politique assume l’organisation de l’harmonie sociale.
Celle-ci passe par l’atténuation des conflits susceptibles d’apparaître entre les ri-
ches et les pauvres, par la recherche de remèdes contre la pauvreté; ces remèdes ne
relèvent pas des réorganisations sociales majeures ou structurelles, mais du remo-
delage de la sensibilité des classes populaires, dans le sens de l’appropriation et du
respect des valeurs sociales de l’ordre et de la stabilité. Les vertus sans lesquelles il
ne saurait y avoir de richesse – modération, prévoyance, économie – sont vitales
pour le peuple, et la classe possédante est le mentor le plus qualifié pour imposer
au peuple ces valeurs4.
Dans les Principautés, le fondement de toute l’instruction élémentaire publi-
que était explicitement la morale chrétienne. La patrie, en sa qualité de mère de la
nation, se substitue à la famille dans un effort pour éduquer et instruire les jeunes,
afin que leur uniformisation assure l’harmonie et le bonheur publics. La sécurité
du gouvernement s’appuie sur l’éducation et l’édification des citoyens: «Dieu a
confié aux parents l’éducation des enfants, […], c’est pourquoi le gouvernement,
dont le bonheur et la sécurité s’appuient sur l’éducation et l’édification de ses
1
V.A. URECHIA, Istoria şcoalelor, vol. IV, Bucureşti, 1901, pp. 260-262.
2
Mirela-Luminiţa MURGESCU, Între «bunul creştin» şi «bravul român»…cit., p. 48.
3
Philippe SASSIER, Du bon usage des pauvres…cit., p. 233.
4
Ibidem.

citoyens, s’est préoccupé, tel un père, de l’éducation du peuple en créant des écoles
publiques» qui transmettent les «devoirs chrétiens» et «une première instruction
obligatoire» (Circulaire du Conseil Exécutif du 22 décembre 1831 aux préfectures, pour
la création d’écoles selon les dispositions réglementaires)1. Les jeunes devaient être en-
couragés à fréquenter «les institutions scolaires publiques, lesquelles assurent
l’uniformité de l’éducation dans les sciences et dans les principes, fondement de
l’harmonie et du bonheur publics» (Rapport du Conseil du 25 octobre 1842, concernant
la façon dont les élèves sortis des écoles doivent occuper des postes au service de l’État)2 .
La même option idéologique se laisse découvrir dans les règlements et les pro-
grammes scolaires, conformément auxquels «les enseignants ne donneront point
de leçons contraires à la foi orthodoxe ou à l’autorité politique établie» (Règlement
pour la réorganisation de l’enseignement public de 1817)3.
La morale demeure la base de toute instruction publique, en vertu du but dé-
claré de celle-ci de produire «des chrétiens pieux, des citoyens fidèles et utiles à la
patrie»4. Les mêmes Instructions transmises le 20 juillet 1832 aux écoles primaires des
départements affirmaient que «le moral des jeunes étant le premier rameau dans
leur développement […] les enseignants prendront soin d’inculquer dans les cœurs
et les esprits des jeunes la pureté de pensée, l’amour de Dieu et du prochain, le
sens du devoir envers la patrie, le respect et la loyauté envers le prince régnant et
ses lois»5. Dans l’institut pour enfants orphelins, que les autorités essayèrent, sans
trop y parvenir, de mettre sur pied pendant une bonne cinquantaine d’années,
toute l’activité éducative aura eu pour but déclaré de cultiver et de préserver la
moralité des petits pensionnaires, futurs citoyens de l’État:
«Une attention toute particulière sera portée au maintien des bonnes
mœurs et à l’accomplissement des devoirs chrétiens, afin que la morale soit le
fondement de l’éducation et de l’instruction tant des garçons que des filles»6.
Dans le Règlement des écoles publiques de la Principauté de Moldavie de 1835, le

premier but de l’enseignement est de former des comportements sociaux désira-
bles; la transmission d’un savoir ne vient qu’ensuite:
«Toute éducation doit être fondée sur la religion et la morale […] Le haut
savoir acquis par l’instruction serait non seulement vain, mais pernicieux s’il
n’était doublé de hautes qualités de cœur. Cette vérité ne doit jamais être perdue
de vue par les gens chargés de l’enseignement public, dont la principale pré-
occupation sera d’insuffler aux élèves des sentiments de respect pour les
choses sacrées, l’obéissance aux lois et aux autorités établies, l’amour de
l’ordre et de la Patrie, en s’évertuant à faire de ces élèves des adultes plus hono-
rables qu’instruits. C’est ainsi qu’ils auront atteint le véritable but de l’instruction
et qu’ils se pourront se flatter d’avoir bien mérité de la Patrie»7.
1
Manualul administrativ al Principatului Moldovei, cuprinzătoriu legilor şi dispoziţiilor introduse
în ţară de la anul 1832 până la 1855, 2 vol., Iaşi, 1855-1856, vol. I, p. 15.
2
Ibidem, p. 57.
3
Apud Ariadna CAMARIANO-CIORAN, Academiile domneşti...cit., p. 57.
4
V.A. URECHIA, Istoria şcoalelor, vol. IV, cit., p. 324.
5
Ibidem, p. 326.
6
Proiectul Regulamentului pentru Institutul sărmanilor copii, pentru Institutul cerşetorilor, pentru
Casele ajutoarelor ce se împărţesc pe la săraci pela zile de sărbători mari şi la biserici şi schituri întrebu-
inţate, în Analele Parlamentare ale României, vol. II, Obicinuita Obştească Adunare a Ţărei Româneşti,
1831-1832, Imprimeria Statului, Bucureşti, 1892, p. 261.
7
V.A. URECHIA, Istoria şcoalelor, vol. IV, cit., pp. 389-421.

Quelques décennies plus tard, en 1860, Mihail Kogălniceanu réaffirmait de façon

tranchante ce point de vue: «L’instruction fait des savants, mais seule l’éducation
morale fait des citoyens»1.
Dans la première moitié du XIXe siècle, l’idée prévalait que l’homme remplit une
fonction spéciale et utile au sein de la société, si bien que l’enseignement devait être
adapté aux besoins publics, donc différencié selon les rôles sociaux impartis et idéale-
ment assumés par chaque individu. Aux termes du même règlement de 1835:
«Recevoir une bonne éducation est le besoin principal d’un peuple, le
fondement et la garantie de la durabilité de ses institutions publiques […];
rien de plus utile ni de plus important pour notre patrie qu’une éducation
convenable et adaptée aux jeunes de toutes les classes. Tout individu, qu’il
soit ouvrier ou artisan, laboureur ou fonctionnaire, homme d’église ou mili-
taire, aura toujours une certaine influence sur la société. Cette influence sera
nuisible si le savoir et la moralité des membres du corps social n’ont pas été
cultivés conformément aux besoins de la vie en société»2.
Un projet identique avait été publié en Valachie. Une dizaine d’années plus
tard, un autre projet de réorganisation de l’enseignement en Moldavie, reprend
tout en accentuant les mêmes idées:
«L’enseignement public a pour rôle de doter l’individu de connaissan-
ces utiles tant à lui-même qu’à son pays […] et de le rendre apte à contribuer
au progrès de la société dont il fait partie [...] Le but principal de l’éducation
est de préparer chaque individu de la façon la plus appropriée, selon sa vo-
cation et selon la classe à laquelle il appartient [...] Dans la vie morale, tout
comme dans la vie naturelle, si nous dispensions la même instruction à tou-
tes les catégories sociales, qui vivent dans des circonstances différentes,
nous nous éloignerions de la vérité et nous tomberions dans les mêmes in-
convenances que si nous donnions la même nourriture à des espèces biologi-
ques différentes. Donner à chacun ce qui lui est utile et peut servir à son
existence, selon ses besoins et sa vocation, tel est le seul véritable fondement
sur lequel il convient d’asseoir un système d’enseignement» (décret de Mi-
chel Sturdza du février 1847)3.
Les jeunes issus des classes industrielles devaient donc suivre quelques années
d’enseignement primaire, alors que ceux issus des classes aisées devaient se préparer
aux emplois publics (politique, administration, magistrature, armée). Cette idée est re-
prise par le Décret de Barbu Ştirbey du 17 octobre 1850, où l’instruction est envisagée
comme un moyen, et non comme un but en soi; elle n’est utile que dans la mesure où
elle rend l’individu capable de remplir une fonction spéciale, au profit de la société à
laquelle il appartient; l’instruction, continuellement adaptée aux nécessités publiques,
doit avoir un caractère national et suffire à chacune des classes sociales4.
Ayant pour but de produire des cadres pour l’État moderne, l’instruction sco-
laire, différenciée selon le statut social de celui qui la reçoit, est en même temps en-
visagée comme un moyen de progrès économique. Petrache Poenaru, directeur des
écoles de Valachie, rappelait dans un discours que «le jour n’est pas loin où, chez
1
Apud Mirela-Luminiţa MURGESCU, Între «bunul creştin» şi «bravul român»…cit., p. 56.
2
Petru RÂŞCANU, Istoria învăţământului secundar, Iaşi, 1906. p. IX.
3
Ibidem, pp. XXXI-XXXII.
4
V.A. URECHIA, Istoria şcoalelor, vol. III, Bucureşti, 1894, p. 22.

les Roumains, l’instruction élémentaire sera la fortune des enfants les plus pau-
vres»1. Les écoles de spécialités, autrement dit l’enseignement pratique, contribue-
raient à renforcer «la classe moyenne, la seule qui puisse assurer et garantir la force
et l’essor de l’État»2. Pour P. Poenaru, l’éducation devient non seulement un mo-
teur du progrès, mais aussi un moyen pour les Roumains de se brancher à la civili-
sation européenne:
«En cette époque de compétition générale dans la voie du progrès, les
écoles roumaines pressent le pas chaque jour de plus en plus. Une fois que les
nations de l’Europe, au nombre desquelles compte la Principauté de Rouma-
nie, ont étendu leurs lumières jusqu’à leurs confins, tout peuple qui, au mi-
lieu du progrès général, resterait inerte est condamné à disparaître. Selon les
principes de sa Religion, la nation roumaine est elle aussi appelée à cet avenir
brillant qu’attend la grande famille des nations chrétiennes»3.
Avec de probables contaminations dont les sources ne se laissent pas dévoiler

ou des renvois théoriques très clairs au modèle européen général, il existait une pré-
occupation pratique constante pour assumer ce modèle. Dans les années 1820, on en-
voya étudier à l’étranger (en Italie, puis en France) les premiers bénéficiaires de
bourses publiques; ceux-ci s’obligeaient à entrer, à leur retour, dans la carrière didac-
tique, dans le but d’harmoniser l’enseignement roumain avec l’enseignement euro-
péen occidental. Constantin Moroiu, «professeur public de droit à l’école roumaine
de „Sf. Sava“», auteur d’une Dissertation pour l’amélioration de la prison de Bucarest,
avec un bref aperçu du système pénitentiaire anglais et une instruction pour son départe-
ment criminel, rédigée entre 1827 et 1829, fut l’une des figures de marque du mou-
vement d’idées que nous venons de décrire succinctement. Il fut, d’une part, l’un
des premiers boursiers que l’État roumain envoya à l’étranger, dans le but déclaré
d’importer dans l’espace autochtone les lumières occidentales et d’édifier un ensei-
gnement roumain branché aux valeurs européennes de l’époque. D’autre part, fidèle
à l’engagement pris avec l’Administration des écoles, C. Moroiu resta attaché à
l’enseignement, depuis son retour au pays jusqu’à sa mort, même s’il se vit confier
d’importantes fonctions administratives et politiques. En quelque qualité qu’il agît, il
se montra un adepte constant du renouveau des structures juridiques – puisque telle
était sa formation – par l’adoption des modèles européens aux réalités roumaines.
C. Moroiu naquit en 1800 dans la famille d’un prêtre bucarestois. Il mourut en
1847. Elève de Gheorghe Lazăr, il fut donc l’un des quatre premiers boursiers de l’État
roumain à l’étranger, à savoir à Pise (en Italie) aux côtés de Eufrosin Poteca, Ioan Pan-
deli(e) et Simion Marcovici. Moroiu fut le seul à avoir terminé des études de droit, au
bout desquelles il obtint le titre de docteur. À partir de 1825, il fut professeur à «Sf.
Sava». Il enseigna tout au long de sa vie le droit romain, la spécialité dans laquelle il
s’était formé en Italie et, en 1835-1836, il donna également le cours de droit pénal.
Du point de vue de la famille d’esprits à laquelle il appartiendrait, C. Moroiu
s’intègre au mouvement philanthropique européen qui présentait déjà, au début du
XIXe siècle, des accents hygiénistes. «L’amour de l’humanité» ou, en roumain, iubirea
de omenire, est pour Moroiu non seulement l’assise des vertus sociales, mais aussi le fon-
dement de toute politique correcte. Ses écrits témoignent d’une fascination sans équi-
voque pour les modèles européens de droit pénal et d’organisation pénitentiaire:
1
Ibidem, vol. II, Bucureşti, 1893, p. 108.
2
Ibidem, vol. III, cit., p. 156.
3
Apud Mirela-Luminiţa MURGESCU, Între «bunul creştin» şi «bravul român»…cit., p. 51.

«L’amour de l’humanité, assise des vertus sociales, qu’éprouvent actuel-

lement dans presque toute l’Europe éclairée toutes sortes de personnes,
confirmé par les saints Évangiles entre les vrais chrétiens […], consacré dans
toute législation politique, est devenu aujourd’hui le point principal de la
douceur des administrations européennes et le conseiller des gouvernements,
contribuant à parfaire la sécurité des peuples qui vivent sous le sceptre pater-
nel de leurs dirigeants.
Comme vous l’imaginez, je ne saurais souffrir que seuls les fils de la Va-
lachie, véritables descendants des Romains, soient privés des effets salutaires
de l’amour de l’humanité»1.
Vers la moitié du XIXe siècle, les autorités administratives des Principautés

recommandaient que les plus doués des orphelins élevés aux frais de l’État soient
envoyés faire des études dans les académies de l’Europe: «Tous les enfants pau-
vres qui seront élevés dans cet établissement seront considérés comme apparte-
nant à l’État, si bien que le gouvernement pourra les utiliser comme il lui plaira,
selon ses besoins, tout en tenant compte de leurs propres inclinations». À l’âge de
sept ans, les enfants commençaient à recevoir l’instruction élémentaire (lecture,
écriture, catéchèse et les quatre opérations arithmétiques). À partir de douze ans,
les garçons devaient «entrer en apprentissage ou dans l’armée […] et ceux qui se
signaleront par leurs qualités d’esprit seront mis à l’école nationale et termineront
leurs études dans les académies de l’Europe, afin soit d’en ramener au pays les
sciences et les métiers dont nous manquons, soit d’entrer au service de l’État»2.
L’effort pour assurer aux enfants abandonnés une utilité sociale précise corres-
pond nettement au modèle européen contemporain. En 1836, la Société des éta-
blissements de France lançait un concours sur le «meilleur mode à adopter pour la
conservation et l’éducation des enfants trouvés et pour en faire des membres uti-
les à la société»3.
Le mirage du modèle européen dépasse la sphère de l’administration pour se
répandre parmi les particuliers. À la fin du siècle, Ion Ionescu de Brad fondait une
école agricole pour les orphelins, sur le modèle d’établissements semblables exis-
tant en France ou en Suisse. Ceux-ci se réclamaient de la nouvelle philanthropie
scientifique et positiviste, qui avait beaucoup d’adeptes dans l’espace roumain, no-
tamment parmi les médecins (le mouvement hygiéniste):
«Suivant l’exemple des orphelinats agricoles et des établissements phi-
lanthropiques de France et de Suisse, nous tâcherons de payer, par le travail
des enfants pauvres, tous les frais de leur entretien; ainsi les pauvres auront
l’occasion de s’instruire, de devenir des membres utiles de la société par la
sage économie de leur temps et de leur capacité de travail […] et nous intro-
duirons dans notre pays ce grand principe de philanthropie bien comprise»4.
1
Ovid STĂNCIULESCU, Cercetări asupra regimului penitenciar român din veacul al XIX-lea.
Cu un studiu necunoscut al lui Constantin Moroiu, «profesor obştesc de legi la şcoala rumânească de la
Sf. Sava», Cluj, 1933, pp. III-IV.
2
Proiectul Regulamentului pentru Institutul sărmanilor copii ..., in Analele Parlamentare ale Româ-
niei, vol. II, Obicinuita Obştească Adunare a Ţărei Româneşti, 1831-1832, p. 261.
3
Catherine DUPRAT, Usages et pratiques de la philanthropie. Pauvreté, action sociale et lien
social à Paris, au cours du premier XIXe siècle, vol. II, Comité d’histoire pour la sécurité sociale,
Paris, 1997, p. 1188.
4
Ion IONESCU de la BRAD, Şcoala particulară de agricultură sau Orfelinatul agricol de la Brad,
Bucureşti, 1870, p. 9.

Pour les boyards philanthropes de la première moitié du XIXe siècle, la bonne

gestion des œuvres charitables, y compris de celles ayant trait à l’enseignement,
était non seulement un signe de progrès, mais aussi une preuve de patriotisme:
«Plus les nations progressent, plus les institutions philanthropiques ré-
ussissent. C’est donc en les protégeant que les gouvernants patriotes manifes-
tent non seulement leur amour du prochain, mais aussi leur préoccupation
pour le bien commun»1.
Le prince même (Alexandre Dimitrie Ghika), en saluant les hauts sentiments

des personnes engagées dans l’organisation et le fonctionnement de cette nou-
velle branche de l’administration, qualifie de biens patriotiques2 les établissements
placés sous le patronage de celle-ci. Quant aux sacrifices que fait l’État pour assurer
l’éducation des enfants (orphelins), afin que ceux-ci «atteignent l’âge où l’individu
peut se montrer utile à sa Patrie et à ses concitoyens»3, ils s’inscrivent dans la
même logique de l’utilité commune, vue comme une dimension essentielle du ci-
visme et du patriotisme.
1
Buletin Gazetă Oficială, Ţara Românească, no. 24, 3 avril 1838, pp. 93-94.
2
Ibidem, no. 143, 12 mars 1838.
3
Ibidem, no. 118, 24 décembre 1843, pp. 470-471.

Élections et électeurs aux XIXe et XXe siècles 339
Élections et électeurs aux XIXe et XXe siècles

Une généalogie de l’étude électorale en Roumanie
ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
Question moins connue et ayant jusqu’ici suscité un intérêt moindre parmi les
chercheurs du domaine des études électorales, les données sur les élections organi-
sées à partir du XIXe siècle et jusqu’en 1989, fabriquées ou réelles et quelque incom-
plètes et imprécises qu’elles soient en général, ne sont pas totalement dépourvues
d’utilité. Elles permettent en effet la construction des portraits des premiers élec-
teurs roumains et la reconstruction du contexte politique et électoral de l’époque.
Bien qu’un bon nombre d’ouvrages aient abordé la question électorale dans une
perspective historique ainsi que du point de vue du droit constitutionnel, il reste à
présenter, non pas les élections telles quelles, de manière chronologique, ou encore
l’évolution du système électoral, mais bien la façon de relater, d’analyser et de
comprendre ces évènements en leur temps. Ceci dit, il serait intéressant, d’une
part, de poser un regard analytique sur ces évènements électoraux, en essayant de
déduire, à travers la littérature électorale d’archives, les modèles de vote et, d’autre
part, de saisir le niveau de connaissance en matière de théorie et d’analyse électo-
rale1 existant à l’époque.
Étant donné ces deux principaux objectifs de recherche, dans le cadre de la pré-
sente démarche généalogique qui remonte aux premiers constats et réflexions sur le
phénomène électoral en Roumanie, la bibliographie appartenant aux années investi-
guées a été privilégiée; les publications récentes, tant roumaines qu’étrangères, ont été
prises en considération secondairement et citées en complément d’information.
1831-1938.
LES ÉTUDES DES PRÉMIÈRES ÉLECTIONS ROUMAINES
Qui votait?
De manière générale, le profil des participants aux premières élections rou-
maines du XIXe siècle était précisément établi par les lois électorales. Connaître les
dispositions fixant les conditions d’accès au vote c’est donc implicitement connaî-
tre les catégories sociales auxquelles les électeurs appartenaient. De plus, puisque
la représentation politique se forgeait alors nettement sur les divisions sociales,
1
Il faut noter que la plupart des publications consacrées au sujet des élections, parues à
l’époque pré-parlementaire, étaient des études statistiques, constitutionnelles et historiques. En
1914, parait un tome de C.D. DIMITRIU, intitulé Ancheta Electorală alcătuită pe baza listelor electorale
din 1911 cu Câteva observaţiuni asupra rezultatelor şi Un studiu asupra desvoltării regimului electoral în
România, Imprimeriile «Independenţa», Bucureşti. Tout de même, le terme d’enquête électorale,
utilisé dans le titre, même s’il nous fait penser à l’une des méthodes de la sociologie électorale,
était loin d’y faire référence. Il s’agissait plutôt d’un rapport statistique.

340 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
cela équivaut également à connaître, de manière plus ou moins exacte, les options
politiques des différentes classes.
Dans les Pays Roumains, le Divan, formé par les riches de premier rang, a re-
présenté la première assemblée délibérative. Au début, le Divan remplissait une
fonction uniquement consultative – en tant que Conseil du Prince – et non pas élec-
tive. L’évolution de l’institution vers le Parlement bicaméral a été simultanée avec la
croissance de l’importance de son étude. Une série de publications du début du XXe
siècle ont présenté l’évolution structurelle et fonctionnelle de l’Assemblée, comme
conséquence du développement du cadre constitutionnel roumain. Une chose est
sûre, plus l’intérêt pour le vote s’accroît, plus on s’intéresse à l’historique des élec-
tions dans les Pays Roumains, ce qui permet à Ilie Gănescu, Const. Gr.C. Zotta et
Alex. Kostachi de réaliser, en 1937, une chronologie des élections depuis 18051; leur
ouvrage comprend également toutes les dispositions électorales fixant les procédu-
res de vote. L’étude des élections se régionalise quand Nicolae Firu centre son atten-
tion sur le cas particulier de la ville d’Oradea2. Feuilletant son volume paru en 1940,
on découvre des informations importantes sur le nombre des fonctionnaires publics
de nationalité roumaine nommés à Oradea depuis 17003. Le type d’archives utilisées
par l’auteur présente une grande utilité pour l’étude des régimes politiques et des
structures dirigeantes des sous-unités administratives des Principautés Roumaines.
Le Règlement Organique de 1831, œuvre de l’oligarchie des deux Pays Rou-
mains sous protectorat russe, la Moldavie et la Valachie, accordait le droit d’élire
les représentants à une assemblée élective, Obşteasca Adunare, qui jouait le rôle d’un
Parlement unicaméral, composé par les riches et les membres du haut clergé, man-
datés au sein même de leur classe. Puisque l’Assemblée législative ainsi constituée
ne représentait pas le pays, mais la classe des électeurs, le régime instauré par le
Règlement était plutôt un «régime représentatif de classe», selon la formule utilisée
par Gheorghe Tătărescu en 19124.
En Roumanie, le régime représentatif commence à se profiler plus clairement
avec la Convention de Paris de 1858 et les Divans ad-hoc – organes représentatifs
«des intérêts de toutes les classes de la société»5. Cette fois, le pouvoir législatif est
exercé à la fois par le monarque, une commission des membres de droit (les évê-
ques et les métropolites de chaque principauté) et par l’Assemblée élective. La
condition pour être élu dans cette Assemblée était double: avoir plus de 30 ans et
un revenu annuel de 4800 francs. Trois collèges composaient le corps électoral; le
premier réunissait les électeurs directs des départements, le deuxième les électeurs
de second rang des départements, et le dernier était le collège des électeurs des
villes. En dépit de l’importante évolution que la Convention de 1858 apportait au
1
Ilie GĂNESCU, Const. Gr.C. ZOTTA, Alex. KOSTACHI, Dreptul electoral român, Institutul
de Arte Grafice «Vremea», 1937.
2
Nicolae FIRU, Elementul românesc în conducerea oraşului Oradea. 1700-1850, Tipografia
Diecezană, Oradea, 1940.
3
En 1724, 3-4 Roumains ont été élus dans le Sénat de la ville. Si en 1731 dans le Sénat se
retrouvaient 8 Roumains de loi grecque, en 1732-35 le nombre baisse à 1 seul Roumain. Les
élections de 1756-1758 favorisent la liste des Roumains mais, après l’instauration du régime
dualiste hongrois, les Roumains n’ont plus été élus que pour des positions secondaires, étant ainsi
exclus des affaires publiques. Ibidem, pp. 13-30.
4
Gheorghe TĂTĂRESCU, Regimul electoral şi parlamentar în România, trad. roum. D. Răzdolescu,
Editura Fundaţiei PRO, Bucureşti, 2004, p. 23. Le livre comprend la thèse de doctorat en droit que
l’auteur a défendue en 1912.
5
Art. 24. de la Convention de Paris de 1858.

système électoral roumain, le critère censitaire rendait «illusoire» la représentation

de la classe la plus nombreuse (85%), celle des paysans, constatait Tătărescu en 19121.
Les chiffres électoraux le démontraient clairement. Ainsi, dans la Valachie, d’une po-
pulation de 2 500 000 habitants, 0,095% exerçaient le droit de vote (2394 citoyens) et
en Moldavie il y avait 1744 électeurs (0,087%) pour une population de 2 000 000 per-
sonnes2. La Convention maintenait, donc, le caractère aristocratique du vote3.
Huit ans plus tard, la Loi de 1864, introduite par Alexandru Ioan Cuza, impo-
sait des conditions de cens si dures qu’il y a eu des cas de circonscriptions où un
seul électeur avait le droit de voter4. Toutefois, le régime électoral censitaire n’était
pas unitaire, mais différencié. Ainsi, l’électorat urbain payait un impôt presque
deux fois plus grand que celui de l’électorat rural. De plus, la loi dispensait certains
électeurs directs de l’obligation du cens, à condition qu’ils appartiennent à l’une
des catégories professionnelles suivantes: prêtres, professeurs des académies et col-
lèges, docteurs et autres diplômés ayant obtenu leur maîtrise dans certaines fa-
cultés bien précises, ingénieurs, architectes reconnus par le gouvernement, institu-
teurs des écoles publiques ou dirigeants des établissements d’éducation privée et, à
nouveau, reconnus par le gouvernement. En 1864, il s’agit, donc, soit d’un électeur
cossu (remplissant le critère du cens), soit d’un électeur éduqué (répondant au cri-
tère capacitaire), le plus jeune ayant obligatoirement l’âge de 25 ans.
La Loi électorale de 1866 divisait ensuite l’électorat en quatre collèges, différen-
ciés sur le critère de l’impôt versé au bénéfice de l’État. Bien entendu, le pouvoir élec-
tif augmentait du IVe au Ier Collège; ce dernier apportait les contributions les plus im-
portantes. En plus, concernant le IIIe Collège, la loi prévoyait comme condition
d’exemption du cens l’appartenance à l’une de ces catégories: les professeurs, les pro-
fessions libérales, les officiers en retraite et les retraités de l’État5. Les électeurs de-
vaient également être nés ou naturalisés Roumains et avoir 21 ans. Le droit de vote ne
pouvait pas être exercé par les personnes indignes, par les servants à gages et les men-
diants. Aux éligibles à l’Assemblée des députés et au Sénat on imposait des condi-
tions tant générales (être Roumain par naissance ou naturalisation, etc.) que particu-
lières: les députés avaient au moins 25 ans et les sénateurs, 40; ces derniers, en plus,
devaient faire la preuve d’un revenu annuel de 800 pièces d’or ou ducats6. La Consti-
tution spécifiait que les membres des deux assemblées représentaient la nation, non
seulement le département ou la localité qui les avait élus7. Toutes ces dispositions fu-
rent rigoureusement expliquées en 1878, par Al. Creţescu8.
1
Gheorghe TĂTĂRESCU, Regimul electoral…cit, p. 26.
2
Filon MORAR, Democraţia privilegiilor. Alegerile aleşilor în România, Paideia, Bucureşti, 2001,
p. 20.
3
Une série de textes datant de la moitié du XIXe siècle illustrent la préoccupation de la classe
du milieu politique pour des questions actuelles, voire de nos jours: la responsabilité des
ministres, la légitimation de la représentation, la popularisation du gouvernement, etc. Radu
CARP, Ioan STANOMIR, Laurenţiu VLAD, De la «pravilă» la «constituţie». O istorie a începuturilor
constituţionalismului românesc, Nemira, Bucureşti, 2002, p. 91.
4
George ALEXIANU, «Regimul electoral în România», in Enciclopedia României, vol. I,
Imprimeria Naţională, Bucureşti, 1938, p. 235.
5
Ibidem, pp. 236.
6
Chap. I, art. 66, art.74 de la Constitution de 1866. Constituţiune. Legea Electorale, Imprimeria
Statului, Bucureşti, 1873.
7
Chap. I, art. 13 de la Constitution de 1866.
8
Al. CREŢESCU (éd.), Comentariu asupra Legii Electorale din 1866, a Doua Ediţiune cu
Corecţiuni şi multe adause între cari Legea interpretativă din 22 Aprilie 1878 şi Jurisprudenţa Curţii de
Casaţiune, Stabilimentul pentru Artele Grafice Socecu, Sander & Teclu, Bucureşti, 1878.

342 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
Des importants amendements introduits par la Loi électorale de 1866 visaient

la séparation du pouvoir exécutif par rapport aux opérations électorales, la consti-
tution d’organismes électoraux neutres et la garantie de l’indépendance des élec-
teurs1. Bien que le suffrage universel n’ait pas été alors adopté, il a constitué quand
même l’objet d’une préoccupation constante de l’Assemblée Constituante dont les
débats ont été publiés en 1883 par Alexandru Pencovici2; l’une des citations rete-
nues par l’éditeur, et appartenant au rapporteur Aristid Pascal, résume la concep-
tion générale sur la question de l’extension du droit de vote:
«L’adoption du suffrage universel, sans la séparation en plusieurs col-
lèges des électeurs ayant un degré différent de culture et des intérêts diffé-
rents, suppose la paralysie ou l’annihilation des votes des classes intelligen-
tes et cultivées, qui sont, partout, beaucoup moins nombreuses que cette
classe-là où on n’a pas pu soigner l’éducation et où les lumières n’ont pas pu
être si répandues»3.
La Loi de 1884 adoptait une nouvelle formule de division de l’électorat, en

trois collèges. Les membres du IIe Collège (les retraités de l’État, les officiers en re-
traite, les professions libres et les personnes ayant obtenu un diplôme de
l’enseignement primaire) et les prêtres et les maîtres d’école des villages qui for-
maient le IIIe Colège étaient tous dispensés du cens.
Sous le régime de la Constitution de 1866, modifiée par la Loi de 1884, la na-
tion était représentée par 295 représentants (183 députés et 112 sénateurs). Du total
de 295 parlementaires, 257 étaient élus par les quelques milles de grands proprié-
taires et habitants des villes; seulement 38 représentaient les 5 millions paysans. Un
nouveau «régime représentatif de classe», donc, «sépare politiquement ceux qui
étaient séparés économiquement»4, distribuant inéquitablement les mandats et
transformant la majorité de la population dans une minorité politique – considéra-
tions faites par Tătărescu dans son travail de doctorat de 1912.
De nombreuses lois ultérieures ont modifié les prévisions qui étaient alors en vi-
gueur. Les lois de 1905, 1906 et 1907 ont introduit des modifications surtout au ni-
veau des normes d’organisation des élections, telles la constitution et la révision des
listes5. Il est également important à souligner la légère croissance du nombre des
électeurs directs au fil des élections organisées depuis 1858. Ainsi, en 1907, 6,8% de la
population masculine votait pour la Chambre inférieure et 1,7% pour le Sénat. En
1911, les pourcentages ont faiblement baissé, à 6,1% et, respectivement, à 1,5%6.
La Constitution de 1917 a révisé le système électoral, optant pour un collège
unique et fixant le principe du vote universel, égal, direct, obligatoire, avec scrutin
de liste, et sous la base de la représentation proportionnelle de la minorité7.
1
Andrei MURARU, «Privire critică asupra unor reglementări electorale», in Ioan MURARU,
E.-S. TĂNĂSESCU, A. MURARU, K. BENKE, M.-C. EREMIA, Gh. IANCU, C.-L. POPESCU, Şt.
DEACONU, Alegerile şi corpul electoral, All Beck, Bucureşti, 2005, pp. 7-94.
2
Alexandru PENCOVICI (éd.), Desbaterile Adunarei Constituante din anul 1866 asupra
Constituţiunei şi Legei Electorale din România, Tipografia Statului, Bucureşti, 1883.
3
Ibidem, p. 29 (notre trad.).
4
Gheorghe TĂTĂRESCU, Regimul electoral…cit., p. 36.
5
Leonida COLESCU, Alegerile Generale pentru Corpurile Legiuitoare în 1907 şi 1911,
Stabiliment Grafic Albert Baer, 1913, p. 3.
6
Ibidem, p. 7.
7
Les Décrets de loi sur l’organisation et la procédure électorale de l’Ancien Royaume, de la
Bessarabie, Bucovine, Transylvanie, Banat, Crişana, Sătmar, etc. et toutes les modifications

La Constitution de 1923 a consacré ce principe mais, en même temps, a fixé de

manière plus nette les conditions d’accès et d’exclusion du droit de vote1. Les critè-
res du cens, d’hérédité et de capacité ont été remplacés par d’autres: la qualité de
«national», l’appartenance au sexe masculin, la maturité du raisonnement (21 ans),
l’aptitude intellectuelle et la dignité. L’article 108 de la Constitution prévoyait le
même système électoral pour les institutions départementales et communales:
«Les membres des conseils départementaux et des conseils communaux
sont élus par les citoyens roumains, par vote universel, égal, direct, secret,
obligatoire et avec la représentation de la minorité, selon les formes prévues
par les lois»2.
La Constitution n’incluait pas de dispositions particulières concernant la re-

présentation des minorités nationales.
En Roumanie, on avait adopté la réforme agraire en 1917 et la réforme électo-
rale en 1918. Inspirée de la Loi belge, la réforme électorale stipulait la représenta-
tion proportionnelle et le système d’Hondt. Les élections de 1919, 1920 et 1922
avaient été organisées en conformité avec cette loi. La nouvelle Constitution de
1923 et la nouvelle Loi électorale – inspirée de la Loi électorale du régime fasciste
italien et adoptée en 1926 – continuaient à régir les élections suivantes. L’une des
modifications importantes apportée par la Loi de 1926 visait le nombre des circon-
scriptions et des députés3.
L’Acte constitutionnel de 1923 a été vivement critiqué à l’époque, l’un de ses
opposants les plus importants étant le sociologue Ştefan Zeletin4. La Loi électorale
de 19265, qui complétait la Constitution, a été ouvertement critiquée même dans
l’Encyclopédie de la Roumanie de 1938. L’une des critiques principales concernait la
question de la représentation de la nation. Le législateur était accusé d’avoir
confondu la représentation de la nation et la représentation des partis politiques.
L’impossibilité de poser la candidature en tant qu’indépendant attirait une
deuxième critique importante, contre un ainsi prétendu essai d’accroître le nombre
des partis politiques. D’ailleurs, on considérait les partis comme étant susceptibles
de créer des fractions politiques internes. Ce type de critiques ont servi de base
pour la justification des modifications législatives ultérieures.
ultérieures ont été inclues dans un volume publié par le Ministère de l’Intérieur: Cod Electoral,
Imprimeria Statului, Bucureşti, 1919.
1
Même si le droit des femmes d’élire était reconnu dans cette Constitution, en réalité, à peine à
partir de 1929, on a accordé le droit d’élire à de certaines catégories de femmes. Il s’agissait des
femmes qui avaient les connaissances supposées par le cycle inférieur secondaire, normal ou
professionnel, qui étaient fonctionnaires d’État, de département ou de commune, qui étaient
devenues veuves après la guerre ou qui étaient décorées pour leur activité déployée durant la
guerre, etc. (George ALEXIANU, «Regimul electoral în România», in Enciclopedia…cit., p. 237).
2
Ioan MURARU, Gheorghe IANCU, Mona-Lisa PUCHEANU, Corneliu-Liviu POPESCU,
Constituţiile Române. Texte. Note. Prezentare Comparativă, Regia Autonomă «Monitorul Oficial»,
Bucureşti, 1993, p. 87 (notre trad.).
3
Mattei DOGAN, Sociologie politică. Opere alese, trad. roum. L. Lotreanu et N. Lotreanu,
Alternative, Bucureşti, 1999, p. 141.
4
Ştefan Zeletin lui reprochait d’avoir transformé le libéralisme dans son opposé – le
néolibéralisme. Ştefan ZELETIN, Neoliberalismul. Studii asupra istoriei şi politicii burgheziei române,
avec une étude introductive de Ionel Nicu SAVA, Editura Ziua, Bucureşti, 2005.
5
En conformité avec la Loi de 1926, on attribuait 50% du nombre de mandats des deux
Chambres au parti politique qui obtenait 40% des suffrages aux élections parlementaires. Cristian
IONESCU, Drept constituţional şi instituţii politice. Sistemul constituţional românesc, vol. II, Lumina
Lex, Bucureşti, 2001, p. 63.

344 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
Le nouveau régime électoral, introduit par la Constitution de 1938, fixait le

seuil de la maturité du raisonnement à 30 ans. De plus, tout électeur devait
pratiquer l’un des «métiers considérés essentiels au fonctionnement de l’État»:
l’agriculture et le travail manuel, le commerce et l’industrie, les occupations intel-
lectuelles. Dans la conception du législateur de 1938, l’électeur devait, donc, faire la
preuve de la responsabilité, de l’indépendance financière, du jugement mûr et, en
plus, être actif et «exercer un travail productif au service de la nation»1. La Consti-
tution de Carol II, adoptée le 27 février 1938, a été suspendue le jour où la Rouma-
nie a changé de régime et de gouvernement, étant remplacée par le Décret-loi
no. 3064 du 6 septembre 1940. Jusqu’à l’adoption d’une nouvelle Constitution, en
1948, la vie politique a été régie par une série d’actes législatifs à caractère consti-
tutionnel. Ces actes ont abrogé une bonne partie des principes de la démocratie
parlementaire, inscrits dans la Constitution de 19232.
En ce qui concerne l’émancipation politique des femmes, comme le montre Ghi-
zela Cosma en 2002, le processus roumain a été en retard par rapport à d’autres pays:
Finlande (1906), Norvège, Danemark et Islande (1915), Grande-Bretagne, Irlande, Ca-
nada, Georgie, Hollande, États-Unis, Fédération Russe, Allemagne, Lettonie, Pologne,
Autriche, Belarus, Ukraine, Belgique, Luxembourg, Suède, Estonie, République Tchè-
que, Slovaquie, Arménie (1918-1922), etc. En Roumanie, la question du droit des fem-
mes au vote est entrée dans les débats publics dans les années 1866-1914. C’est la Loi
de 1929 qui a accordé le droit de vote à certaines catégories de femmes. Aux élections
de 1930, les femmes ont exercé leur droit de vote pour la première fois3.
Notions de statistique électorale

au début du XXe siècle
Après avoir inventorié les chapitres de lois du XIXe et de la première moitié du
e
XX siècle, relatifs à la structure des corps électoraux, nous nous proposons mainte-
nant d’analyser quelques données statistiques obtenues par les recensements de
l’époque. L’importance de ce genre d’entreprises socio-démografiques n’est pas à
ignorer. Sans doute, celles-ci constituent les prémisses fondatrices de l’étude électo-
rale. Elles nous permettent de mieux connaître la nature de l’intérêt pour les élec-
tions, d’une part, et le stade de quantification et d’intégration des données électorales
(le taux de participation, les résultats électoraux, etc.) il y a un siècle, d’autre part.
Un premier travail de ce genre appartient à Leonida Colescu qui, en 1913, a ré-
alisé une «étude analytique» des élections législatives de 1907 et 19114. En Rouma-
nie, c’était pour la première fois qu’on s’intéressait aux inférences sur l’option élec-
torale, même si elles étaient encore d’ordre primaire. On construisait tout simple-
ment des inférences permises par la mise en corrélation des variables statistique-
ment mesurables.
1
George ALEXIANU, «Regimul electoral în România», in Enciclopedia…cit., p. 244 b (notre
trad.).
2
Cristian IONESCU, Drept constituţional…cit., pp. 68-83.
3
Ghizela COSMA, Femeile şi politica în România. Evoluţia dreptului de vot în perioada interbelică,
Presa Universitară Clujeană, Cluj-Napoca, 2002.
4
Leonida COLESCU, Alegerile Generale…cit.

D’abord, Colescu a réussi à établir un rapport entre le nombre total d’électeurs

et le poids de la population du pays. À la date de son travail, les électeurs pour la
Chambre des députés formaient 3 collèges et les électeurs pour le Sénat, deux. En
étudiant les données obtenues, l’auteur a observé que le taux de participation des
électeurs du Ier Collège – le plus aisé – était en régression continuelle en 1911, par
rapport à 1905, en dépit de la croissance du segment de population qui composait
ce collège. L’auteur a essayé également d’approfondir sa recherche, ne se conten-
tant pas de constater un fait social. Il a formulé ensuite des hypothèses qui indi-
quaient deux pistes de recherche: «La plutocratie, se désintéresse-t-elle de notre vie
politique?» ou bien, «Suite à la loi de 1907, puisque la constitution des listes est de-
venue plus rigoureuse, ceux dont les droits n’étaient pas reconnus n’ont plus ré-
ussi à entrer dans ce collège»1.
À l’égard de la participation aux élections, l’auteur observait que, tandis que le
taux au Ier Collège baissait, le IIe Collège connaissait des variations importantes. Seul
le IIIe Collège devenait de plus en plus nombreux et ses membres, de plus en plus
présents au vote; le Sénat enregistrait le même type de progrès. Comparant le pour-
centage de participation avec celui de la population ayant le droit de vote, l’auteur
arrivait à s’interroger sur les causes de l’abstentionnisme progressif – l’un des thè-
mes qui suscitent un intérêt majeur parmi les spécialistes des études électorales du
XXIe siècle. Toutefois, il semble que l’investigation plus en profondeur de ce thème,
quoique présente au niveau des objectifs de recherche de L. Colescu, était assez diffi-
cile, vu l’imprécision des données dont on pouvait disposer à l’époque.
Dans le même ouvrage, Colescu a réalisé également quelques classifications im-
portantes des électeurs. La première a été faite en fonction du domicile réel2 –
c’est-à-dire le lieu de résidence – pour les élections de 1911. Ainsi, 94% des électeurs
du Ier Collège de la Chambre inférieure, 100% au IIe Collège et 100% au IIIe Collège
avaient le domicile dans le département où ils votaient. Quant au Sénat, le pourcen-
tage indiquait 91% au Ier Collège et 98% au IIe. Les autres choisissaient d’exercer leurs
droits politiques dans un autre département que celui qu’ils habitaient.
En s’appuyant sur les données du recensement de 1912, l’auteur a élaboré une
deuxième classification des électeurs, en fonction de leur profession3. Il a formé 14
groupes de professions. Au niveau de la Chambre des députes, dans le cadre du Ier
Collège, Colescu a retrouvé les catégories suivantes: les propriétaires et les grands
agriculteurs (60%), les commerçants et les industriels (10%), les fonctionnaires
(6%), les avocats (4%), les militaires (4%), les prêtres (3%), les ingénieurs, les archi-
tectes, les professeurs, les retraités, etc. Le IIe Collège était constitué de la bourgeoi-
sie: les fonctionnaires (27%), les commerçants et les industriels (23%), les proprié-
taires d’immeubles (14%), les avocats (5%), les retraités (3%), les professions libres
(4%), etc. Les électeurs directs du IIIe Collège appartenaient aux catégories des
agriculteurs et des petits propriétaires (57%), des prêtres et des maîtres (10%), des
commerçants (8%), des fonctionnaires (6%), etc. Les citoyens les plus aisés for-
maient le Ier Collège du Sénat: les grands propriétaires et les agriculteurs (50%), les
avocats (11%), les médecins et les pharmaciens (7%), les commerçants et les indus-
triels (6%), les professeurs (5%), etc. La composition du IIe Collège du Sénat était la
1
Ibidem, p. 8.
2
Ibidem, pp. 13-14.
3
Ibidem, pp. 14- 29.

346 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
suivante: les grands propriétaires et les agriculteurs (40%), les commerçants et les
industriels (10%), les avocats (10%), les retraités (9%), les fonctionnaires (7%), etc.
Dans un bon nombre de départements (Gorj, Râmnicu-Sărat, Romanaţi, etc.), les
agriculteurs formaient la majorité écrasante des électeurs.
Une troisième classification a été réalisée par Colescu en fonction du cens1. Le
cens représentait un impôt prélevé des citoyens voulant exercer leur droit de voter.
En vue de la dispense de cens, il y avait certaines «conditions de culture ou de po-
sition sociale»2. Par exemple, au IIe Collège de la Chambre, ceux qui avaient fini les
classes primaires bénéficiaient d’une dispense de cens; au IIIe, le vote direct était
utilisé seulement par ceux qui savaient lire et écrire3.
On observe déjà que ce type de démarche exploratoire, décrite ci-dessus, in-
scrite dans la lignée des recherches statistiques, n’était pas pourtant l’une classi-
que. Dans son étude, l’auteur démontrait sa familiarité avec les concepts qui intri-
guent aujourd’hui les spécialistes du domaine des études électorales. Quel-
ques-unes des hypothèses formulées par Colescu interrogent aujourd’hui la socio-
logie électorale, telles la participation au vote et l’option électorale. Concernant la
participation au vote, Colescu opinait que celle-ci ne dépendait que secondaire-
ment des circonstances politiques et, principalement, de l’éducation civique et de
l’intérêt des citoyens pour les affaires publiques. L’évaluation des chiffres montrait
que la participation était devenue plus active aux dernières élections, fait valable
pour tous les cinq Collèges. Quant à l’option électorale, elle a été établie pour cha-
cun des collèges. La majorité du Ier Collège de la Chambre a choisi les conserva-
teurs au pouvoir (56,4%). 42% ont voté pour l’opposition (l’alliance du Parti Libéral
National et du Parti Conservateur-Démocrate). Le IIe et le IIIe Collège ont fait la
même option mais les pourcentages ont été différents: 57,5% et 36,4% et, respecti-
vement, 77,5% et 18%. Le vote au Sénat, toujours favorable aux conservateurs du
gouvernement, était divisé entre les 52% contre les 47% pour l’opposition (au Ier
Collège) et 62,6% contre 37,3% (au IIe Collège).
Formulées en 1913, toutes ces conclusions – de relevance pour la connaissance de
l’électorat du début du XXe siècle – dépendaient évidemment de la disponibilité et de
la richesse des données statistiques. Colescu était l’initiateur d’une série de démarches
statistiques, réalisées dans le cadre de l’Institut Central de Bucarest, et il était un bon
connaisseur des caractéristiques socio-démographiques de la population4.
En 1914, une démarche similaire a été réalisée par C.D. Dimitriu5 qui considé-
rait avoir élaboré une «enquête électorale». Il serait intéressant de déchiffrer le sens
attribué alors à «l’enquête», concept qui est central aujourd’hui à la sociologie élec-
torale. Par conséquent, dans ce qui suit, nous nous proposons de saisir les caracté-
ristiques de la recherche effectuée par Dimitriu. Dès le début, l’auteur spécifiait le
fait que son enquête comprenait des tableaux qui mettaient en relation deux rubri-
ques: la rubrique des électeurs de chaque Collège de 1911 et celle de dix catégories
1
Ibidem, pp. 29-34.
2
Ibidem, p. 29.
3
En 1899, le pourcentage de ceux-ci, calculé par Leonida Colescu, était de 27%; les
analphabètes représentaient 73%.
4
Dans un livre de 1944, Colescu a porté son attention aux variations de la population, à la
densité des populations urbaines et rurales, à la classification selon le sexe, l’état civil, l’âge, la
religion, la citoyenneté, l’éducation, etc. Leonida COLESCU, Analiza rezultatelor recensământului
general al populaţiei României dela 1899, Institutul Central de Statistică, Bucureşti, 1944.
5
C.D. DIMITRIU, Ancheta Electorală...cit.

de professions prises en considération. En conclusion, l’auteur affirme que la majo-

rité des électeurs de la Chambre inférieure faisaient partie de la catégorie des pro-
priétaires, alors que le Sénat était voté par les Collèges formés majoritairement par
les professions libérales – les intellectuels.
Les intérêts de recherche de Dimitriu ne se bornaient pas à la structure de
l’électorat, mais allaient jusqu’au système électoral roumain. Il plaidait pour une
division du territoire en circonscriptions comptant chacun le même nombre
d’électeurs. Le remplacement des circonscriptions administratives aurait corrigé,
selon l’auteur, la tendance régionaliste qui portait atteinte à la représentation pro-
portionnelle – fait caractéristique à la France de cette date-là. L’auteur s’intéressait
également à la répartition des mandats des députés, le droit de vote indirect ac-
cordé aux citoyens qui ne savaient pas écrire et lire, la formation des circonscrip-
tions, la représentation de la minorité, les systèmes de répartition des votes et
d’attribution des mandats, le caractère obligatoire du vote, etc.
Il est nécessaire d’ajouter que, même s’il annonçait le projet d’un futur travail,
censé mesurer l’attitude de l’électorat depuis 1884, l’auteur envisageait plutôt une
étude de l’option pour l’un des partis présents sur la scène politique roumaine
qu’une étude du comportement électoral.
En 1937, N. Popp publiait un article de «considérations ethno-démographi-
ques sur la population de la Roumanie»1. Cette fois, l’analyse statistique était dou-
blée par des considérations d’ordre idéologique, destinées à justifier l’importance
de la «re-roumanisation» pour la défense de la nation roumaine. D’ailleurs, le fait
de choisir un motto appartenant à Corneliu Zelea Codreanu, fragment qui précède
l’un des chapitres de l’article, situe les considérations de Popp dans le registre des
idées national-extrémistes qui circulaient à l’époque.
L’auteur essayait d’établir la structure ethnique des provinces et des départe-
ments2 à partir des résultats du recensement de 1930, étant inquiété par le pourcen-
tage réel des habitants étrangers du pays3. Selon N. Popp, le pourcentage des Juifs
avait augmenté de 4% (en 1930) à 10,2% (en 1936), la minorité devenant plus nom-
breuse que celle des Allemands ou celle des Hongrois de Roumanie. Si la région
d’Olténie restait la plus homogène (roumaine à 95,26%) et que le département de
Mehedinţi totalisait 98,21% Roumains, à l’opposé, le département d’Odorhei
(6,46%) et Cernăuţi étaient les plus «menacés» de ce point de vue. L’auteur voyait
la roumanité du pays mise en danger par la croissance de la population ethnique
minoritaire, supérieure à la croissance démographique roumaine. Selon lui, la dé-
fense de la roumanité devait être faite par des moyens techniques: la construction
d’obstacles qui auraient rendue l’immigration difficile. Les Juifs commençaient
déjà à être associés à tous les maux du temps qui «menaçaient» la roumanité4. Un
1
N. POPP, «Consideraţiuni etno-demografice asupra populaţiei României», Rânduiala, Anul II,
Caetul 3, 1937.
2
Dans son article, N. Popp spécifiait que les résultats obtenus au niveau des grandes villes
n’étaient pas publics.
3
Ce pourcentage variait d’un recensement à l’autre: 26, 9% en 1932 (Indicatorul Statistic,
1932) – par rapport à 30,8% en Pologne et 37,4% en Tchécoslovaquie – et 28,1% en 1936 (Buletinul
Demografic, 1936), etc.
4
«Qui sont les ennemis de la famille, la famille en tant qu’institution morale-chrétienne? Qui
encourage l’amour libre? Qui constitue la majorité des médecins gynécologues? Qui sont les
cabaretiers des villages? Le lecteur est libre de donner tout seul la réponse […] À l’exception du
Banat, les régions plus riches en Juifs – surtout les villes – baissent visiblement en natalité. Y a-t-il
une relation?». N. POPP, «Consideraţiuni Etno-Demografice…cit.», p. 24. (notre trad.).

348 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
entier chapitre de l’article, intitulé «Les Juifs comme minorité ethnique»1 parle de
«l’invasion» massive de cette population et des premiers mouvements antisémites.
Tout cela dans des conditions où un bon nombre d’auteurs se préoccupaient déjà
de la représentation des minorités.
Radu Patrulius est l’un de ceux-ci. Quinze ans plus tôt, en 1922, il avait utilisé
des techniques et des connaissances de statistique théorique et de droit pour étu-
dier la représentation proportionnelle2. Cet auteur a proposé une analyse appro-
fondie des différents modèles théoriques de représentation proportionnelle et des
systèmes mis en œuvre dans quelques pays. Basant son étude sur des références de
Georges Lachapelle, Gaston Bonnefoy, etc., appliquant des formules et opérant des
calculs mathématiques, Patrulius tenta de montrer les limites de chaque système
de transfert (Hare, d’Andrx), du système du diviseur commun, etc. Un entier
chapitre a été dédié au sujet de l’influence du système proportionnel sur la repré-
sentation des minorités ethniques de Roumanie. Les données démographiques du
dernier recensement réalisé dans les régions de l’Ouest du pays3 n’inquiétaient pas
Patrulius – comme elles le feront en 1937 dans la démarche de Popp, mais lui mon-
traient clairement l’importance de la représentation des minorités4.
Études des élections et études électorales.

Notions de sociologie électorale au début du XXe siècle
Comme on l’a déjà souligné ci-dessus, la majorité des premières études des
élections s’inscrivaient plutôt dans la discipline statistique. Les chercheurs utili-
saient principalement les recensements, dans le but de tracer des correspondances
entre certaines rubriques de variables. Ces études étaient éminemment descripti-
ves, ne débouchant pas sur des inférences scientifiques pertinentes. Seulement une
petite partie des recherches, consacrées généralement au sujet des partis politiques
et de la démocratie parlementaire, ont traité tangentiellement des thèmes propres à
la sociologie et à la géographie électorale: la distribution régionale des votes, les
comportements électoraux, individuels et collectifs, etc. Quelque soit le niveau
scientifique de ces recherches (études des élections et études électorales), cela vaut
la peine de mettre en évidence leurs apports au développement de la sociologie
électorale roumaine.
À l’époque de Cuza, il y a eu des rumeurs qui ont présenté le parti radical
comme le principal acteur qui avait mobilisé les masses, le 22-23 janvier 1859, sur
la Colline du Palais Métropolitain, pour forcer la majorité conservatrice de
l’assemblée à voter Cuza. En fait, les documents nous montrent, explique Ioan C.
1
Ibidem, pp. 24-35.
2
Radu PATRULIUS, Reprezentarea proporţională. Sistemele şi valoarea lor politică, Institutul de
Arte Grafice «Luceafărul», Bucureşti, 1922.
3
Conformément aux dernières statistiques, en Transylvanie, Banat, Sătmar, Crişana et
Maramureş, la population était de 5 673 000 (3 078 000 Roumains, 1 573 000 Hongrois et Szeklers,
500 000 Allemands, 230 000 Juifs, 78 500 Serbes). Ibidem, p. 85.
4
«À ceux qui disent que par la réalisation de telles idées on fait entrer le cheval d’Ulysse en
Troie, on peut répondre que le cheval y est déjà entré dès la signature des traités de paix et qu’il
vaut mieux connaître ce qui se trouve dans le ventre du cheval au lieu de se tromper les uns les
autres et, ainsi, de vivre l’aventure des naïfs Troyens». Ibidem, p. 85 (notre trad.).

Filitti en 1932, que, en premier lieu, l’assemblée a été organisée par Ghica, Brătianu
et Rosetti, afin d’empêcher l’élection de Bibescu et Ştirbei et que, en deuxième lieu,
seule la perspective de l’union a motivé le peuple à voter Cuza1. Les remarques de
l’auteur sont importantes dans la mesure où elles nous montrent à quel point on
avait déjà commencé à s’intéresser à la justification et, à la rigueur, à l’explication
du vote populaire. Utilisant les mots d’aujourd’hui, on dirait que, selon Filitti, le
vote favorable accordé à Cuza en 1859 était, donc, l’expression d’une volonté res-
sentie au niveau individuel, d’accomplir un idéal national2, supérieur à tout intérêt
d’ordre personnel.
Déjà, à la fin du XIXe siècle, quelques auteurs roumains ont proposé des étu-
des rigoureuses des lois électorales et de la vie politique, rapportant leurs consi-
dérations à la lecture des ouvrages occidentaux classiques. Exempli gratia, dans un
travail publié en 18623, Dimitrie Tacu citait Rousseau, Montesquieu, etc. En 1883,
H. Rănişteanu, docteur en droit, publiait une étude sur les effets pervers de la Loi
électorale de 18664, étude infusée par les théories des grands auteurs européens et
américains de l’époque, parmi lesquels Guizot, Lamartine, Mill, Lieber, Bluntschli,
Royer-Collard, etc. Rănişteanu observait que les membres du Ier Collège apparte-
naient, pour la plupart des départements, à une seule famille. L’auteur remarquait
également le fait que la Loi de 1866, «loi qui facilite les ingérences et les influences
gouvernementales»5, favorisait les deux partis qui se disputaient successivement le
pouvoir. Selon lui, il y avait plusieurs principes critiquables dans la Loi de 1866. Le
premier, la limitation du suffrage, était l’une des causes de l’apathie et de l’effet ca-
pitis diminutio (qui transformait le député en représentant d’une minorité légale de
la Roumanie, au lieu d’une majorité réelle). Le deuxième, le népotisme en tant que
critère de formation des deux Chambres, constituait le facteur de discréditation du
Parlement. Rănişteanu n’idéalisait pas le suffrage étendu; pourtant, il le considérait
utile pour l’élection directe des représentants des paysans et un moyen de les sti-
muler à s’instruire. Comparant les avantages et les inconvénients des deux types
de scrutin, uninominal et de liste, l’auteur concluait que le deuxième apportait un
«vote confus, irresponsable» et désignait au pouvoir les inconnus de la liste d’un
«candidat remorqueur». Vu cette situation, indésirable et susceptible d’induire un
taux élevé d’abstention6, l’auteur se prononçait en faveur de la réforme de la légi-
slation électorale.
En 1896, George Nicolescu et Albert Hermely entreprenaient une démarche
tout à fait inouïe, novatrice. Ils publiaient un livre censé servir de «moyen de pro-
pagande parlementaire et électorale»7. Après avoir brièvement présenté l’évolution
de l’institution parlementaire roumaine et la succession des lois électorales, les au-
1
Ioan C. FILITTI, «Alegerea de la 24 ianuarie 1859», Revista Tinerimea Română, janvier 1932,
pp. 13-16.
2
«La perspective de l’union réalisée par cette voie a libéré tout à coup les âmes des
préoccupations communes et les a transformées dans un grandiose élan national unanime».
3
Dimitrie TACU, Dreptulŭ la legislaţiune alŭ poporuluǐ Românŭ, Tipografia Minervei
Podul-Lungŭ, Iaşi, 1862.
4
H. RĂNIŞTEANU, Despre sistemul electoral cu scrutin de listă, Typografia Naţională Nicolae
G. Vergotti, Constanţa, 1883.
5
Ibidem, p. 3.
6
Ibidem, p. 22.
7
George NICOLESCU, Albert HERMELY, Deputaţii noştri. Biografii şi portrete 1895-99, Editura
Librăriei Carol Müler, Bucureşti, 1896.

350 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
teurs publiaient les biographies et les portraits des députés élus en 1895. Cette dé-
marche, estiment Nicolescu et Hermely, était à même de populariser l’institution
qui ne jouait pas encore d’un grand prestige parmi les électeurs roumains.
À la confluence des deux siècles, la croissance de l’intérêt pour le fait électoral
est due notamment à la politisation du sujet du suffrage universel. Les partis spéci-
fient et justifient constamment leur position quant aux principes libéraux de la dé-
mocratie représentative. Dans le débat sur le suffrage, les partis définissent ou re-
définissent leurs programmes, leur orientation idéologique et leur électorat-cible.
Au début du XXe siècle, en Transylvanie administrée par l’État hongrois1, le
Parti National Roumain plaidait pour le vote secret, égal et la représentation des
minorités dans le Parlement hongrois. Vu les obstacles qui rendaient difficile
l’obtention d’un nombre suffisant de voix par un candidat roumain, la position du
PNR était pleinement justifiée. Ses candidats se voyaient obligés très souvent de
faire appel, au nom de l’idéal national, à des discours anti-sémites. Les Roumains
qui accordaient leur vote aux adversaires politiques du PNR étaient appelés «pha-
risiens» et leurs noms étaient faits publics. Aux élections des députés de la Diète de
1905, le candidat de la ville d’Ocna, Aurel Cosma, a essayé en plus de contester les
résultats, adressant une pétition au roi, texte qui a été finalement rejeté et amendé
pour des raisons liées au procédé d’adressage, etc. Dans sa lettre, Cosma accusait le
candidat gagnant d’avoir convié les électeurs avec des festins2.
Pour comprendre mieux la situation de la Transylvanie au début du XXe siè-
cle, le livre de Ioan Tomole, publié en 19993, apporte des importants éclaircisse-
ments. L’auteur estime que c’était l’époque de la dernière étape de la lutte pour la
libération nationale, une lutte qui se consommait sur la scène des élections pour la
Diète hongroise4. L’enjeu de cette lutte était la représentation parlementaire de
2 799 479 Roumains. Tandis que le PNR essayait de gagner les voix de cet électo-
rat-cible, leurs opposants menaient de diverses actions redoutables. Ainsi, en 1904,
la candidature de Ioan Suciu a été rejetée en raison d’un retard de trois minutes.
Tout au cours des années 1904-1906, les électeurs et les candidats ont accusé
l’administration hongroise d’avoir terrorisé et brutalisé la population5.
Durant son activité, le PNR s’est donné, donc, pour objectif central la représen-
tation parlementaire des Roumains de Transylvanie, Banat et Ardeal. Militant pour
l’unité de tous les Roumains de ces régions, le PNR se présentait devant ses élec-
teurs comme le parti à vouloir représenter l’intérêt national des habitants de
Transylvanie, Banat et Ardeal6, un parti régionaliste ou à implantation électorale
régionaliste – l’on dirait aujourd’hui.
1
En 1867, la Transylvanie avait été annexée à l’Hongrie. À peine après 1903, profitant de
«l’intensification des désaccords entre la Maison de Habsbourg de Vienne et le gouvernement
hongrois de Budapest», le PNR décide de recommencer la lutte de libération par la participation
active aux élections de la Diète. Ioan TOMOLE, Românii din Crişana, Sălaj şi Sătmar în luptele
naţional-electorale de la începutul secolului al XX-lea, Editura «Gutinul», Baia Mare, 1999, p. 8.
2
Aurel COSMA, Lupta Partidului Naţional Român şi Datele referitoare la alegerea de deputat
dietal, Tipariul Tipogr. George Nichin, Arad, 1905.
3
Ioan TOMOLE, Românii din Crişana…cit.
4
Ibidem, p. 7.
5
Ibidem, p. 8.
6
En 1922, le candidat au titre de député de la circonscription d’Oraviţa, Valeriu Branisce
(Branişte), parle du parti «des habitants d’Ardeal et de Banat». Valeriu BRANISCE, Scrisoare către
alegători (scrisă din însărcinarea comitetului judeţean din Caraş-Severin al Partidului National-Român),
Tipografia Iosif Sidon, Lugoj, 1922, p. 9.

À Bucarest, un important nombre de discours prononcés pas les leaders des

partis libéral et conservateur attestent la polarisation idéologique de la vie politi-
que roumaine avant l’installation au pouvoir du régime socialiste. Deux idéologies.
Deux types de discours. Deux types d’électorat. Dans son discours prononcé en
1902, à la veille des élections1, Alexandru Djuvara, membre du Parti National Libé-
ral et ancien ministre, réussit à mettre en évidence de façon éminente les éléments
essentiels de cette polarisation, déjà bien profilée. Il critique les stratégies de com-
munication utilisées, dans leur campagne, par deux groupements conservateurs,
dirigés par D. Carp et, respectivement, Cantacuzino, stratégies destinées à réunir
autour du vote conservateur tous les mécontents du régime alors en place. On ap-
prend que les Conservateurs avaient effectué un «recensement des mécontents»2,
retraités, fonctionnaires congédiés, propriétaires des immeubles dépréciés, etc:
«Partout où il y a une souffrance, partout où ils pressentent une douleur,
ils courent; on croirait que, ranimés par une compassion infinie, ils veulent ca-
resser, soulager, endormir ces souffrances et ces douleurs-là. Non, messieurs!»3.
Les libéraux se méfient profondément de cette propagande conservatrice de la

compassion car, à leur sens, elle est susceptible de provoquer des ressentiments et
du désespoir. On dirait en d’autres mots qu’elle était capable d’affaiblir, de fragili-
ser la lucidité des électeurs. Il semblerait que les visions doctrinaires différentes du
PNL et du PC les prédisposaient à des discours différents. Il est implicite que les
deux partis mobilisaient chacun un électeur à profil spécifique, ayant des caracté-
ristiques sociales et caractérielles différentes. Tandis que l’un attirait l’électeur mé-
content, besogneux, extatique et pessimiste, l’autre attirait l’électeur content, aisé,
optimiste et enthousiaste. Voilà l’une des lignes de faille qui séparait alors les clas-
ses sociales! Ce qui est important à observer est la prise de conscience par les libé-
raux de cette division idéologique et électorale.
En dépit du fait que dans les dernières décennies du XIXe siècle, après la
translation des grands domaines dans la propriété de la classe moyenne, les rôles
sociaux et économiques ont changé, les deux partis ont gardé leurs modèles
d’implantation électorale. Tandis que les conservateurs, jadis défenseurs des inté-
rêts des grands propriétaires terriens, ont continué d’être soutenus par les adeptes
du commerce libre, les libéraux, représentants des industriels et commerçants ur-
bains, ont gardé le vote de la classe moyenne, dont les intérêts économiques étaient
mieux protégés par les tarifs protectionnistes4. Même si les deux partis politiques
n’ont pas changé de modèle d’implantation électorale, ils ont changé pourtant
d’électorat. Le Parti Libéral et le Parti Conservateur ont continué de représenter les
mêmes catégories d’intérêts mais la migration des électeurs d’une classe sociale à
l’autre a déclenché un flux électoral entre les deux formations. Puisque la masse de
la population restait encore sous-représentée, la question du suffrage universel a
fait longtemps l’objet central des débats des écrivains, des intellectuels et des hom-
mes politiques roumains.
1
Alexandru G. DJUVARA, În prediua alegerilor. Discurs rostit la întrunirea Partidului Naţio-
nal-Liberal ţinută la 27 octombrie 1902 în Sala Băilor Eforie, Tipografia «Voinţa Naţională», 1902.
2
Ibidem, p. 10.
3
Ibidem (notre trad.).
4
Mihai BĂRBULESCU, Dennis DELETANT, Keith HITCHINS, Şerban PAPACOSTEA,
Pompiliu TEODOR, Istoria României, Corint, Bucureşti, 2003, p. 321.

352 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
À la fin du XIXe siècle, dans un ouvrage imprégné d’anecdotes populaires avec

Păcală et de descriptions très suggestives de la situation politique du pays, Ioan
Heliade-Rădulescu utilisait le style littéraire afin de convaincre sur les incompatibi-
lités entre le vote universel et le niveau de civilisation des Roumains1. Selon He-
liade-Rădulescu, le vote accordé par des gens incompétents (les aveugles, les alié-
nés, les mineurs, les masses non-iluminées, etc.) aurait été un «resvot», c’est-à-dire
un contre-vote2. Le fils de l’auteur, I.I. Heliade-Rădulescu partageait lui-aussi la
conception élitaire du vote et signait un chapitre sur «la modification de la loi élec-
torale au service des intellectuels», proposant la division du corps électoral en trois
collèges, en fonction du critère capacitaire3. Ainsi, le Ier collège aurait du être formé
par les docteurs, les licenciés, les magistrats, les professeurs, les anciens députés
élus, les ministres actuels et anciens, etc. Le IIe collège aurait du accueillir les pro-
fesseurs des classes primaires, les bacheliers, les secrétaires, les militaires gradés.
Les électeurs du IIIe Collège auraient du terminer au moins trois classes primaires.
D’autre part, les souteneurs de l’extension du droit de vote essayaient de for-
muler des arguments pertinents.
En 1883, C.G. Dissescu4 opinait que les incidents de corruption ne consti-
tuaient pas une justification pour la révision électorale. Selon lui, «la corruption ne
réside pas en loi, mais en hommes, en le gouvernement qui corrompt, en le candi-
dat qui donne de l’argent et en l’élu qui accepte des faveurs»5. Sa conclusion était
que la révision des collèges ne pouvait rien faire contre les mœurs, seul le suffrage
universel était à même d’apporter la justice.
En 1884, dans une Étude constitutionnelle sur le système représentatif et le vote uni-
versel6, I.C. Barozzi, avocat, appréciait qu’autant que la société était composée par des
gens pauvres et des gens riches, la division entre les éduqués et les ignorants survi-
vait car les uns avaient la possibilité de consacrer leur temps à l’éducation et les au-
tres non. Dans cet ordre d’idées, pour ne pas reproduire une situation désavanta-
geuse pour certaines classes, le gouvernement représentatif devait protéger «toutes
les opinions, toutes les classes de citoyens et tous leurs intérêts»7.
En 1893, G. Panu articulait des réflexions philosophiques remarquables au su-
jet du vote universel8. S’il pouvait choisir entre une monarchie avec vote universel
et une république avec suffrage restreint, il aurait préféré la première – avoue
l’auteur. Le philosophe voyait l’homme dans sa dimension aristotélicienne de
zoon politikon et lui reconnaissait d’emblée le droit de participer aux affaires pu-
bliques. Panu estimait que «la société ne renoncera pas à ses prérogatives et ne
s’agenouillera pas aveuglement devant la science»9. En plus, «ignorant ou pas,
1
I. HELIADE-RĂDULESCU, Votul universal şi resvotul universal, IVe éd., Typographia
Profesională «Dimitrie C. Ionescu», Bucureşti, 1914.
2
Ibidem, p. 5.
3
I.I. HELIADE-RĂDULESCU FIIU, «Modificarea Legii electorale în folosul intelectualilor»,
in Ibidem.
4
C.G. DISSESCU, Chestiunea revisuirei Legei electorali, Tipografia N. Miulescu, Bucureşti, 1883.
5
Ibidem, p. 15. (notre trad.).
6
I.C. BAROZZI, Studiu constituţional asupra sistemului representativ şi votul universal,
Tipo-Litografia H. Goldner, Iaşi, 1884.
7
8
G. PANU, Chestiuni politice. Sufragiul universal. Chestiunea evreilor, Tipografia «Lupta»,
Al. Lefteriu, Bucureşti, 1893.
9

l’individu a des droits sur la société dans laquelle il vit»1; le payement d’impôt est
un argument supplémentaire pour le vote universel.
Le sujet du suffrage universel revenait invariablement dans presque tous les
débats publics du début du XXe siècle. Les opposants du vote universel invo-
quaient le plus souvent le degré insatisfaisant de culture et de civilisation du pays,
ne s’opposant pas au principe démocratique. Au fil du temps, tant les opposants
que les souteneurs ont diversifié les arguments utilisés dans leurs discours.
Lors une conférence de 19082, Emil N. Lahovary a fait la preuve d’une bonne
connaissance de la situation des pays qui expérimentaient le suffrage universel
(l’Angleterre, la France, la Belgique, la Bulgarie, etc.). Il a présenté la situation de
l’étranger afin de souligner qu’une partie des pays, ayant un niveau insatisfaisant
de civilisation, étaient en train de limiter le vote à cause des inconvénients de la
participation universelle.
En 1910, Marin Theodorian Carada, dans une critique faite au Parti National
Libéral de 1908, expliquait l’échec électoral du parti par le rejet des idées et pro-
grammes radical-socialistes promus par les nouveaux Libéraux3.
La même année, Toma Dragu, un sympathisant des idées socialistes, dénon-
çait «le mensonge libéral», la démagogie et la tactique utilisée par les libéraux, celle
de promettre le suffrage universel4.
En 1914, G. Drăguţ-Demetrescu s’exprimait en faveur du «vote universel et
pluriel», conditionné par le niveau de culture – vote capable d’installer au pouvoir
«l’élite naturelle de la nation»5. L’auteur proposait, donc, que le niveau de culture
de l’électeur se reflétât dans le poids du vote.
Beaucoup de partisans de la théorie du vote universel étaient donc à la fois des
opposants de l’application du principe. En 1908, dans un article publié dans la re-
vue Viaţa Românească, I. Theodorescu, l’adepte de l’émancipation de toutes les clas-
ses, appréciait:
«Les objections des partisans en théorie mais des adversaires en fait sont
que le peuple roumain est trop inculte et trop pauvre, en un mot, inculte
pour cette réforme, car l’ignorance et la pauvreté font de la souveraineté na-
tionale une parodie ridicule et triste»6.
Les élections des années ’20, qui ont opposé les partis historiques, ont déclanché
beaucoup de susceptibilités quant au respect de la liberté du vote. Dans ce sens, le
discours tenu en 1914 devant l’Assemblée des députés, par V.G. Morţun, ministre de
l’Intérieur est exemplificateur. Dans le discours publié, on cite un nombre de télé-
grammes et de lettres accusant l’administration de limitation de la liberté des élec-
teurs et des candidats. Les incidents réclamés sont divers: la menace des candidats,
l’intimidation, leur poursuite par les agents électoraux, leur attaques par les
1
2
Emil. N. LAHOVARY, Votul universal, Institutul de Arte Grafice «Speranţa», Bucureşti, 1909.
3
Marin THEODORIAN CARADA, Alegerile generale şi Vechii Liberali, Tipografia Profesio-
nală, Dimitrie C. Ionescu, Bucureşti, 1910, pp. 14-18.
4
Toma DRAGU, Votul universal în România, Institutul de Editură «Poporul», Bucureşti, 1910.
5
G. DRĂGUŢ-DEMETRESCU, Adevărata reformă electorală liberală în spiritul Constituţiei dela
1866 este Votul universal şi plural în raport cu gradul de cultură, Institutul de Editură şi Arte Grafice
«Flacăra», Bucureşti, 1914, p. 9.
6
I. THEODORESCU, Votul universal (extrait de la Revue Viaţa Românească), Cercul de Edi-
tură Socialistă, Tipografia «Cultura», Bucureşti, 1908, p. 21 (notre trad.).

354 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
commissaires civils, l’espionnage, le harcèlement des électeurs, la destruction de la

carte d’électeur en public, la séquestration, l’achat des votes contre 20, 40, 60 ou 80 lei,
etc1. Le ministre libéral rejetait les accusations et essayait de convaincre l’Assemblée,
argumentant que la surveillance de la liberté de vote avait été assurée par les inspec-
teurs administratifs envoyés dans le territoire après la fin des élections.
Durant l’alternance au pouvoir, les Partis Libéral et Paysan se sont accusés réci-
proquement d’abus. Les élections de 1922, décisives pour l’avenir des deux partis,
ont beaucoup préoccupé les Paysans dont l’enjeu était double: de gagner et de modi-
fier la Constitution. Ce qui attire l’attention cette fois est le nouveau type de discours
que le Parti Paysan articule. Son discours s’éloigne de la critique de l’adversaire et se
concentre sur la popularisation du projet de modification constitutionnelle2.
En dépit du fait que le législateur ait prévu que les effacements dans les listes
électorales se faisaient uniquement par les instances autorisées, en pratique, les in-
cidents continuaient d’arriver souvent. Les articles. 5-10 de la Loi administrative de
1936, comme le montre Al. Lesviodax3, laissaient au juge la décision et l’exercice
d’opérer tout effacement dans la liste.
Néanmoins, les abus ont été signalés tout au long des élections organisées
dans la période de l’avant-guerre et de l’entre-deux-guerres. Les réclamations ont
coulé à flots et le ministère de l’Intérieur de chaque période s’est vu obligé, chaque
fois, de démonter les accusations. Le plus fréquemment, la réponse que les signa-
taires des pétitions recevaient incriminait les préjudiciés soit de provocation, soit
de fantaisie4. En dépit de la gravité des incidents signalés par les plaignants (meur-
tres, terreur, arrestations, menace des candidats, falsification, intervention violente
des gendarmes dans la campagne électorale, etc.), le plus souvent, les documents
de l’époque présentaient les évènements de manière hilare. Dans le Livre Blanc écrit
en 1932, C. Ghelea donne des titres hilarants aux plaintes contre les «banditismes
du gouvernement» et les présentent avec sarcasme5. L’un de ces textes télégra-
phiés, intitulé «Une Réclamation lyrique» est reproduit ci-dessous:
«Şerb. Dobrin, le chef de l’organisation libérale de la commune Racosa, a
été attaqué et heurté à la tête par le notaire de la commune pour des considé-
rations électorales, Dobrin étant un grand protecteur des intérêts collectifs et
adoré par les villageois. Le patient est en danger et hospitalisé à l’hôpital dé-
partemental. Nous n’avons pas à qui réclamer»6.
Le Livre Blanc de Ghelea réunit un important nombre de passages extraits des

manifestes des partis candidats aux élections de ’32, vers et pamphlets de campa-
gne, affiches électorales et caricatures. Ces éléments complètent l’image qu’on
connaissait déjà du livre de Ioan Lăcustă sur les Dix élections de l’entre-deux-guerres.
L’un des textes les plus amusants, reproduit par Ghelea, appartient à Docteur
Lupu (fr., Loup), candidat libéral du département de Mehedinţi; on le présente en
variante bilingue juste pour la rétention de l’humour du texte original7:
1
V.G. MORŢUN, Alegerile pentru Constituanta din 1914. Cuvăntare rostită în Adunarea Depu-
taţilor, le 20 juin 1914, p. 5.
2
Cartea neagră. Alegerile din 1922 în judeţul Argeş, Tipografia «Universala», Bucureşti, 1922, p. 20.
3
Al. LESVIODAX, Înscrierile şi ştergerile din listele electorale. După Legea administrativă din 1936
(art. 5-10 din lege), Tipografia şi Legătoria Penit. «Văcăreşti», s.a., p. 19.
4
C. GHELEA, Cartea albă. Date şi documente asupra alegerilor generale din iulie 1932, Bucureşti,
1932, p. 9.
5
Ibidem, pp. 37-63.
6
7

«Citoyens, «Cetăţeni,
Votez Dr. Lupu qui va accomplir les dix com- Votaţi cu Dr. Lupu care va împlini urmă-
mandements suivants: toarele zece porunci:
1. L’expropriation de Dieu de la lune, du ciel 1. Exproprierea lui Dumnezeu de lună, cer
et des étoiles et leur attribution à ceux qui le şi stele şi împărţirea lor la cei care îl vo-
votent. tează.
2. La descente du soleil du ciel sur la terre pour 2. Aducerea soarelui depe cer pe pământ ca
qu’il réchauffe l’hiver ceux qui le votent l’été. să încălzească iarna pe cei ce-l votează vara.
3. La distribution aux électeurs de tout l’or 3. Impărţirea la alegători a tot aurul din
des banques de la France et de l’Angleterre. băncile Franţei şi Angliei.
4. L’effacement de toutes les dettes passées et 4. Ertarea tuturor datoriilor trecute şi vi-
futures pour que Lupu s’échappe aussi avec itoare ca să scape şi Lupu de datoriile lui.
les siennes.
5. Monts et merveilles à ceux qui votent les 5. Marea cu sarea celor ce votează cu cele
deux cercles de Lupu. două cercuri ale lui Lupu.
6. Que celui qui vote Lupu mange à sa faim! 6. Scoală-te masă, pune-te masă pentru ori
cine votează cu Lupu.
7. Voyages gratuits vers la lune pour le bannis- 7. Călătorii gratuite la lună pentru izgoni-
sement de tous les loups-garous qui s’entassent rea ori căror altor vârcolaci ce se înghesuie
au gâteau de blé et de noix que l’on distribue la colivă.
à la mémoire des morts.
8. Billet vers Saint Pierre, pour l’entrée au Pa- 8. Bilet către Sfântul Pătru, pentru intrarea
radis de tout pécheur qui le vote. în Rai a ori cărui păcătos ce-l votează.
9. Que l’âne fasse de l’argent… 9. Fă măgar bani…
10. Remèdes à la pauvreté et à la calvitie, qu’il 10. Leacuri de sărăcie şi chelie fie nu fie,
y en ait ou pas, le vote de Lupu soit connu. votul lui Lupu să se ştie. Votaţi cu tragerea
Votez avec la tromperie du Dr. Lupu s’il ne pe sfoară cu Dr. Lupu dacă nu v-aţi săturat
vous suffit pas de radoter des palabres». de hodorogit vorbe goale».
Il est important d’observer que ces feuilles de littérature électorale, très parlan-
tes, représentent une bonne preuve de la liberté d’expression dont disposaient les
hommes politiques des années ’30, fait dont Ghelea se rendait bien compte lors
qu’il constatait que le corps électoral avait joui en 1932 d’une liberté sans égal de-
puis 1928, grâce au gouvernement d’Alexandru Vaida-Voievod qui a présidé les
élections générales1.
En 1937, Crişan T. Axente, docteur en droit à Paris, publiait un Essai sur le Ré-
gime représentatif en Roumanie2 – une étude rigoureuse, complète, des articles de lois
et des Constitutions. L’auteur distinguait deux grandes époques dans l’évolution
du régime représentatif roumain: l’époque de la «démocratie du privilège», qui al-
lait jusqu’à 1864, et l’époque de la «démocratie inefficace», de 1864 à 1937.
Lisant Dix élections libres de l’entre-deux-guerres 1919-1937. Qui a gagné? de Ioan
Lăcustă3, livre qui ranime, à l’aide de la page de journal – «témoin fidèle du
temps»4 – l’atmosphère du déroulement des élections de l’entre-deux-guerres
(1919, 1920, 1922, 1926, 1927, 1928, 1931, 1932, 1933, 1937), on peut être certain du
fait que, en dépit de toutes les imperfections des partis et des hommes politiques
1
Ibidem, p. 123.
2
Crişan T. AXENTE, Essai sur le régime représentatif en Roumanie, Maurice Lavergne
Imprimeur, Librairie du Recueil Sirey, Paris, 1937.
3
Ioan LĂCUSTĂ, Zece alegeri interbelice 1919-1937. Cine a câştigat?, Editura PRO, Bucureşti, 1999.
4
Ibidem, p. 7.

356 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
participants à ces dix évènements, la démocratie était bien installée en Roumanie,

fait enregistré la seconde fois à peine après la Révolution de 1989, quand on re-
prend l’exercice démocratique du vote et du pluripartisme.
C’est précisément les respect des principes de la démocratie parlementaire par
les partis politiques roumains de l’entre-deux-guerres qui a engendré les condi-
tions nécessaires à l’étude scientifique de la société et de la politique roumaines. Ce
sont les élections libres organisées à l’entre-deux-guerres qui ont fait l’objet des
premières études électorales proprement dites. On passe, donc, de l’étude des élec-
tions aux études électorales.
En 1932, Vasile Toncescu a fait une éminente étude juridico-politique de la
réforme électorale1, comparant les effets de trois types de systèmes électoraux: de
la majorité absolue, du cœfficient électoral et du reste attribué sur pays. L’auteur
a insisté notamment sur la question des circonscriptions électorales qui, à ce mo-
ment-là, n’était pas réglementée par une loi suffisamment claire et convenable.
La loi en vigueur juste fixait la dimension de la circonscription inférieure au
département, ce qui permettait, d’une part, la constitution d’un nombre juridi-
quement illimité de telles unités électorales et, d’autre part, la création des cir-
conscriptions interdépartementales. En plus, cette loi donnait la possibilité
d’attribution du plus grand nombre de mandats après le comptage des votes au
niveau de la circonscription nationale. Ce calcul, défavorisant la représentation
des circonscriptions départementales, nécessitait, selon Toncescu, une correction
dans la loi, ce qui a déterminé l’auteur à démontrer ponctuellement les effets né-
gatifs entraînés par le système en place et à expliquer l’importance du système
électoral réformé.
À part l’étude du système électoral, on commence à s’intéresser de plus en plus
aux partis, au fonctionnement interne de la démocratie parlementaire roumaine et,
peu à peu, à la représentation politique et à l’électeur. On a observé qu’à partir de la
fin du XIXe siècle une multitude de considérations d’ordre électoral ont été faites par
les auteurs de textes juridiques, d’histoire, programmatiques, etc. Toutefois, ce sont
notamment les travaux de Marcel Ivan2 et Mattei Dogan3 qui marquent le début de la
recherche scientifique roumaine dans le domaine de l’électoral.
En 1933, dans son étude sur L’Evolution de nos partis politiques en chiffres et gra-
phiques, Marcel Ivan équivalait la multiplication des partis politiques (v., Tableau 1)4
à un facteur d’émancipation de l’électorat5. Analysant les élections organisées
depuis 1928, M. Ivan observait la multitude des changements produits dans la vie
politique roumaine: l’augmentation considérable du nombre des partis, la conso-
lidation remarquable de certains d’eux, la division de l’électorat, la baisse de la
participation au vote, l’émancipation politique des masses populaires, la baisse de
la popularité du gouvernement.
1
Vasile TONCESCU, Reforma Electorală. Studiu Juridic-Politic, Tipografiile Române Unite,
1932.
2
Marcel IVAN, Evoluţia partidelor noastre politice în cifre şi grafice, 1919-1932, Editura şi tiparul
Krafft & Drotleff, s.a., Sibiu, 1933.
3
Mattei DOGAN, Analiza statistică a „democraţiei parlamentare“ din România, Editura Parti-
dului Social-Democrat, Bucureşti, 1946.
4
Les données sont fournies par M. Ivan en 1933. Marcel IVAN, Evoluţia partidelor…cit., p. 8.
5
Ibidem, pp. 32-34.

Tabeau 1
La variation du nombre des
partis politiques de 1919 à 1932
Année Nombre
1919 10
1920 11
1922 12
1926 7
1927 8
1928 7
1931 12
1932 17
Après 1919, deux changements majeurs ont marqué, donc, l’évolution du régime
démocratique roumain: la multiplication des partis politiques et l’accroissement du
corps électoral. Dans son ouvrage récent sur La Roumanie postcommuniste et la Rouma-
nie de l’entre-deux-guerres, Cristian Preda apprécie que l’accroissement de l’électorat
depuis 1919 a été supérieur même à celui de la population1.
Puisque la Loi électorale de 1926 avait apporté une modification importante
au nombre de circonscriptions et députés, M. Ivan considérait utile de présenter la
nouvelle configuration de l’espace de la représentation politique.
Tableau 2
La répartition des mandats de député
sur circonscriptions en 1926
Nombre des
Nombre des
Région circonscriptions
députés
électorales
Ancien Royaume 179 30
Ardeal 92 19
Banat 30 4
Dobroudja 17 4
Bessarabie 51 9
Bucovine 18 5
Total 387 71
Le travail scientifique que Mattei Dogan publiait en 1946, L’Analyse statistique

de la «démocratie parlementaire» de Roumanie, était une autre recherche quantitative,
censée mesurer le démocratisme du régime de l’entre-deux-guerres. En 1995,
retournant à ce sujet, dans un chapitre intitulé «La danse électorale en Roumanie
1
Cristian PREDA, România postcomunistă şi România interbelică, Meridiane, Bucureşti, 2002, p. 92.

358 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
de l’entre-deux-guerres»1, Dogan réussit à utiliser les résultats électoraux et les

données démographiques de la période pour expliquer l’oscillation électorale ou
«la danse électorale», la rotation gouvernementale, la corruption pratiquée aux
élections, etc. Selon Dogan, l’oscillation était directement proportionnelle avec la
pauvreté. La valeur de l’oscillation était plus petite en Transylvanie, Banat et Buco-
vine, ce qui confirmait l’une des hypothèses de Dogan: plus la région était riche,
moins l’option oscillait. La corruption est expliquée en fonction de l’immaturité po-
litique et du taux de l’analphabétisme de la population. En 1930, ce pourcentage
était encore très élevé: 44% dans l’Ancien Royaume, 62% en Bessarabie, 33% en
Transylvanie, 34% en Bucovine2.
Dans ce contexte, les débats portés à l’époque sur le suffrage universel sem-
blent avoir été bien justifiés. Il s’agissait des débats très vifs qui, le plus souvent,
exprimaient le scepticisme quant à la maturité politique d’une certaine classe so-
ciale – les paysans analphabètes. En 1922, Constantin Stere considérait que son
parti devait, avant de participer aux élections parlementaires, éduquer son élec-
teur. On parlait à l’époque de la fragilité de l’opinion publique, déterminée par le
manque de bien-être et par le niveau d’éducation très bas. Tandis qu’un important
nombre d’écrivains et hommes politiques considéraient que ces citoyens ne de-
vaient pas élire, en 1926, P.P. Negulescu, conscient lui aussi de la situation de la
paysannerie roumaine, proposait, par contre, de l’informer et de l’éduquer dans
l’esprit de la participation aux affaires publiques. Selon l’auteur, la propagande et
les discussions contradictoires portées par les partis pouvaient contribuer à
l’éducation politique et à la mobilisation du corps électoral3. De même, Nicolae
Iorga était convaincu que cette mission revenait aux partis politiques.
Revenant au sujet du développement de l’étude électorale dans l’entre-deux-guer-
res, il faut absolument mentionner l’apport de la revue Sociologia românească fondée
par Dimitrie Gusti. Les recherches publiées par la revue font la preuve de la circula-
tion dans le milieu universitaire des travaux classiques sur les théories et les métho-
des des sciences sociales. Les références bibliographiques et les notes de sous-sol in-
diquent la parenté de la recherche roumaine et de la recherche occidentale de
l’époque. Les élections sont analysées cette fois par des spécialistes, sociologues en
grande partie. L’un des articles de la revue, sur «La signification des élections de dé-
cembre 1937 dans l’évolution politique du peuple roumain», paru en 1937, republié
en 1991 dans le volume de Petre Datculescu et Klaus Liepelt4, est exemplaire par la
richesse de l’information et de l’analyse. Dans son article, C. Enescu s’était proposé
d’étudier l’évolution de la culture civique roumaine à partir du vote de 1937. Il con-
statait que le jour du 20 décembre 1937 c’était pour la première fois que les Roumains
ont infirmé le gouvernement au pouvoir. La répartition des voix des principaux par-
tis sur départements était mise en correspondance avec les facteurs locaux favorables
1
Mattei DOGAN, «Dansul electoral în România interbelică», Revista de Cercetări Sociale, 4,
1995, pp. 3-23.
2
IDEM, Sociologie politică...cit., pp. 141-173.
3
P.P. NEGULESCU, Partidele Politice, Garamond, Bucureşti, 1994.
4
L’article de C. ENESCU, «Semnificaţia alegerilor din decembrie 1937 în evoluţia politică a
neamului românesc», Sociologia românească, Dir. Fond. Dimitrie GUSTI, IIe Année, no. 11-12,
novembre-décembre 1937, pp. 512-529, a été republié dans le volume de Petre DATCULESCU Klaus
LIEPELT, Renaşterea unei democraţii: alegerile din România de la 20 mai 1990, IRSOP, Bucureşti, 1991.

à chaque formation. Les conclusions arrivaient à des inférences sur le comportement

électoral collectif et l’implantation régionale des partis1.
Le Parti Libéral était gagnant dans les départements où ses organisations loca-
les étaient fortes. Dans les régions avec minorité roumaine, telle la Bucovine du
Nord, la population soutenait prioritairement les antisémites. Les votes accordés
au PL en Transylvanie étaient dus principalement au cartel avec les Saxons. Les
données recueillies situaient le PL parmi les partis de dispersion moyenne, voté
principalement par les masses prospères de la population (les commerçants, les in-
dustriels et les fonctionnaires). L’auteur soulignait également le fait que le PL avait
une «politique de prospérité» et, en réponse, son électorat appartenait aux couches
les plus aisées.
Plus fort que le PL, qui avait obtenu des résultats faibles dans neuf départe-
ments, le Parti National Paysan n’en a obtenu que dans quatre départements, dont
deux étaient situés dans la région habitée par les Szeklers. En Bucovine, le PNP a
enregistré 25,4%, une partie des votes étant accordée par les minoritaires ruthènes.
En Munténie et Dobroudja, le score a été égal: 24,3%. Présent en Transylvanie, en
Moldavie (15,3%) et en Bessarabie, le parti y était déclassé pourtant par les natio-
nal-chrétiens.
Le score obtenu par la formation «Tout pour le Pays» a été surprenant et à la
fois fulminant (500 000 voix, soit 15,58%). En Bucovine, la formation a obtenu le
plus important pourcentage (22,8%) et en Bessarabie, le plus bas (5%). D’une part,
la formation a été victorieuse dans quelques départements, tels Arad, Neamţ et
Covurlui, etc., dont la population ne présentait pas des caractéristiques sociales et
économiques similaires. D’autre part, les départements avec minorités juives et
majorités antisémites avaient voté les national-chrétiens. Il semblait, donc, que le
vote «Tout pour le Pays» n’a exprimé ni une revendication économique, ni une po-
sition ethnocentrique, mais plutôt un mécontentement relatif aux injustices commi-
ses par la classe politique. Ce vote, apprécie l’auteur, a été accordé par tous les fac-
tieux des régions industrielles et agricoles riches.
Le Parti National-Chrétien était plus fort en Bessarabie (21,3%) et en Moldavie
(17,1%) et plus faible en Transylvanie (3,8%).
Le Parti hongrois a obtenu 4,43% du total des voix, pourcentage inférieur au
pourcentage de la population hongroise (8% en 1930). L’auteur estimait qu’en dé-
pit des dissensions internes du parti, les électeurs hongrois y restaient attachés.
Dans ce registre d’idées, il semble intéressant de savoir également les options des
électeurs hongrois qui ne donnaient pas un vote sur clivage ethnique.
La minorité allemande s’est organisée en deux partis, le parti ancien (ROTH) et
le parti du peuple allemand (GUST). Le premier a conclu un cartel avec les libéraux
et le deuxième a déposé des listes principalement dans les départements avec mino-
rité allemande et, en plus, à Bucureşti, Prahova et Constanţa. Il a enregistré ses plus
importants scores à Târnava Mare (17,3%), Timiş-Torontal (12,5%) et Braşov (10%).
Sibiu, Cernăuţi et Cetatea Albă, restaient gouvernés par les Allemands.
Quant au parti juif, celui-ci a déposé des listes dans 45 départements et il a ob-
tenu généralement les votes ethniques des électeurs juifs.
Le pourcentage des électeurs présents aux urnes en 1937 – 66,1% (v., Tableau 3)2 –
et l’évolution de la participation électorale depuis 1926 déterminent l’auteur à
1
2
Le tableau ordonne les données inclues dans l’article cité. Ibidem, p. 173.

360 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
observer l’augmentation de l’intérêt populaire pour les affaires politiques, la prise

de conscience de l’importance de l’exercice du vote, et à utiliser cet argument pour
la défense du suffrage universel. Selon les estimations de l’auteur, dans certains
départements d’Olténie et de Munténie, la participation au vote dépassait souvent
80%. De l’autre côté, le bas pourcentage de la participation dans d’autres régions
était expliqué à travers un facteur particulier: les pressions que les autorités exer-
çaient sur les électeurs.
Tableau 3
Le taux de participation aux élections
de 1926 à 1937
Année Taux de
électorale participation (%)
1926 75,0
1927 77,1
1928 74,4
1931 72,5
1932 70,8
1933 68,0
1937 66,1
Dans un texte de sociologie des partis politiques, construit sur des références
de I.C. Bluntschli, N. Bucharin, R. Michels, G. Sorel, G. Tarde, F. Tönnies, M. We-
ber, A. de Tocqueville, J. Bryce, A. Lawrence Lowell, K. Kautsky, etc., Dimitrie
Gusti1 proposait la différenciation des partis de programme des partis opportunis-
tes. Le critère choisi: les moyens de propagande utilisés par les partis. Ainsi, le
parti de programme était celui qui s’adressait à des électeurs rationnels, appelés
afin de discuter et décider, capables, donc, d’un exercice personnel de compréhen-
sion et de prise de décision. À l’opposé, le parti opportuniste se donnait pour ob-
jectif principal l’obtention du succès électoral à tout prix. Ce dernier possédait l’art
de séduire, l’art de corrompre, l’art de mentir, de calomnier, l’art de produire de
l’intrigue et l’art de terroriser. «Celui qui maîtrise ces cinq éléments de la propa-
gande opportuniste est un artiste accompli, c’est l’homme politique parfait.»2
À partir de la deuxième moitié du XXe siècle, les publications sur les élec-
tions et les électeurs sont monopolisées par le Parti Communiste. C’est après
1989 que le milieu scientifique recommence à s’intéresser à la vie politique de
l’entre-deux-guerres. L’une des plus vastes études électorales dédiées aux années
de la démocratie parlementaire roumaine du début du XXe siècle a été mise en oeu-
vre par Sorin Radu, en 20043.
1
Dimitrie GUSTI, Partidul politic. Sociologia unui sistem al partidului politic, Cultura Naţională,
Bucureşti, 1924.
2
3
Sorin RADU, Electoratul din România în anii democraţiei parlamentare (1919-1937), Institutul
European, Iaşi, 2004.

Pour l’électorat de 1919-1937, comme Sorin Radu le démontre, il est relativement

facile d’identifier les classes sociales auxquelles les électeurs appartenaient: la classe
des grands propriétaires, la bourgeoisie, la paysannerie et le prolétariat. La difficulté
réelle, dérivée de l’absence des enquêtes sociales, consiste à identifier la correspon-
dance entre l’option politique et l’électeur. L’auteur considère que l’unique correspon-
dance qui puisse être faite est celle qui nous permet de connaître les catégories socia-
les qui alimentaient les organisations du parti politique. En supposant que cette base
sociale du parti coïncidait avec l’électorat de la formation en question, il nous reste à
ébaucher un supposé modèle de comportement électoral. Ce que Radu propose est,
donc, d’établir le modèle de vote à partir de l’hypothèse du vote sur clivage1.
L’auteur apprécie que le Parti National Libéral était un parti de cadres, soutenu
par la bourgeoisie industrielle et financière, la bourgeoisie des villages, une partie des
propriétaires fonciers, les intellectuels, etc. Les Conservateurs-démocrates de Take Io-
nescu2 provenaient en majorité de la bourgeoisie moyenne et petite, de la catégorie
des professions libérales. Quant aux Conservateurs-progressistes, dirigés par Alexan-
dru Marghiloman, ils étaient recrutés de la bourgeoisie des villages et de la classe
moyenne des propriétaires. Au Parti Nationaliste-Démocrate de Nicolae Iorga adhé-
raient généralement les intellectuels, les professeurs, les avocats, les maîtres des villa-
ges, etc. Le Parti Socialiste s’adressait notamment aux intellectuels et aux ouvriers.
Normalement, le Parti du Peuple et le Parti Paysan mobilisaient les paysans. Le Parti
National Roumain était une formation régionaliste et, implicitement, son électorat
était originaire de Transylvanie. Quant à la Garde de Fer, dominée par la personnalité
des jeunes intellectuels réputés, elle attirait un bon nombre de bourgeois urbains et de
nouveaux riches. En 1933, la majorité des membres du Parti Communiste apparte-
naient, de manière plus ou moins surprenante, aux minorités ethniques (74%)3.
Dans son étude, S. Radu s’intéresse également à la culture politique et au com-
portement électoral de l’entre-deux-guerres. Puisqu’il part de l’hypothèse de la
corrélation de la culture civique et du niveau d’éducation, le cas roumain ne peut
être que triste, vu le pourcentage de 57% de la population alphabétisée en 19304.
Cette situation explique, d’ailleurs, la participation réduite aux élections5 et le
grand nombre de bulletins annulés. C’est vrai, ajoute l’auteur, une fois le mécanisme
1
Grosso modo, selon l’École de Columbia, fondée par P.F. Lazarsfeld, B.R. Berelson et
W.N. McPhee, connaître la classe sociale, l’âge, le genre et la religion de l’électeur (les variables
lourdes) c’est pouvoir prédire son comportement électoral. C’est ce type d’hypothèse que Sorin
Radu propose; ce n’est pas néanmoins une hypothèse universellement adoptée. Une citation de
Partide politice şi clase sociale (1922) de Dimitrie Drăghicescu, reprise par Sorin Radu, nous explique
que les partis roumains ont toujours cherché à représenter plutôt une certaine doctrine qu’une
certaine classe sociale.
2
Dans ces articles publiés dans la revue Românul, Take Ionescu, docteur en droit de la faculté
de Paris, formé dans l’esprit des idées libérales, a plaidé pour le collège unique, attirant des
critiques violentes dans les journaux adverses des années 1882-1883. En 1885, T. Ionescu s’est
opposé au projet du gouvernement, censé sanctionner les abstentionnistes car le projet était
incompatible avec ses principes libéraux. Cependant, il a reconnu les conséquences néfastes de
l’abstentionnisme. En 1887, il s’est détaché des libéraux parce qu’il méprisait les principes
parlementaires. Oscillant entre les idées du libéralisme et du conservatisme, T. Ionescu a continué
à défendre des conceptions démocratiques, mais pas nécessairement libérales.
3
Sorin RADU, «Structura socială a electoratului», in IDEM, Electoratul din România…cit.,
pp. 74-92.
4
En 1930, seulement 2,2% de la population masculine urbaine et 0,2% de la population
rurale avaient des études universitaires.
5
Sorin Radu a observé que le taux de participation le plus élevé a été atteint aux élections de
1928 (77,5%).

362 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
du vote appris, les votes annulés deviennent de plus en plus rares (1,48% en 1937). Et,
parce que le succès de la démocratie dépendait directement de l’appréhension
de la démocratie, il était essentiel que les détenteurs des droits politiques aient
connu le mécanisme du vote.
Analysant le comportement politique des minorités ethniques, l’auteur conclue
que celles-ci constituaient la partie de la population la plus émancipée du point de
vue politique.
Un premier exemple est celui des leaders hongrois qui investissaient leurs propres
efforts dans le processus de «l’instruction intensive de l’électorat»1. La presse hon-
groise, «supérieure à la presse roumaine de la Transylvanie»2, était également impli-
quée dans ce projet. En dépit du fait qu’un certain nombre de Magyars étaient devenus
membres d’autres partis, en 1928, le Congrès du Parti Magyar, fondé la même année,
comptait se plier sur une base sociale magyare. Pour cela faire, il précisait que tout ci-
toyen roumain de nationalité magyare, âgé de plus de 20 ans, devenait automatique-
ment membre du Congrès. En conséquence, il est facile de déterminer la principale ca-
ractéristique de l’électorat de ce parti ethnique: l’appartenance à la minorité hongroise.
La minorité allemande de Transylvanie présentait une situation similaire.
C’étaient les leaders politiques du Parti National Allemand et la presse saxonne
qui, ensemble, assuraient l’éducation culturelle et civique des Allemands. Ces fac-
teurs expliquent peut-être le taux élevé de participation électorale des Allemands
qui «représentaient 5% de l’électorat du pays»3. Quant à leur formation politique,
jusqu’à 1922, elle a agréé en tant que partenaire un seul parti, le PNR. Ensuite,
celle-ci a consenti à la conclusion d’alliances.
Le modèle d’organisation politique de la minorité juive était différent des cas
magyar et allemand. Les Juifs ne créaient pas une unité électorale; presque tous les
partis roumains avaient des Juifs parmi leurs membres: le PNL, le PNP, le PSD, le
PCR. Fait intéressant, une partie des Juifs de Transylvanie votaient les candidats
magyars. Jusqu’à 1922, le moment où leur formation, l’Union des Juifs Autochto-
nes (Uniunea Evreilor Pământeni), a décidé de participer aux élections sur ses pro-
pres listes, les Juifs bucarestois avaient soutenu la gauche, tant aux élections que
dans les journaux qu’ils contrôlaient. Il faut ajouter qu’avant 1920 l’exercice des
droits politiques des Juifs était rendu difficile par les autorités roumaines. De plus,
après 1933, la mobilisation électorale en faveur des Juifs restait hors de question4.
Concernant les Tsiganes, il est supposé qu’ils votaient selon les recommanda-
tions du président de leur formation.
LES ÉLECTIONS SANS OPTION.

LA SOCIOLOGIE ÉLECTORALE PRIVÉE DE SON OBJET
Pourquoi des élections sans option?

Dans un article publié dans la revue Arhiva pentru Ştiinţa şi Reforma Socială,
Dimitrie Gusti appréciait que la dictature du prolétariat «n’est pas la dictature de
1
Ibidem, p. 111.
2
Ibidem, p. 112.
3
Ibidem, p. 113.
4
Ainsi, en 1937, la formation juive a reçu seulement 1,42% des voix.

la majorité, mais de la minorité, et ni même pas de la minorité en son entier,

comme classe, mais d’un parti, c’est-à-dire d’un fragment de cette classe»1.
Les évènements historiques qui ont succédé l’entre-deux-guerres, la suppres-
sion des partis politiques, l’instauration de la dictature militaire, la domination de
la vie politique par le parti-unique, la terreur communiste, ont rendu pratiquement
impossible l’exercice de la liberté du vote. Dans ces conditions, Virgiliu Ţârău pro-
pose de parler d’ «élections sans option»2. Le syntagme est devenu générique dans
les études des élections organisées dans les pays socialistes après la fin de la Se-
conde Guerre Mondiale, études dont le nombre avait visiblement accru notamment
dans les années ’70. Dans son livre de 2005, Ţârău distingue trois types d’élections:
les élections sans opposition ou plébiscites démocrate-populaires (en Bulgarie, en
Albanie et en l’ex-Yougoslavie), les élections dans des systèmes politiques avec des
partis communistes hégémoniques (en Hongrie et en Tchécoslovaquie) et les élections
dans des sociétés anticommunistes, organisées pour l’élimination de l’opposition (en
Roumanie et en Pologne)3.
Ţârău utilise des mots très suggestifs afin de décrire les élections parlementai-
res roumaines du 19 novembre 1946. Il parle d’«ingénieurs» et d’ «ingénieries élec-
torales». La fraude électorale et la corruption, pratiquées dans le but d’éliminer
l’opposition politique, représentaient un fait courant, bien qu’impossible à prouver
en justice. En dépit de tout cela, dans leurs discours, les communistes exprimaient
clairement leurs intentions4. L’auteur estime que les élections de cette année-là ont
été les plus dramatiques de toute l’histoire de la Roumanie5. Elles ont été organi-
sées par le Parti qui contrôlait une importante partie de l’administration d’État (le
Ministère de l’Intérieur, le Ministère de la Justice, etc.). Le Parti comptait 6500 mai-
res et 40 sous-préfets après l’épuration de 60-70 000 fonctionnaires publics. 250 000
cadres militaires, dont 44 000 officiers et sous-officiers, s’opposaient ouvertement
au régime démocratique6. De plus, la Commission Centrale Électorale et ses bu-
reaux territoriaux avait des prérogatives élargies par rapport à ce qu’on pourrait
octroyer à une institution démocratique similaire; la Commission recrutait les
membres des sections de vote sur le critère de l’appartenance partisane, recrutait
également les électeurs, en éliminant des listes ceux déclarés «indignes»7. La pres-
sion communiste ne s’exerçait pas uniquement par des obstacles politiques et légi-
slatifs; les contraintes administratives et policières, les abus et la violence8 ont pris
graduellement des dimensions impressionnantes, au fur et à mesure que le Parti
identifiait les hostilités dans toutes les couches de la société. Afin de connaître l’état
réel d’adhésion ou d’hostilité politique, le Parti a radiographié la société roumaine
par l’intermédiaire des questionnaires censés éclairer sur une série de choses, telles:
1
Citation reprise de la revue Arhiva pentru Ştiinţa şi Reforma Socială, IIe Année, no. 1-3, s.a.,
p. 344, par P.P. NEGULESCU, Partidele…cit., p. 163 (notre trad.).
2
Virgiliu ŢÂRĂU, Alegeri fără opţiune. Primele scrutinuri parlamentare din Centrul şi Estul
Europei după cel de-al Doilea Război Mondial, Eikon, Cluj-Napoca, 2005.
3
Virgiliu ŢÂRĂU, Alegeri fără opţiune…cit., p. 93.
4
Un fragment d’un tel discours, prononcé par Vasile Luca en 1946, est relevant dans ce sens:
«Nous ne pouvons pas nous contenter d’un succès de 50- 50%, mais nous devons obtenir une
majorité supérieure à 80%, si nous voulons liquider la réaction». Vasile LUCA, Alegerile şi
autonomia sindicală, Editura Partidului Comunist Român, Bucureşti, 1947, p. 427.
5
Ibidem, p. 493.
6
Ibidem, p. 466.
7
Ibidem, p. 481.
8
Ibidem, p. 492.

364 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
le nombre des citoyens ayant droit de vote au niveau des localités, la structure eth-
nique et sociale, l’attitude des autorités locales, des intellectuels et de tous les lea-
ders d’opinion susceptibles d’hostilité au communisme, etc. Dans le milieu rural et
urbain, on élaborait des «Bulletins Informatifs» sur l’état d’esprit de la population
de nationalité roumaine (les fonctionnaires publics, les intellectuels, les retraités, les
commerçants et les industriels), sur l’état d’esprit des ouvriers et sur les problèmes
de sécurité; les résultats étaient présentés dans des rubriques à titres très suggestifs:
«Le mouvement légionnaire», «La population allemande et le hitlérisme», «Le chau-
vinisme», «Les sectes religieuses», «L’espionnage», «Les passages frauduleux de
frontière», etc1. Le rôle de ces radiographies était de surveiller l’opinion publique,
d’identifier les opposants du régime en œuvre pour pouvoir les limoger ou éliminer
après les élections. Les résultats des élections ont été finalement décidés par les
membres des comités électoraux, recrutés sur la ligne du parti.
Les élections de 1946, qui ont attiré l’intérêt de nombreux historiens, sont dé-
crites généralement dans la même lumière. Dans son livre de 1996, Radu Pisică a
réussi à identifier quelques stratégies utilisées par les communistes pendant la
campagne électorale. Avant tout, ils ont créé le 17 mai 1946 le Bloc des Partis Dé-
mocratiques, dénomination censée «tromper l’électorat»2. Par rapport à d’autres
élections, celles-ci se différenciaient de plusieurs points de vue, précise l’auteur:
par la durée3, par l’objectif (de créer un nouveau système social, économique et po-
litique), par les méthodes employées (la subordination des syndicats, la terreur, la
censure des syndicats des typographies, la propagande, l’organisation des festi-
vals, la falsification de l’histoire, la démagogie), etc. Une fois constitué, le Bloc a ré-
ussi à éliminer tous les principes démocratiques qui avaient normé les élections an-
térieures, fait qui a déterminé les gouvernements britannique et américain à adres-
ser des notes au gouvernement roumain; les signataires attiraient l’attention sur
l’illégalité des actes commis dans la période préparatoire des élections4.
L’inscription des candidats sur les listes du BPD uniquement avec l’accord de la
Commission Centrale Électorale, l’intimidation permanente des partis d’opposition
et des électeurs, l’utilisation de l’armée et de la gendarmerie en tant qu’instrument
de pression sont quelques-unes des méthodes auxquelles les communistes ont re-
couru afin de gagner le pouvoir. Toutefois, selon les écrivains du régime, la vic-
toire du BPD a été tout à fait légitime. Cette légitimation n’est pas électorale, mais
révolutionnaire, exprimée non pas aux urnes, mais dans la rue. En plus, le nou-
veau gouvernement instauré n’est pas démocratique, mais «révolutionnaire-dé-
mocratique», explique Mihai Fătu, l’un des plus fervents historiens officiels du
Parti Communiste, considéré par Ţârău comme «l’historien de parti le plus prolifi-
que». Selon Fătu, le 6 mars 1945, le peuple roumain a fait une «option historique»5,
1
«Buletinele Informative pe Judeţe», in ANICB, Fond Inspectoratul Judeţean al Jandarmeriei,
Dosar 123/1946, passim. constituent des documents qui pourraient être utilisés en vue de la
connaissance des résultats réels des élections.
2
Radu PISICĂ, Adevărul despre alegerile din 19 noiembrie 1946 (analiză de presă), Fiat Lux,
3
L’organisation des élections, prévue «dans le plus court délai» représente, dans l’optique
de Ţârău, une stratégie d’ajourner les élections jusqu’au moment où le parti s’emparait de tous les
«leviers du pouvoir». Virgiliu ŢÂRĂU, Alegeri fără opţiune…cit, p. 457.
4
Les deux notes ont été publiées dans la revue Dreptatea; R. Pisică les a inclues dans son
livre. Radu PISICĂ, Adevărul despre alegerile…cit, pp. 122-123.
5
Mihai FĂTU, 6 martie 1946 – opţiune istorică a poporului, Editura Ştiinţifică şi Enciclopedică,
Bucureşti, 1981.

exprimée clairement par des moyens spécifiques, c’est-à-dire révolutionnaires: «le

flot d’actions révolutionnaires des masses», «la manifestation», «la démonstration
ouvrière», «les appels des ouvriers organisés pour le redressement économique du
pays», etc1. Après le vote du 6 mars 1945 et l’installation au pouvoir du gouverne-
ment de Petru Groza, les élections parlementaires du 19 novembre 1946 avaient à
se dérouler à nouveau, précise Fătu dans son livre sur le «vote décisif»2, dans une
atmosphère de frénésie populaire. Selon lui, le vote de confirmation du régime politi-
que et social en place n’était possible que dans une démocratie réelle qu’incarnait la
volonté populaire. L’auteur identifiait les éléments hostiles au régime, parmi les-
quels les «groupements de l’intellectualité, liés par divers intérêts des sommets des
classes exploiteuses»3. L’opposition des partis historiques de Maniu et Brătianu,
dissous par le régime de démocratie populaire, était également cataloguée
d’hostile, de «réactionnaire» et, implicitement, incriminée4. Tout pour justifier la
nature révolutionnaire du régime de la démocratie populaire.
L’étude officielle des élections

dans la deuxième moitié du XXe siècle
La question est de savoir si dans la Roumanie de la deuxième moitié du XXe
siècle il a existé un véritable électorat. Deux décennies après la chute du régime
communiste, on peut encore étudier les élections organisées après 1945, on peut
voir reconstruire, à partir de la littérature officielle, l’image que le Parti se faisait de
ses électeurs. La difficulté réelle consiste en l’analyse des traits de l’électorat et elle
est engendrée par l’absence d’études scientifiques durant cette période. Puisque le
système socialiste n’a pas permis ni l’exercice démocratique, ni l’analyse neutre des
élections, la discussion sur les élections et les électeurs devient hasardeuse. Selon
Alfred Bulai, les ouvrages qui ont vu le jour à l’étranger ont abordé des questions
trop générales: la censure, le contrôle politique, l’absence des droits de l’homme.
Et, pourtant, le vote a représenté «un élément définitoire de la société socialiste et il
ne peut pas être réduit, en tant que phénomène social, à la censure ou au contrôle
politique»5. V. Ţârău observe également que les études roumaines des années ’80 et
’90 ont été plutôt des glossaires d’information propagandistique. Et les publica-
tions parues à l’étranger, surtout des témoignages en exile et notes diplomatiques,
sont utiles uniquement pour la reconstruction de la vérité historique, mais non pas
des réalités sociologiques6.
Si lors les années 1860-1880, les travaux d’histoire et de droit renvoyaient à
des références de Guizot, Rousseau, Montesquieu, etc., cent ans plus tard, les
écrivains officiels du régime trouveraient convenable de baser leurs théories sur les
1
Ibidem, pp. 93-96.
2
Mihai FĂTU, Un vot decisiv (noiembrie 1946), Institutul de Studii Istorice şi Social-Politice de
pe lângă CC al PCR, Bucureşti, 1972.
3
Ibidem, pp. 48-49 (notre trad.).
4
Ibidem, p. 217.
5
Alfred BULAI, Mecanismele electorale ale societăţii româneşti, Paideia, Bucureşti, 1999,
pp. 75-76 (notre trad.).
6
Virgiliu ŢÂRĂU, Alegeri fără opţiune…cit., p. 433.

366 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
réflexions de Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, Lucreţiu Pătrăşcanu, Nicolae Ceauşescu,

Constantin Dobrogeanu-Gherea, Vasile Niculae, etc.
Dans un livre publié en 1981, S. Cutişteanu et Gh.I. Ioniţă extraient des phra-
ses du contexte à partir des ouvrages de Nicolae Iorga pour soutenir la thèse socia-
liste du vote. Les données utilisées par Marcel Ivan et Mattei Dogan étaient utili-
sées maintenant pour la mise en évidence du non démocratisme des élections pas-
sées. Les auteurs finissaient par apprécier que l’un des mérites du régime au pou-
voir consistait en l’évolution de l’élection organisée à l’entre-deux-guerres vers la
consultation du corps électoral1.
Afin de voir comment ces consultations électives se déroulaient et qui était
l’électeur, nous nous proposons de faire un exercice – celui de supposer qu’il
s’agissait toujours d’élections, même si consultatives, et de surprendre le portrait
de l’électeur à travers la littérature officielle.
Tout d’abord, il faut mentionner que toutes les Constitutions du régime (du 13
avril 1948, du 27 septembre 1952 et du 21 aout 1965) ont consacré le principe démo-
cratique du vote universel, égal, direct et secret2. Pourtant, les exceptions de la loi,
telle la suspension du droit de vote aux personnes «indignes»3 – c’est-à-dire les
personnes qui transgressaient les principes de la doctrine officielle – ont normé la
pratique. Dans La République absente de 1999, Daniel Barbu appréciait que, de 1944
à 1948, le PCR «s’est servi du droit pour abolir les droits»4.
Les premières élections pour l’Assemblée, organisées depuis 1937, ont eu lieu le
19 septembre 1946. Près de 7 millions de citoyens ont voté (44% de la population).
Les Roumains ont accordé 80% des voix au Bloc et 8% à l’opposition. Ainsi, le Bloc a
obtenu 347 sièges à l’Assemblée. Le PNP de Maniu n’a eu que 23 sièges et les libé-
raux de Brătianu, 3. Il y a eu des fraudes et des incidents violents, conclus par un bi-
lan de 17 morts et 127 blessés. Tous ces aspects des élections de 1946 ont été décrits
par Georges Castellan dans l’Histoire de la Roumanie, publiée en 1984, à Paris5.
Aux élections législatives, on choisissait entre plusieurs candidats d’un seul
parti ou d’une seule alliance de partis, appelée Bloc, Front, etc. et prétendue être un
organisme non-politique. Caractérisées par Filon Morar, en 2001, d’«acclamatives
et formelles»6, les élections socialistes ne constituaient qu’un simulacre destiné légiti-
mer les représentants de l’Assemblée Nationale. Parmi les fonctions de ces élections,
énumérées par l’auteur, il y a également la démonstration du soutient populaire
1
S. CUTIŞTEANU, Gh. I. IONIŢĂ, Electoratul din România în anii interbelici (Mişcarea munci-
torească şi democratică in viaţa electorală din România interbelică, Dacia, Cluj-Napoca, 1981.
2
Cristian IONESCU, Drept constituţional şi instituţii politice. Sistemul constituţional românesc,
vol. II, Lumina Lex, Bucureşti, 2001.
3
Il y a deux mots qu’on retrouve à travers les publications de la formation communiste, quel
qu’il soit son avatar (parti socialiste, ouvrier ou communiste, Bloc, Front, etc.), deux mots qui
raniment religieusement les membres: la Morale et l’Éducation. Ce sont les deux principes
fondateurs du socialisme roumain qui n’admet pas l’abdication. Dès 1926, l’organisation du Parti
Socialiste de Câmpina publie des Pages de morale et d’éducation socialiste, accusant les «transfuges»
du parti d’opportunisme et, implicitement, d’immoralité. De ce ne abţinem dela Alegerile comunale
din 19 Februarie 1926. Pagini de morală şi educaţie socialistă, Tipografia Mihail S. Gheorghiu,
Câmpina, 1926.
4
Daniel BARBU, Republica absentă. Politică şi societate în România postcomunistă, Nemira,
5
Georges CASTELLAN, Histoire de la Roumanie, PUF, Paris, 1984, p. 108.
6
Filon MORAR, Democraţia privilegiilor. Alegerile aleşilor în România, Paideia, Bucureşti,
2001, p. 36.

unanime, la réaffirmation de l’unité (surtout à l’URSS), le rôle de mobilisation de la

population, la rencontre des dirigeants avec les citoyens et la socialisation des masses
par la participation politique1. De plus, les élections détenaient un rôle central dans
l’organisation de la vie courante; elles étaient utilisées pour la désignation des chefs
des organisations de pionniers, des chefs de classe, des leaders d’entreprises, etc.
Puisque le choix des représentants politiques était antérieur à la consultation
de l’électorat, la compétition était créée artificiellement. Toutefois, les élections
étaient précédées par des campagnes très vives. Dans la période pré-électorale, la
Section de propagande du Parti publiait une série de textes censés informer
l’opinion publique sur sa plate-forme électorale.
En 1946, une telle publication sur L’armée et les élections2 visait précisément
l’instruction de l’armée en vue de l’organisation et son participation aux élections.
Le parti informait les militaires que le BPD était le représentant unique du peuple,
réunissant tous les partis, sauf les fascistes et les réactionnaires. Parmi les objectifs
du Bloc, on énumérait: la consolidation du régime démocratique, la souveraineté
totale de l’État, la prospérité du pays, la consolidation du rapport de convivialité
pacifique de toutes les nationalités cohabitantes, le développement des relations
d’amitié et de collaboration avec l’URSS, l’augmentation du standard de vie, etc.
Dans le chapitre sur le rôle du soldat, le texte changeait de registre: au début du
texte on parlait de la responsabilité du militaire, en tant que citoyen patriote, de
connaître la plate-forme du BPD et, ensuite, cette responsabilité se transformait en
la joie procurée par la prise de conscience des responsabilités patriotiques. De plus,
en dépit du fait que la Loi électorale ne prévoyait pas le droit aux militaires d’être
élus, le Parti exprime son desideratum, celui d’élire les meilleurs représentants de
l’Armée dans l’Assemblée, selon le modèle soviétique3.
La fonction de propagande4 était remplie par un nombre impressionnant
d’organisations contrôlées par le noyau politique. Par exemple, puisque parmi les
membres des partis qui formaient le BPD il y avait aussi des Juifs, dans une publication
de 19465, le Comité Démocratique Juif essayait de mobiliser la minorité qui, selon sa vi-
sion, avait le devoir moral et historique d’élire le Bloc, le «vainqueur du fascisme et du
hitlérisme», le promoteur de la non discrimination raciale, nationale et religieuse6.
En 1950, le Projet de Loi sur la création des Conseils Populaires fournit aux
membres du Parti Ouvrier Roumain l’occasion de faire une fois de plus l’éloge du
système politique «à profond caractère démocratique». Au niveau de ces «nou-
veaux organes locaux du pouvoir d’État»7, les députés étaient éligibles sur des cri-
tères très ambigus, tels l’appartenance à la classe ouvrière, le dévouement à la
«cause grandiose du progrès matériel, culturel et social du pays et du peuple ou-
vrier» et la capacité «d’avoir gagné la confiance et l’amour des gens du travail», ex-
plique Chivu Stoica – l’un des membres suppléants du Bureau Politique du CC du
1
Ibidem, pp. 41-42.
2
Armata şi alegerile, Editura Inspectoratului General al Armatei pentru ECP, Bucureşti, 1946.
3
Ibidem, p. 32.
4
Eugen DENIZE, Cezar MÂŢĂ, România comunistă. Statul şi propaganda 1948-1953, Cetatea
de Scaun, Bucureşti, 2005.
5
«Cum vor vota Evreii la 19 Noembrie 1946. De la robia din trecut la libertatea de astăzi şi
de mâine», Editura Comitetului Democratic Evreesc, s.l., 1946.
6
Ibidem, pp. 1-16.
7
Chivu STOICA, Expunere asupra proectului de lege pentru alegerea deputaţilor în Sfaturile
Populare, Editura Partidului Muncitoresc Român, Bucureşti, 1950, p. 6.

368 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
POR. En d’autres mots, l’option des électeurs, amoureux des candidats de la

Grande Assemblée Nationale, était l’expression des sentiments les plus forts. Le
projet en question incluait un alinéa très exclusif sur les restrictions: le droit d’élire
et d’être élu était interdit aux anciens industriels, banquiers, grands commerçants
et grands propriétaires ruraux (chiaburii), à tous les «exploiteurs anciens et ac-
tuels»1. Cependant, Stoica considérait que, loin de toutes les barrières que le droit
de vote rencontrait dans d’autres systèmes2, en République Populaire Roumaine,
les discriminations de sexe, de nationalité, de race, de religion et de profession
étaient toutes abolies.
L’illusion de l’égalité et du bonheur était créée à travers toute une industrie litté-
raire. La richesse de la production littéraire se mesurait surtout en nombre de pages.
Les romans politiques étaient en plein essor; en fait, c’étaient des œuvres qui prolon-
geaient la propagande du manifeste dans la littérature. En 1952, Octav Pancu-Iaşi3 ré-
alisait un roman dont le héros principal était un jeune qui allait voter pour la pre-
mière fois. Les personnages du roman, électeurs et candidats, portaient des noms
roumains, hongrois, etc. Les électeurs motivaient l’option qu’ils allaient faire «pour le
futur socialiste et la paix de la patrie», en parlant du «bonheur d’être citoyen de la
RPR» et de «défendre la nouvelle vie de ma chère patrie»4. La lecture du texte mon-
tre, donc, que les intérêts personnels des électeurs des années ’50-’60 coïncidaient
avec les objectifs du Front de la Démocratie Populaire et de l’Union des Jeunes Ou-
vriers. Le vote procurait à l’électeur des sentiments et émotions, tels le bonheur,
l’enthousiasme, la confiance, la fierté et l’amour. C’est la raison pour laquelle Filon
Morar, en 2001, comparait le communisme à une déclaration d’amour5.
Après la création de la Région Autonome Magyare de 1952, le Front Démocra-
tique Populaire a eu l’ambition de se présenter devant les électeurs de la région en
tant qu’incarnation des solutions aux problèmes de tous les citoyens, quelle que
soit l’ethnie ou la profession: Roumains et Hongrois, ouvriers, fonctionnaires pu-
blics, peintres, doyens, paysans, écrivains et médecins, etc. Dans une publication
pré-éléctorale, le Front a réuni les attentes des citoyens de la Région et les a présen-
tées sous la forme des motivations de tous les électeurs. La vie digne pour le
paysan, l’élévation du niveau de vie pour l’ouvrier, l’augmentation de l’espérance
de vie pour le médecin, le développement de la culture de la minorité pour le maî-
tre, l’éducation pour le professeur et la démocratie pour l’écrivain sont les motiva-
tions pour lesquelles tous allaient voter «avec confiance» pour le FDP6.
Sous l’autorité du FDP, on a publié des textes à caractère électoral adressés
aux femmes et qui, en même temps et parlant au nom des femmes. L’un des
ceux-ci, intitulé suggestivement Pour la paix, la liberté et le bonheur de nos enfants on
vote le Soleil7 invitait les femmes, les «chères sœurs», à voter le FDP. Le texte
1
Ibidem, p. 13.
2
Dans ce sens, l’auteur a donné les exemples suivants: le système américain où les Noirs étaient
empêchés de voter, le Canada et l’Angleterre qui imposaient des conditions de cens, l’Afrique
anglaise où 75 millions habitants ne disposent pas du droit de voter, etc. Ibidem, pp. 9-10.
3
Octav PANCU-IAŞI, Votez pentru prima oară, Editura Tineretului a CC al UTM, Bucureşti,
1952.
4
Ibidem, p. 20.
5
Filon MORAR, Democraţia privilegiilor…cit., p. 35.
6
Alegătorii declară, éd. par le Conseil Régional FDP de la Région Autonome Magyare,
Întreprinderea Poligrafică, Târgu-Mureş, s.a.
7
Pentru pacea, libertatea şi fericirea copiilor noştri votăm soarele, FDP, Bucureşti, s.a.

publiait les noms des ouvrières-exemple qui avaient dépassé leur norme de travail
de 70, voire 100%. C’était, donc, la femme-robot qui vivait en tout bonheur et éli-
sait en toute conscience, prolétaire- évidemment, le parti de tous .
Dans un article publié en 2002, V. Ţârău1 a observé que, pendant le régime so-
cialiste, les femmes ont joué le rôle de «moyens de transfert». Leur position dans la
campagne et les élections était secondaire. Les manifestes étaient adressés aux fem-
mes en leur qualité de «mère», «ouvrière» et «citoyenne», appelées à participer aux
élections pour l’obtention de la victoire2.
Tout comme les élections législatives, les élections syndicales opposaient les
candidats communistes aux candidats «réactionnaires», explique Vasile Luca, l’un
des secrétaires du Parti Communiste Roumain3. Et, puisque la majorité des mem-
bres syndicaux se retrouvaient alors sur les listes de deux partis, le PCR et le PSD,
il est facile de se rendre compte qui étaient les «réactionnaires» dont Luca a écrit.
L’auteur d’une brochure sur Les élections et l’autonomie syndicale, Luca s’est préoc-
cupé de définir l’autonomie syndicale, un principe introduit par les «savants gé-
niaux de la classe ouvrière, Marx-Engels-Lénine-Staline»4 et appliqué par le PCR.
En dépit de l’affiliation des membres syndicaux au PCR, l’auteur présentait les
syndicats des communistes comme étant autonomes du point de vue politique5.
Par contre, les syndicalistes socio-démocrates étaient contrôlés par leur parti, sus-
pect de propagande anti-communiste et, implicitement, d’intérêts contraires à la
classe ouvrière6. On observe que la simple opposition idéologique des deux partis
(PCR vs. PSD) constitue un critère solide d’exclusion des social-démocrates du
champ représentatif de la classe ouvrière. Par conséquent, l’unique représentant lé-
gitime des intérêts des ouvriers restait le PCR qui, au nom de l’autonomie et de
l’unité syndicales, demandait le remplacement, à travers les élections d’août 1947,
de tous les organes dirigeants corrompus, par des «ouvriers honnêtes, dévoués à la
cause de la classe ouvrière»7. Le texte de V. Luca est important au point où il re-
constitue la stratégie discursive de délégitimation de l’adversaire, utilisée dans la
campagne communiste. Puisque dans le discours communiste il n’y a jamais la
possibilité que plusieurs partis représentent les intérêts des électeurs – intérêts que
le PCR réduisait d’ailleurs à la dimension prolétaire et, implicitement, incarnait –,
l’adversaire du Parti ne peut se retrouver qu’en dehors de la logique de la démo-
cratie représentative; il ne peut avoir que des objectifs électoraux ignobles, tels
l’obtention des mandats et l’utilisation du pouvoir dans son propre bénéfice. Dans
ce contexte, par définition, tout candidat qui se présentait sur une autre liste que
celle du PCR, toute activité propagandistique et de campagne menée contre les
communistes, tout comme le vote accordé à l’adversaire politique, ne faisaient que
s’inscrire dans la liste des éléments anti-communistes, non patriotiques, fascistes,
réactionnaires, devenant l’objet des représailles. Un seul parti était légitime. Une
seule couleur politique. Une seule option électorale.
1
Virgiliu ŢÂRĂU, «De la diversitate la integrare. „Problema femeii“ şi instaurarea comunis-
mului în Europa Centrală şi de Est. Cazul României», in Ghizela COSMA, Virgiliu ŢÂRĂU (éd.),
Condiţia femeii în România în secolul XX. Studii de caz, Presa Universitară Clujeană, Cluj-Napoca,
2002, pp. 135-161
2
Ibidem, p. 148.
3
Vasile LUCA, Alegerile şi autonomia…cit., p. 7.
4
Ibidem, p. 8.
5
Ibidem, p. 12.
6
Ibidem, p. 14.
7

370 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
Pour le complètement de la photographie communiste du phénomène électo-

ral, le texte écrit par Nistor Prisca en 1975 est concluant1. L’auteur commence par
présenter les opérations qui précèdent le jour du vote et finit par faire l’éloge du
système électoral socialiste qui, à la différence des systèmes des pays capitalistes,
incarne le démocratisme. Le garant du démocratisme est le Front de l’Unité Socia-
liste, créé en 1968, par l’union de toutes les organisations contrôlées par le Parti
Communiste, dont les membres, «travailleurs de nationalité hongroise, allemande,
serbe et ukrainienne»2, les représentants des cultes religieux, etc., adhéraient tous à
la doctrine de la démocratie socialiste. Le Front, démocratiquement constitué, était,
donc, l’unique organisateur légitime des élections. Les citoyens ne disposaient pas
seulement du droit de vote et de celui d’être élus mais, en plus, du droit de révo-
quer les députés avant la fin du mandat3. La Constitution de la République Socia-
liste consacrait tous les droits libéraux, le FUS représentait tous les citoyens dans
leur diversité: on voulait créer l’illusion d’un régime de démocratie participative.
En réalité, les structures représentatives se superposaient à un tel point que la fonc-
tion de délégation des représentants arrivait à être elle-même déléguée d’une
structure à l’autre. Le consensus profond que la société socialiste se donnait n’était
pas compatible avec la négociation et la polémique qu’appartenaient à un temps
révolu de la démocratie imparfaite des années ’20 et‘304:
«Dans les pays capitalistes, la campagne électorale se caractérise par de
grandes agitations, notamment des partis politiques bourgeois, qui font tout
le possible, selon le dicton „le but excuse les moyens“, pour obtenir la majorité
des sièges dans le Parlement. Durant cette période, les partis lancent, à travers
les journaux et d’autres moyens de publicité, toute sorte d’accusations, pour
discréditer les adversaires dans les yeux des électeurs»5.
En 1946, M. Florescu critiquait lui-aussi les élections de l’entre-deux-guerres

pour les mesures arbitraires, le truquage des urnes, la terreur, les assassinats politi-
ques. À l’opposé, l’auteur situait les premières élections libres, les élections socia-
listes6. La campagne des socialistes, tout comme leurs élections, ont tout un autre
sens; elles consistent en une manifestation de la joie du consensus populaire, une
manifestation de type religieux, ainsi décrite par Prisca:
«FUS organise, sous la direction du PCR, la campagne électorale, celle-ci re-
présente une période d’enthousiasme pour tous les citoyens, une période de
constructive effervescence politique, une ample action à caractère de travail»7.
Le livre écrit par N. Prisca en 1965 sur Le Système électoral en RPR8 est tout à fait
exemplaire pour la technique argumentative utilisée par les chercheurs officiels du
système. Il utilisait des citations tronquées des livres d’auteurs illustres, catalogués
1
Nistor PRISCA, Democratismul sistemului electoral în Republica Socialistă România, Editura
Politică, Bucureşti, 1975.
2
Ibidem, p. 6.
3
L’art. 25 de la Constitution de la RSR.
4
Nistor PRISCA, Democratismul sistemului…cit.
5
6
M. FLORESCU, Alegerile parlamentare în lumina cifrelor şi a faptelor (1918-1937), Editura
Partidului Comunist Român, s.l., 1946.
7
Nistor PRISCA, Democratismul sistemului…cit., p. 60 (notre trad.).
8
IDEM, Sistemul electoral în RPR, Editura Ştiinţifică, Bucureşti, 1965.

«auteurs bourgeois»1, parmi lesquels M. Duverger, G. Burdeau, R. Aron, S. Ro-

mano, P.P. Negulescu. Il possédait des amples connaissances des résultats des élec-
tions et des systèmes électoraux d’Occident mais il les utilisait afin de montrer la
supériorité du système électoral socialiste, opposé au système électoral bourgeois
ou capitaliste. Il donnait l’exemple de la République Française où, selon lui, la
maintenance de l’institution du Parlement était justifiée uniquement pour l’objectif
de créer l’impression que le gouvernement n’exerçait pas tout seul le pouvoir déci-
sionnel, mais il était conditionné par l’approbation des représentants du peuple.
Évidemment, Prisca fait une lecture personnelle des auteurs mentionnés.
On l’a constaté sans doute, la critique du régime capitaliste, «bourgeois-pro-
priétaire», du pluripartisme, du système censitaire et du vote capacitaire revient
fréquemment dans les textes des écrivains officiels du Parti qui font l’éloge du dé-
mocratisme du régime totalitaire: Prisca, Fătu, Luca, Ludo2, etc. Dans les années
’50, à la veille des élections, le thème a été approché par une publication en langue
française, La Roumanie devant les élections3, toujours dans la même tonalité:
«Ces élections seront les premières après la libération du pays des dicta-
tures successives de Carol II, des légionnaires et d’Antonesco […] Voici ce
que fut le régime politique de la Roumanie d’avant guerre: des abus répétés
et sous le couvert d’une loi électorale non-démocratique, des élections tru-
quées, des partis interdits, omnipuissance arbitraire de certains cercles oc-
cultes, institutions démocratiques prévues pas la Constitution mises au ren-
cart […] Ce seront les premières élections libres. C’est pour la première fois
que le paysan, l’ouvrier et l’intellectuel roumains auront l’occasion d’élire
leurs véritables représentants»4.
Même après la chute du régime communiste, des nostalgiques du régime

continuent à publier des textes sur le système, textes qui ne sont pas les plus neu-
tres descriptions. En 1997, Vasile Budrigă, docteur en histoire, fait l’éloge du mou-
vement révolutionnaire-socialiste pour avoir introduit le vote universel5. Une an-
née plus tard, l’auteur retourne au sujet du système électoral du 23 août 1944 à dé-
cembre 1989. Dans ce deuxième livre, Budrigă catalogue le système institué après
1989 comme «système électoral de type bourgeois»; il critique l’idée-même de cam-
pagne électorale car on dépense trop d’argent pour l’affichage, etc. L’auteur parle
de la «grande malheur de décembre 1989» et il orthographie le nom de Ceauşescu
avec des majuscules6.
La démarche de Budrigă n’est qu’une exception. Après 1989, l’objet des élec-
tions est revendiqué par les sciences sociales. Un bon nombre de scientifiques –
historiens, sociologues et politistes – dédient leurs travaux aux élections commu-
nistes et de l’entre-deux-guerres.
En 2000 et 2001, Filon Morar a publié deux volumes sur les systèmes électo-
raux et les élections communistes et de l’entre-deux-guerres, volumes qui présen-
tent chronologiquement et analysent les évènements qu’ont marqué le parcours du
régime représentatif roumain.
1
Ibidem, p. 9.
2
Isac LUDO, Alegerile lor – parlamentele lor!, Editura Confederaţiei Generale a Muncii, s.l., 1952.
3
La Roumanie devant les élections, Éditions de la Revue Roumaine, s.l., s.a.
4
Ibidem, pp. 5-14.
5
Vasile BUDRIGĂ, Sistemul electoral din România în anii 1918-1940, Planeta, Bucureşti, 1997.
6
IDEM, Sistemul electiv românesc 23 august 1944-decembrie 1989, Editura «Budrigă-Mavoz»,
Bucureşti, 1998.

372 ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
Alfred Bulai et Alexandru Radu ont essayé d’identifier l’influence de

l’expérience des élections communistes sur le comportement de l’électeur roumain
d’aujourd’hui. Les deux considèrent que la frustration de l’électorat, née d’une lon-
gue absence de la liberté d’exercice du vote, expliquent la frénésie des masses et le
bas taux de l’abstentionnisme aux élections de ’901. Bulai voit dans les premières
élections de ’90 la transition d’un système électoral artificiel à un système électoral
démocratique; l’électorat socialiste subit simultanément sa transformation.
Aucune présentation des contributions récentes à l’étude de la Roumanie
électorale ne serait complète sans les références aux ouvrages de Daniel Barbu et
Cristian Preda. La République absente2 et La Roumanie électorale et la Roumanie de
l’entre-deux-guerres3 nous aident à saisir l’héritage que la démocratie d’aujourd’hui
garde des anciens régimes – le régime communiste et ceux de l’entre-deux-guerres.
Les deux livres montrent que les répétitions, les coïncidences, les évolutions et les
retards qui font la démocratie roumaine ne sont pas accidentels. La démocratie
reste dépendante de son parcours.
EN GUISE DE CONCLUSION
En Roumanie les premières notions de statistique électorale et, plus tard, de
sociologie électorale, n’ont pas tardé d’apparaître et elles ont évolué une fois avec
l’exercice démocratique du vote. Au moment où le système électoral commence à
être utilisé en tant qu’instrument de reproduction automatique de l’appareil politi-
que, l’étude électorale perd elle aussi sa neutralité scientifique. Durant les «élec-
tions sans option», le mimétisme de l’exercice démocratique des droits politiques a
confisqué à la sociologie électorale son objet d’étude. C’est le moment où la
contemporanéité de l’étude électorale roumaine avec les études électorales occi-
dentales s’interrompt, pour essayer de se rétablir après ’89. Il reste à voir en quelle
mesure cet essai de renouer l’expérience scientifique roumaine avec l’expérience
occidentale portera encore la marque de l’absence d’analyse électorale continuelle
ou, à la rigueur, si cela est encore possible.
1
Alfred BULAI, Mecanismele electorale…cit., p. 73; Alexandru RADU, Nevoia schimbării. Un
deceniu de pluripartidism în România, Editura «Ion Cristoiu», Bucureşti, 2000, p. 251.
2
Daniel BARBU, Republica absentă…cit.
3
Cristian PREDA, România postcomunistă…cit.

Les liens entre le CNFR et le CIF (1921-1971) 373
Les liens entre le Conseil National des

Femmes Roumaines
et le Conseil International des Femmes
(1921-1971)
ALEXANDRA PETRESCU
Le Conseil National des Femmes Roumaines (CNFR), créé en 1921, prend

contact avec le Conseil International des Femmes (CIF) la même année en vue de
son affiliation. La recherche que nous avons menée dans le Centre d’Archives pour
l’Histoire des Femmes de Bruxelles nous permet de refaire le chemin des contacts
entre les féministes roumaines membres du Conseil National Roumain et
l’organisation internationale. Nous avons étudié la correspondance officielle et pri-
vée des personnalités féministes roumaines et étrangères et les documents qui
concernent l’affiliation du CNFR, pour pouvoir retracer l’histoire des relations en-
tre le CNFR et le CIF, une histoire qui commence en 1921, l’année des premiers
contacts avec le CIF, et s’achève en 1971, l’année du dernier document officiel
qu’on a identifié dans les archives.
Cette recherche sur les liaisons entre le CNFR et le CIF comporte une recherche
particulière qui concerne les liaisons qui s’établissent entre les féministes roumaines
et belges. L’intérêt pour les documents qui attestent le rapprochement entre les fémi-
nistes roumaines et belges nous était nécessaire à la rédaction de notre thèse de doc-
torat qui a comme sujet les droits politiques des femmes roumaines et belges pen-
dant 1866-1944. La recherche s’est concentrée donc premièrement sur la correspon-
dance entre les féministes roumaines et belges, mais nous avons étudié tous les dos-
siers qui concernaient la Roumanie, et donc les résultats de cette recherche ont abouti
à une histoire des relations entre le CNFR et le CIF. En étudiant aussi la correspon-
dance des féministes étrangères qui renvoyait à la Roumanie ou aux féministes rou-
maines, nous avons essayé de dresser un bilan des liaisons entre le CNFR et le CIF.
La recherche est quantitative et prend en compte les dossiers du Centre
d’Archives pour l’Histoire des Femmes de Bruxelles qui contiennent des documents
relatifs au CNFR. Nous avons identifié ainsi les dossiers 929, 941 et 1653 dont le dé-
pouillement nous a permis d’établir l’évolution des relations entre le CNFR et le CIF,
mais aussi l’évolution des personnalités féministes roumaines. L’histoire du CNFR
ne peut pas être détachée du parcours personnel de ses membres importantes. La
correspondance nous dévoile les moments difficiles ou les succès qu’ont connus les
féministes roumaines au niveau international. Il y a donc un mélange entre privé et
public qu’on découvre en analysant les dossiers des archives.
Dans notre démarche les autres sources ont été les livres édités par le CIF et
qui se trouvent au Centre d’Archives pour l’Histoire des Femmes de Bruxelles et le
livre Des femmes qui changent le monde. Histoire du Conseil international des femmes,
paru en 2005 et coordonné par Eliane Gubin et Leen Van Molle, deux professeurs
belges en histoire.

374 ALEXANDRA PETRESCU
Notre article se compose de plusieurs «chapitres» qui correspondent à un en-

chaînement chronologique. Nous commencerons donc par les premiers contacts
entre le CNFR et le CIF, qui débutent en 1921, pour continuer avec l’évolution des
relations, tumultueuses parfois, entre les deux organismes jusqu’en 1971.
1921: une affiliation rapide

Le Conseil International des Femmes est créé en 1888 à Washington à l’occasion
de la commémoration de la Convention de Seneca Falls qui avait constitué le mo-
ment de la naissance du mouvement féministe américain. À cette commémoration
participent 49 femmes venues du continent européen et américain et la proposition
de la création d’une organisation internationale ayant pour objectif la promotion du
suffrage féminin, appartient à deux Américaines, Elisabeth Cady Stanton et Susan B.
Anthony1. La proposition de grouper des associations suffragistes dans ce Conseil in-
ternational engendre les mécontentements des anti-suffragistes et finalement on ac-
cepte aussi comme membres de ce Conseil des associations qui se prononcent contre
le vote des femmes. Dans le programme du CIF la question des droits politiques des
femmes n’est pas donc primordiale. On propose la création dans chaque pays d’un
Conseil national qui adhère ensuite au Conseil international.
Pendant la période 1888-1938 le CIF connaît une «formidable expansion»2, 53
conseils nationaux s’affiliant à l’organisme international. Pendant 1888-1914 on en-
registre 28 nouvelles affiliations dont 17 en Europe, tandis que pendant 1914-1938
parmi les 25 nouvelles affiliations, 10 sont enregistrées en Europe3, dont le Conseil
National Roumain affilié en 19214. La majorité des nouveaux affiliés pendant les
premières 50 années d’histoire du CIF proviennent du continent européen.
Le Conseil National de l’Union des Sociétés Féminines de Roumanie
(CNUSFRM) est créé le 7 juillet 1921 et le même jour la princesse Callimachi, secré-
taire générale du CNUSFRM, écrit une lettre en anglais à la présidente du CIF, la
Suisse Pauline Chaponnière-Chaix, pour demander le règlement de l’organisation,
1
Els FLOUR, «Survol d’un siècle et demi d’histoire», in Eliane GUBIN, Leen VAN MOLLE
(sous la dir.), Des femmes qui changent le monde. Histoire du Conseil international des femmes,
Éditions Racine, Bruxelles, 2005, pp. 13-16. Les femmes participantes à la commémoration de
Washington proviennent de la France, l’Angleterre, la Norvège, la Finlande, les États-Unis, le
Canada et les Indes.
2
Leen BEYERS, «Le CIF et ses conseils nationaux. Une formidable expansion séculaire», in
Eliane GUBIN, Leen VAN MOLLE (sous la dir.), Des femmes qui changent le monde…cit., p. 45.
3
Ibidem, p. 47.
4
En 1921 les Conseils nouvellement affiliés sont ceux d’Estonie, de Roumanie et de Chili.
Les présidentes de ces Conseils deviennent membres du Comité exécutif du CIF, v. Conseil
International des Femmes (dir.), Premier et Deuxième Rapport Annuel réunis de la Septième Période
Quinquennale, Compiled by Fru Anna Backer, Hon. Corresponding Secretary, 1920-1922, p. 60.
«Le Comité exécutif veille à concrétiser les projets définis par l’Assemblée générale et, dans
des circonstances exceptionnelles, il prend des résolutions. Il se réunit avant et après chaque
Assemblée générale, et au moins une fois entre celles-ci. Il rassemble soit […] les membres du
Bureau avec voix délibérative, les présidentes des conseils nationaux et les responsables des
commissions permanentes», v. Els FLOUR, «Survol d’un siècle et demi d’histoire», cit., p. 22.
«L’Assemblée générale est l’organe de décision le plus important, elle est formée de déléguées de
chaque conseil national affilié, des dirigeantes du CIF et des membres des commissions
permanentes internationales», Ibidem, p. 21.

en vue de «rester dans ses limites»1. À cette lettre répond le 18 juillet 1921 la Yougo-
slave Isidora Sekulitch, vice-secrétaire correspondante du CIF. Par sa voix le Conseil
international exprime la joie de recevoir des nouvelles de la part des féministes rou-
maines2. Sekulitch fait référence à sa rencontre à Paris avec la Reine de la Roumanie
qui lui avait parlé de l’existence d’un groupe des femmes connectées avec les sociétés
féministes et qui pouvaient constituer le noyau d’un Conseil National. Sekulitch fait
ensuite référence à l’organisation du Conseil, en demandant quelles sont les inten-
tions des féministes roumaines: avoir le «quartier général» à Bucarest et affilier tou-
tes les Sociétés Nationales à ce quartier général, ou avoir des Conseils locaux dans
des différentes villes du pays. Sekulitch précise qu’un Conseil puissant est celui qui
forme des Conseils locaux dans les villes, puis ces Conseils affilient les sociétés loca-
les, ensuite les conseils s’affiliant au Conseil National. La vice-secrétaire envoie au
Conseil National Roumain une copie de la Constitution du Conseil National de Ca-
nada, un Conseil puissant, qui montre comment un tel conseil est organisé.
Après trois mois, en octobre 1921, Elena Romniceanu, la déléguée en Suisse du
CNFR, écrit une lettre à la présidente du CIF pour demander l’affiliation du
Conseil roumain au Conseil international: le 24 octobre 1921 elle écrit une lettre of-
ficielle à Chaponnière-Chaix où elle demande une réponse avant le 1er novembre
1921, la date de l’assemblée générale du CNFR à Bucarest3. La demande d’une ré-
ponse de la part de la présidente du CIF prouve une méconnaissance du règlement
du Conseil international qui ne peut décider une affiliation qu’après la réunion des
membres du Comité. De plus, la lettre d’Elena Romniceanu était adressée à la pré-
sidente de l’Alliance Internationale pour le Suffrage4 au lieu du CIF. La présidente
1
Lettre de la princesse Callimachi du 7 juillet 1921 adressée à Pauline Chaponnière-Chaix
(présidente du CIF de 1920 à 1922), Centre d’Archives pour l’Histoire des Femmes (désormais
CARHIF), Bruxelles, dossier 929: «Madame, The Romanian Feminists and Workers have founded
on July 7th 1921 The National Council of the Union of Feminine Societies of Romania (Consiliul
Naţional al Uniunii Societăţilor Feminine din România) and have appointed me Secretary General
[…] if you would kindly send me Rules of your League so as to remain in the limits of your
International Organisation». La présidente du CIF «est élue pour trois ans et son mandat n’est
renouvelable qu’une fois. Cette restriction a varié avec le temps (neuf ans en total en 1936, six
ans à partir de 1973 […])», v. Els FLOUR, «Survol d’un siècle et demi d’histoire», cit., p. 23. La
vice-présidente honoraire pour la période quinquennale 1920-1925 est la Roumaine Elisa
Brătianu, v. Conseil International des Femmes (dir), Premier et Deuxième Rapport Annuel...cit., p. 6.
2
Lettre du 18 juillet 1921 d’Isidora Sekulitch adressée à la princesse Callimachi, CARHIF
(Bruxelles), dossier 929: «Dear Madame, I greatly rejoice to hear that the National Council of the
Union of feminine Societies of Romania has now been formed. We have been hoping to hear this
good news for a long time, and indeed it was a great hope of mine that Romania would have
been represented at the last Quinquennal Meeting of the International Council of Women held at
Kristiana last September».
3
Lettre d’Elena Romniceanu, envoyée de Genève le 24.X.1921 à Pauline Chaponnière-Chaix,
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 929. L’antet de cette lettre est «Secrétariat Général du Conseil
National des Femmes Roumaines et représentation pour la Suisse, l’Allemagne, l’Autriche, la
Hongrie, la Bulgarie, la Hollande, la Finlande, le Canada, l’Australie et le Japon». «Madame la
Présidente, vous sachant momentanément occupée par le Congrès International des travailleuses
et ne voulant pas vous déranger en vous priant de m’accorder un rendez-vous, je me permets de
vous adresser, ci-jointe, la demande officielle d’affiliation au Conseil International des femmes
qui vient de m’être transmise par le Conseil National des Femmes Roumaines. Voulez-vous avoir
l’obligeance de me faire parvenir votre réponse si possible, encore avant le 1er novembre afin que
je puisse la communiquer à l’assemblée générale ayant lieu ce jour-là à Bucarest».
4
L’Alliance Internationale pour le Suffrage (AISF) apparaît en 1904 suite à une rupture au
sein du CIF qui sépare les féministes qui sont pour le suffrage des femmes contre celles qui sont

du CIF reçoit la lettre le 25 octobre 1921 et répond le même jour, en exprimant son
contentement que le CNFR a demandé l’affiliation au CIF1. Chaponnière-Chaix
précise que l’admission ne fera aucune difficulté mais, toutefois, une réponse offi-
cielle à la demande d’affiliation ne peut être donnée qu’après faire part de la dé-
marche du Conseil roumain aux collègues du Comité:
«Je ne suis donc pas absolument certaine de pouvoir vous faire envoyer
cette réponse avant le 1er novembre, plusieurs de mes collègues habitant loin
de Genève. Veuillez, en attendant, assurer votre Conseil de tous les vœux que
je forme pour sa prospérité et me croire votre bien dévouée»2.
Le 1er novembre 1921 Chaponnière-Chaix envoie une lettre à la Secrétaire gé-

nérale du CNFR, la princesse Callimacki, pour lui annoncer qu’Elena Romniceanu
avait communiqué la lettre du CNFR et les documents joints qui ont été envoyés à
la secrétaire du CIF, la Norvégienne Fru Backer, chargée de transmettre la réponse
officielle à la demande d’affiliation. Chaponnière-Chaix exprime de nouveau sa
joie que le Conseil roumain a décidé de s’affilier au CIF:
«Mais je ne veux pas attendre jusque là, chère Madame, pour vous dire
quelle joie j’ai éprouvé de la décision de votre Conseil et combien nous serons
heureuses de l’accueillir dans notre grande famille internationale»3.
La présidente du CIF écrit aussi qu’elle a fait connaissance d’Elena Văcărescu

à la Société des Nations et elle achève sa lettre en demandant d’être tenue au cou-
rant avec l’activité des féministes roumaines, en rappelant que la solidarité fémi-
nine doit servir la cause de la paix4.
Après une année depuis sa création, le 8 juillet 1922, la présidente du CNFR,
Calypso Botez, envoie une lettre officielle à la présidente Chaponnière-Chaix pour
présenter la composition du Bureau et les statuts du Conseil5. On apprend donc de
contre. La présidente de l’Alliance Internationale pour le Suffrage est l’Américaine Carrie

Chapmann Cat. Si en 1909 21 pays sont membres de cette Alliance, en 1926 le nombre des pays
membres va s’accroître à 42, v. Steven C. HAUSE, «Suffrage et représentation politique des
femmes (1920-1944)», in Éliane GUBIN, Catherine JACQUES, Florence ROCHEFORT, Brigitte
STUDER, Françoise THEBAUD, Michelle ZANCARINI-FOURNEL (sous la dir.), Le Siècle des
féminismes, Les Éditions de l’Atelier/Éditions Ouvrières, Paris, 2004, p. 185.
1
Lettre de Pauline Chaponnière-Chaix datée Genève, le 25 octobre 1921 et adressée à Elena
Romniceanu, CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 929: «J’ai à peine besoin de dire que je suis très
heureuse de la décision de votre Conseil national de demander son affiliation à notre CIF».
2
Ibidem.
3
Lettre de Pauline Chaponnière-Chaix adressée de Genève à la princesse Callimachi (secrétaire
du CNF de la Grande Roumanie) le 1er novembre 1921, CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 929.
4
Ibidem: «Nous serons heureuses de recevoir de vous, aussi souvent que possible des
nouvelles de l’activité des femmes de votre pays. De notre côté nous tâcherons de vous tenir au
courant de l’œuvre féminine dans nos différents Conseils. La solidarité entre les femmes de tous
les pays nous semble le meilleur moyen de servir la cause de la paix, dans la période troublée que
nous traversons».
5
Lettre de Calypso Botez adressée à Pauline Chaponnière-Chaix, datée Bucarest, le 8 juillet
1922, CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 929. L’antet de la lettre est «Consiliul Naţional al Femeilor
Române, Secretariatul pentru Externe». «Madame, j’ai l’honneur de vous annoncer qu’à notre
réunion plénière en date de 8 juin 1922 a eu lieu l’élection définitive de notre bureau dont je vous
prie de vouloir bien trouver ci-joint la liste complète. Nous avons aussi procédé à l’élaboration
définitive de nos statuts qui ont été votés à l’unanimité à la réunion générale du 8 juin et dont
nous vous envoyons un exemplaire».

cette lettre la structure du Bureau du CNFR: la présidente était Calypso Botez, li-
cenciée en lettres et philologie, professeur; vice-présidentes étaient la princesse
Alexandrina Cantacuzino, Zoe Romniceanu et Ianculescu de Reuss; la secrétaire
générale: la princesse Callimachi; secrétaires: C. Cerkez, E. Dimesco, Col. H. Stân-
gaciu; caissière H. Panaitesco. On découvre aussi les Commissions permanentes et
les responsables de l’activité de ces commissions: la section d’Hygiène est dirigée
par Dr. Med. H. Manicatide-Venert, la section de l’Unité de la morale par Dr. Phil.
H. Nanu-Paşcan, la section de la Législation par Ella Negruzzi, avocat, la section
du travail et suffrage par Calypso Botez, celle de l’Éducation et de l’Instruction par
Alexandrina Cantacuzino et Alex. Floru, professeur. Les déléguées à l’étranger
étaient Elena Văcărescu et Elena Romniceanu.
Après une analyse de cet échange des lettres nous pouvons conclure sur le
grand intérêt des féministes roumaines à faire adhérer le Conseil national au CIF,
sur la précipitation des féministes roumaines à se faire accepter dans les structures
internationales et sur la grande satisfaction des membres importantes du CIF à
l’égard de la décision du CNFR de s’affilier.
Sur l’histoire du CNFR nous avons trouvé dans les archives deux documents
en anglais dans le dossier 1653, il s’agit des documents sur «Rumania»1. Les deux
documents sont presque identiques, à quelques différences, par exemple un des do-
cuments présente l’activité du Conseil jusqu’en 1940, tandis que l’autre fait un sur-
vol de la période 1942-1943. On apprend que le CNFR a été créé en 1921 sous la pré-
sidence d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino et qu’il a uni presque toutes les associations fé-
minines du pays. En 1925 sous la présidence de la même Alexandrina Cantacuzino
le Conseil a créé une école d’horticulture pour prévenir l’exode des filles paysannes
vers la ville. L’école a accueilli 70 élèves et elle a été «très appréciée» par le ministre
de l’Agriculture. En 1928 à «Casa Femeii» a été établi un centre des activités fémini-
nes qui incluait un secrétariat, une librairie, un restaurant et un dispensaire. Le res-
taurant a servi 2 millions de repas (1 800 000 selon l’autre document) pas chers, le
dispensaire a donné 20 000 consultations gratuites et la section légale 9 500.
Les documents mentionnent la lutte d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino pour les droits
politiques et civils des femmes dans la Constitution et précisent qu’après 30 ren-
dez-vous dans différentes villes, le Conseil National a obtenu le droit de vote pour
certaines catégories de femmes. Si le premier document ne précise pas l’année de
l’obtention de ces droits politiques partiels, le deuxième document le fait: en 1929 le
Conseil a obtenu le droit de vote et d’être élue pour les femmes. Les deux documents
font aussi l’histoire de la lutte pour les droits des femmes et rappellent qu’en 1932 les
femmes roumaines ont obtenu le droit d’exercer une profession sans le consentement
de leurs maris et que les femmes mariées pouvaient disposer de leur fortune et gar-
der leur nationalité si elles se mariaient avec des étrangers. Ce que les documents ne
précisent pas est que les femmes pouvaient garder leur nationalité suite à un amen-
dement proposé par Alexandrina Cantacuzino à la résolution votée par la Commis-
sion de politique sociale sur la nationalité de la femme mariée lors de la Deuxième
Conférence Balkanique tenue en 1931. Cantacuzino avait proposé deux points: la
femme mariée garde sa nationalité et les deux conjoints dans le courant du mariage
ne peuvent changer de nationalité qu’avec consentement réciproque2.
1
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653. Le premier document s’intitule «Rumania, affiliated
1921», le deuxième «Affiliation discontinued, Rumania (Affiliated 1921)».
2
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653.

Le Conseil roumain a réussi aussi à obtenir la création des Tribunaux pour les
enfants, avec une femme attachée à chaque Tribunal. Le Conseil a formé aussi des
Comités d’Éducation, de Migration, Commerce, Paix, Arts, Lettres, Morale et La pro-
tection de l’enfant. Sous la présidence de la princesse Caradgea, le Comité pour la
protection de l’enfant a lutté efficacement contre la mortalité infantile. Quant au Co-
mité de la Paix, il a établi dans les écoles des concours sur la Ligue des Nations, la
paix et les minorités. En 1938 le Conseil est intervenu pour l’introduction dans la
nouvelle Constitution des droits politiques intégraux pour les femmes. Suite à ce
changement, en 1939 Maria Pop, présidente d’une des filiales de l’Association pour
l’Emancipation Civile et Politique des Femmes, est élue au Sénat. En 1940 le Conseil
a fait «tout ce qui était dans son pouvoir» pour aider les réfugiés polonais qui ont été
logés à «Casa Femeii». Le premier document s’achève avec une dernière incursion
dans l’activité d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino: la princesse, vice-présidente du Conseil
international des femmes et présidente du Conseil national roumain pendant de
nombreuses années, a été membre à plusieurs occasions de la délégation roumaine à
la Société des Nations. En 1928 la princesse a représenté le CIF au Congrès des Arts
Populaires tenu à Prague sous les auspices de la Ligue des Nations.
Le deuxième document s’achève avec la présentation de l’activité du Conseil
pendant 1942 et 1943: en 1942, après une période de grandes difficultés, le Conseil
national a repris ses activités: dispensaires, écoles, assistance légale, restaurants,
etc. Trois hôpitaux ont été bâtis par la Société Orthodoxe (dont la présidente est
Alexandrina Cantacuzino) à Bucarest, Buzău et Giurgiu. En 1943 une École prati-
que pour les travailleurs sociaux a été installée à «Casa Femeii».
Si ces deux documents ne présentent que d’une manière fugitive l’histoire de
l’activité du CNFR, les lettres échangées entre les personnalités féminines roumai-
nes et étrangères nous donnent plus d’informations sur l’histoire bouleversée du
CNFR. Nous présenterons donc à la suite les trois périodes principales des rela-
tions entre le CNFR et le CIF.
1930-1937: des relations amicales

entre le CNFR et le CIF
Jusqu’en 1937 nous pouvons parler des relations amicales entre le CNFR et le
CIF, la preuve étant la correspondance entre Alexandrina Cantacuzino, la prési-
dente du CNFR, et les membres du CIF. Entre 1933-1934 Alexandrina Cantacuzino
correspond avec l’Américaine Laura Dreyfus-Barney, l’officier de liaison du CIF
auprès de l’Institut international de Coopération Intellectuelle de la Société des
Nations (SDN)1. Dans les lettres des deux féministes on découvre l’angoisse devant
la guerre et le souci des femmes roumaines vis-à-vis de la situation politique inter-
nationale. Le 7 mars 1933 Dreyfus-Barney répond à une lettre de Cantacuzino du
1
Laura Dreyfus-Barney est officier de liaison auprès de l’Institut international de Coopé-
ration Intellectuelle de 1927 à 1945. La mission de l’officier de liaison consiste «à faire du lobbying
en faveur du CIF auprès de la Société des Nations et à faciliter la communication entre le CIF et
les organisations gouvernementales internationales», v. Els FLOUR, «Survol d’un siècle et demi
d’histoire», cit., p. 23.

23 février 1933 (lettre qui n’existe pas dans le dossier analysé) qui envoyait un ap-
pel des Roumaines pour la paix et qui exprimait l’anxiété de Cantacuzino. La lettre
commence par «Chère Princesse Amie», ce qui prouve les relations d’amitié entre
les deux femmes. Dreyfus-Barney partage l’inquiétude de la Roumaine:
«Votre anxiété est bien compréhensible. Le monde entier semble secoué
dans ses fondements et la raison humaine hésite et ne sait quel part il serait
sage de prendre […] Je trouve que les amis de la paix, quoique angoissés,
doivent sentir de plus en plus la valeur de leur cause si la civilisation veut
survivre et se libérer des cataclysmes qui auraient pu, le plus souvent, être
évités. Comptez que je ferai tout mon possible pour faire connaître votre ap-
pel des femmes roumaines»1.
À cette lettre Alexandrina Cantacuzino répond le 7 avril 1933 en insistant que

«Tous les autres problèmes doivent être mis de côté, nous concentrant
surtout dans le problème de la paix, qui domine le monde. J’estime que les
femmes du monde entier étant réunies à Stockholm, nous devions tenir un
grand meeting pour la paix, exposant notre indignation des procédés délatoi-
res qui aggravant la crise économique, nous précipitent vers l’inévitable, „la
guerre“. Stockholm devrait être pour la Commission de la paix l’occasion
d’une grande manifestation pour l’organisation de la paix; dans ce cadre, je
serais bien heureuse de parler à Stockholm»2.
Cantacuzino parle aussi de la situation de la Roumanie:

«Ici la situation extérieure angoissante nous tient suspendus aux impon-
dérables qui peuvent subvenir d’un moment à l’autre. On croit à un dénoue-
ment par les armes plus proche qu’on ne le pense et dire que nos volontés de
bien restent muettes devant ce qui se prépare […] Faites-moi savoir si on dé-
cide un meeting sérieux de la paix»3.
Le 24 avril 1933 Dreyfus-Barney répond à Cantacuzino en considérant que «la

gravité de l’heure actuelle»4 ne peut plus être dissimulée:
«Pendant les 4 séances du Comité de la Paix nous pourrons faire, j’espère,
un travail solide et constructif à Stockholm»5.
Dreyfus-Barney conclut sa lettre en exprimant sa joie qu’elle va avoir «quel-

ques bonnes conversations» avec Cantacuzino à Paris au mois du mai 1933.
Comme on observe, la préoccupation des féministes dans les années ’30 est le
maintien de la paix. Dans les lettres de Cantacuzino à Dreyfus-Barney on découvre
toujours la même inquiétude liée à la possibilité de l’éclatement de la guerre. C’est le
cas aussi de la lettre de Cantacuzino du 23 octobre 1933 adressée à Dreyfus-Barney:
1
Lettre du 7 mars 1933 de Laura Dreyfus-Barney à Alexandrina Cantacuzino, CARHIF
(Bruxelles), dossier 1653. Dreyfus-Barney répond à l’invitation de Cantacuzino d’aller à Marseille:
«Je ne sais pas si je pourrais aller à Marseille ayant tout à faire ici après une si longue absence,
mais je me réjouis à l’idée de vous voir à votre passage à Paris».
2
Lettre d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino datée Bucarest, le 7 avril 1933 à Laura Dreyfus-Barney,
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653, f. 1-2. Le soulignage appartient à Cantacuzino.
3
Ibidem, f. 2.
4
Lettre du 24 avril 1933 de Laura Dreyfus-Barney à Alexandrina Cantacuzino, CARHIF
(Bruxelles), dossier 1653.
5
Ibidem.

«L’inquiétude est effrayante; mon avis est que vis-à-vis des grands pro-
blèmes qui se posent, Lady Aberdeen devrait entreprendre un grand mouve-
ment qui pose carrément le problème de la guerre possible, afin de secouer
les indolences et de déjouer les habiletés dangereuses»1.
Les efforts de Cantacuzino pour promouvoir la paix continuent en 1934 et on

les découvre à travers une lettre de Dreyfus-Barney adressée à la Roumaine le 8
juillet 1934. Il s’agit du désir de Cantacuzino de convoquer une Commission sous
l’égide de la Société des Nations, pour discuter le problème de la paix:
«Quelques précisions au sujet de l’envoi de la lettre au Prof. Gilbert
Murray, car c’est sans doute vous qui convoquerez la petite Commission
nommée. Cette lettre doit être adressée au Président de la Commission de
Coopération Intellectuelle, Secrétariat de la SDN, Genève […] Je désire vous
remercier à nouveau de votre collaboration si sympathique»2.
À partir de 1936 Cantacuzino prend un recul vis-à-vis de l’activité du CIF et

retire sa candidature comme présidente de la Commission de l’Art du CIF, en en-
voyant une lettre à la marquise anglaise Ishbel of Aberdeen3. Au moment où la let-
tre de la Roumaine est reçue, elle avait déjà été élue comme présidente de la Com-
mission de l’Art. Le 15 octobre 1936 la baronne belge Marthe Boël, présidente du
CIF, écrit à Cantacuzino en lui demandant de réfléchir et de revenir sur sa décision
parce que le CIF a besoin de sa «précieuse collaboration»4:
«Nous avons toutes été désolées d’apprendre que vous aviez écrit à
Lady Aberdeen pour lui dire que vous retiriez votre candidature à la Prési-
dence de la Commission des Arts. Heureusement qu’à ce moment là vous
étiez déjà élue et que Lady Aberdeen a pu vous télégraphier vous disant que,
devant ce fait, il lui semblait qu’elle devait considérer votre lettre comme
nulle et non avenue […] Je ne sais quelle suite vous avez donné à ce télé-
gramme mais permettez-moi, à mon tour, d’insister auprès de vous pour
vous prier de ne pas me priver, au moment où j’assume une charge aussi
lourde, de l’appui de votre forte personnalité et de votre grande compétence, et
de plaider auprès de vous la cause des latines si mal représentées à l’Exécutif.
Sachant que ce n’est pas en vain que l’on fait appel à votre dévouement j’ai
1
Lettre d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino datée Bucarest, le 23 octobre 1933 à Laura Dreyfus-Barney,
2
Lettre du 8 juillet 1934 de Laura Dreyfus-Barney à Alexandrina Cantacuzino, CARHIF
3
Lettre envoyée par Alexandrina Cantacuzino de Dubrovnik le 7 septembre 1936 à Ishbel of
Aberdeen (présidente du CIF à trois reprises, 1893-1899, 1904-1920, 1922-1936), CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier 941: «Madame la Présidente, à mon regret je ne pourrai candider à la Commission de l’Art
comme présidente et retire ma candidature. Veuillez agréer mes meilleurs sentiments». La
Commission de l’Art est une des Commissions permanentes du CIF. «Un certain nombre de
commissions permanentes se sont avérées nécessaires et ont été créées pour s’occuper d’un
terrain spécifique, comme la paix, les migrations, le travail, l’art, l’économie […] La plupart des
conseils nationaux de femmes disposent également de ces commissions internes […] ces
commissions permanentes préparent les prises de positions du CIF, elles constituent des lieux
privilégiés de brassage et d’échange d’informations entre le CIF, les conseils nationaux, les autres
associations internationales de femmes et les organisations gouvernementales internationales», v.
Els FLOUR, «Survol d’un siècle et demi d’histoire», cit., pp. 23-24.
4
Lettre du 15 octobre 1936 de Marthe Boël à Alexandrina Cantacuzino, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier 941. Marthe Boël est présidente du CIF de 1936 à 1947.

l’espoir de recevoir sous peu un mot d’acquiescement et vous prie de trouver

ici, chère Princesse, l’expression de mes sentiments les meilleurs»1.
Suite à cette lettre Cantacuzino revient sur sa décision et accepte de devenir Pré-
sidente de la Commission de l’Art du CIF, à condition que son travail ne soit pas sa-
boté par les autres membres du CIF et qu’elle bénéficie de l’appui de Marthe Boël:
«Je ne veux pas devant vos pressions vous refuser une collaboration que
vous me demandez avec tant d’insistance; je ferai le maximum à la condition
de compter absolument sur votre appui et d’être sûre qu’on ne sabotera pas
mon travail, car je ne veux pas avoir aucun désagrément avec Madame Gor-
don ou Mlle Van Veen. Il faut aussi tenir compte des difficultés inhérentes à
l’heure actuelle, peu propice pour le progrès de l’art, qui dans des moments
si troubles parait une manifestation de luxe»2.
1937-1939: des relations tendues

entre le CNFR et le CIF
Le changement dans les relations du CNFR avec le CIF se produit en 1937
suite à un évènement de 1930: à la Séance de Vienne du CIF en 1930 Elena Romni-
ceanu, une des déléguées du CNFR à l’étranger, devenue en 1921 secrétaire géné-
rale de l’Union mondiale de la femme, démissionne du CIF, mais les membres du
Bureau n’acceptent pas la démission de la Roumaine. Elles décident que dans le
Bulletin soit publié que Romniceanu a voulu démissionner «pour cause des tra-
vaux graves dont elle est prise»3. Le Bureau «prie» Elena Romniceanu de rester
1
Ibidem. La tâche lourde à laquelle fait référence Boël est liée à la fonction de présidente du
CIF qu’elle vient de prendre après la longue présidence de Lady Aberdeen (1922-1936). Marthe
Boël est présidente du CIF de 1936 à 1947.
2
Lettre d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino datée Bucarest, le 10 décembre 1936 à Marthe Boël,
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 941. La lettre qui commence avec la formule «Chère Amie» porte
l’antet «Consiliul Naţional al Femeilor Române». L’Anglaise Maria Ogilvie Gordon à laquelle
Cantacuzino fait référence est membre du Bureau du CIF de 1904 à 1939. En 1936 Alexandrina
Cantacuzino essaie de réunir les Conseils nationaux pour une Exposition à Paris organisée par la
Comtesse Pogliani. Chaque pays devait participer avec 10-15 tableaux de taille moyenne, la taxe à
payer pour l’exposition étant de 700 francs. «La Belgique, l’Angleterre et la France pourraient
faire un plus grand effort et envoyer un plus grand nombre de tableaux », considère Cantacuzino.
À la fin de la lettre elle remercie Marthe Boël de l’amitié qu’elle lui porte: «Je vous remercie
encore pour l’amitié si sincère que vous m’avez toujours témoignée et je tiens à vous assurer que
dans la mesure du possible je ferai toujours le maximum pour la réussite de notre travail».
3
«Conseil International des Femmes, Séance du Bureau à Paris-12 novembre 1929-9h»,
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653. Sur le même papier est noté avec le crayon «Séance de Vienne
en 1930» (probablement parce que la lettre de 1937 de Caterina Cerkez, la secrétaire générale du
CNFR, mentionne la Séance de Vienne de 1930): «Mme Rominciano [sic] se retire après avoir mis
sa démission entre les mains de la Présidente. La Présidente donne lecture de la lettre de Mme
Rominciano [sic] et invite les membres du Bureau à se rallier à elle pour exprimer leur confiance
en Mme Rominciano [sic]. Chacun des membres, commençant par Mrs. Gordon, exprime
individuellement le vœu que la démission de Mme Rominciano [sic] ne soit pas acceptée. On fait
part à Mme Rominciano [sic] du refus du Bureau d’accepter sa démission et elle se conforme au
désir général. Mme Avril [Adrienne Avril de Sainte-Croix] propose de publier dans le Bulletin
que Mme Rominciano [sic] a voulu démissionner pour cause des travaux graves dont elle est
prise, le Bureau l’a priée de rester jusqu’à la fin de la période quinquennale actuelle, vu les

membre du CIF jusqu’à la fin de la période quinquennale, «vu les services rendus».
La présidente du CIF, autant que d’autres membres du Bureau comme l’Anglaise
Marie Ogilvie Gordon et la Française Adrienne Avril de Sainte-Croix, qui avaient
détenu en 1921 la vice-présidence du CIF, soutiennent Elena Romniceanu.
En 1937 la secrétaire générale du CNFR, Caterina Cerkez, écrit une lettre offi-
cielle au CIF pour protester contre la réacceptation dans le CIF d’Elena Romni-
ceanu qui avait déjà été rayée du nombre des membres du CNFR suite à sa de-
mande de démissionner du CIF en 1930. La lettre exprime l’indignation du CNFR
suite à cette démarche du CIF qu’il considère un «acte peu amical» et menace avec
la retraite de ses représentantes aux réunions du CIF:
«Nous venons d’apprendre une nouvelle qui nous a vivement surprises et
notre Conseil vous prie de bien vouloir présenter à ce sujet notre protestation à
Mme la présidente. Voici ce dont il s’agit: Vous vous rappelez que Mme Ro-
mincianu [sic] a été invitée à démissionner du CIF à Vienne en 1930 et notre
propre Conseil s’est vu obligé de la rayer du nombre de ses membres. Au-
jourd’hui nous apprenons que Mme Romincianu [sic] rentre dans le CIF en
qualité de membre contributeur. Notre Conseil s’est aussitôt réuni et demande
par ma voix si c’est bien digne du Conseil International d’accepter comme
membre, fut-ce contributeur, une personne dont la démission a été une fois de-
mandée. Il estime d’un autre côté que c’est là un geste peu amical envers le
Conseil National roumain qui se verrait obligé de renoncer à envoyer des re-
présentantes aux réunions du CIF dans ces conditions qui porteraient atteinte
au prestige du Conseil. Nous jugeons cette question si importante qu’elle né-
cessiterait un article spécial dans le règlement du Conseil. Nous espérons donc
que satisfaction sera donnée à notre protestation pour sauvegarder le prestige
du CIF et vous prions de croire à nos meilleurs sentiments»1.
Par la voix de Caterina Cerkez le CNFR ignore qu’Elena Romniceanu a voulu

démissionner du CIF, et que donc sa démission n’a pas été demandée par l’organi-
sation internationale. On observe en même temps que le ton de la lettre est arro-
gant et peu soucieux de la diplomatie. Si on compare ce ton avec les lettres de 1921,
l’année où le CNFR demandait l’affiliation, on peut voir tout de suite la différence:
en 1921 le ton est humble et respecte une hiérarchie pyramidale où le CIF repré-
sente l’organisme suprême, tandis qu’en 1937 le CIF n’est qu’un organisme indigne
qui fait des gestes non amicaux. Alexandrina Cantacuzino démissionne de la tête
de la Commission des Arts du CIF, démission qui lui est refusée et on pourrait
croire que cet incident entre le CIF et le CNFR la détermine de vouloir démission-
ner. Nous devons comprendre la réaction virulente du CNFR à partir des relations
qui existent à l’époque entre le CNFR et l’Union des Femmes Roumaines (UFR)
dont Elena Romniceanu est membre. Les deux organisations se contestent et se
nient à chaque occasion. En 1934 Elena Romniceanu est victime des calomnies des
services qu’elle a rendus au CIF. Accepté. De 1925 à 1930 Secrétaire des Séances et par conséquent
membre du Bureau du CIF. Est restée contributrice». Le Bureau est «le rouage fondamental» du
CIF. «Il assure la gestion courante entre les réunions du Comité exécutif; il se réunit également au
début et à la fin de chaque Assemblée générale et de chaque séance du Comité exécutif.
Entre-temps, il se rassemble au moins deux fois par triennat. Composé de trois membres à
l’origine, le Bureau s’est étoffé au fil du temps et compte une trentaine de personnes dans les
années 1970», v. Els FLOUR, «Survol d’un siècle et demi d’histoire», cit, p. 22.
1
Lettre envoyée par Caterina Cerkez de Bucarest, le 12 mai 1937, au Bureau du CIF, CARHIF
(Bruxelles), dossier 1653. L’antet de cette lettre est «Consiliul Naţional al Femeilor Române».

«haineuses incapables et par cela même envieuses», comme elle note dans une let-
tre envoyée au CIF le 26 août 1934. Le ton de cette lettre est identique à celui de Ca-
terina Cerkez, orgueilleux et arrogant:
«Indignés du chantage, des calomnies et des mensonges dont j’ai été la
victime, ils [son avocat et son beau-frère, ex ministre-sénateur et politicien
militant] ont décidé de traduire en justice pour diffamation toute personne qui
se permettra à l’avenir de m’attaquer. Les haineuses-incapables et par cela
même envieuses auront à l’avenir le loisir d’essayer de se servir de haines po-
litiques pour mentir sur mon compte. Cela leur coûtera cher, je vous le pro-
mets. J’en ai assez. Ma vie est trop riche et pleine de beau travail pour que je
reste la proie de quelques canailles. Et j’ai toute l’Union des femmes Roumai-
nes avec ses 3 présidentes Mmes Baiulesco, C. Botez, E. Meissner avec moi.
Elles ont été parfaites. Je viens de remporter un grand succès au Congrès in-
ternational d’agriculture (permanent) dont j’ai été élue membre, seule femme
parmi 250 délégués étrangers et suisses»1.
À cette lettre elle ajoute une copie légalisée du certificat du Tribunal de Buca-
rest qui constate le manque de culpabilité2.
En 1937, suite à la lettre de Caterina Cerkez, la présidente du CIF, Marthe Boël,
écrit à Alexandrina Cantacuzino pour lui annoncer que le paragraphe 9 du Statut a
été modifié suite à la demande du CNFR:
«Le paragraphe 9 du Statut dit: „Avec l’approbation du Bureau du CIF
ou de son Conseil toute personne peut devenir membre souscripteur“ […]
Nous avons décidé de proposer au Bureau de modifier le paragraphe 9 de
l’Article III des statuts, en changeant le mot ou en et […]Le Bureau s’est rallié
à cette manière de voir et la proposition a été adoptée»3.
La lettre insiste sur l’effort du CIF de donner satisfaction à la demande du

CNFR de régler le problème des membres triennaux par l’introduction d’un article
dans le règlement:
«La demande y formulée nous a obligée à consulter un avocat pour sa-
voir jusqu’où allaient les pouvoirs du Bureau et de l’Exécutif en la matière
[…] au cours des séances du Bureau et du Conseil Exécutif tenus à Bruxelles
on a pris toutes mesures pour permettre aux Conseils Nationaux de donner
leur approbation – ou leur refus – à l’entrée des Membres Triennaux de leur
nationalité, et par conséquent statuer sur leur situation»4.
On peut dire que le Conseil National Roumain est à la base d’un changement
dans les Statuts du CIF, ce qui prouve son pouvoir auprès de la présidente du CIF
qui déploie tous ses efforts pour maintenir les bonnes relations entre le CNFR et
1
Lettre d’Elena Romniceanu adressée au CIF le 26 août 1934, CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier
1653. Les soulignages appartiennent à Romniceanu.
2
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653. «Je soussigné greffier certifie que cherchant dans le
registre des appels pénaux du 7 juillet 1934 au 14 juillet 1934, je n’ai trouvé déclaré aucun appel
de M. le Procureur Général contre la sentence No 2305/934 prononcée par le dit Tribunal par
laquelle on a acquitté de toute sanction pénale Mme Hélène Romniceanu, étant constatée
l’absence de toute culpabilité».
3
Lettre de Marthe Boël datée Bruxelles, le 27 mai 1937 à Alexandrina Cantacuzino, CARHIF
4
Ibidem.

l’organisme international. L’amitié qui lie Boël à Cantacuzino détermine la Belge

d’agir dans l’intérêt du CNFR, même si Alexandrina Cantacuzino ne participe plus
aux séances du Bureau exécutif, probablement en signe de protestation suite à
l’affaire «Romniceanu»:
«Et maintenant de votre côté, bien qu’il n’y ait probablement plus
d’Exécutif jusqu’à Edimbourg, je vous supplie de ne pas pratiquer la politi-
que dont parle la lettre du Conseil National Roumain: celle de l’absence!
Vous connaissez tout l’intérêt que je porte aux Conseils latins, beaucoup trop
peu représentés, d’après moi, dans le Bureau. Il faut ramener l’équilibre des
tendances dans notre organisme. Ne voulez-vous pas m’aider dans cette tâ-
che pendant le temps réduit que j’assume la charge de sa présidence? L’appui
des intéressés m’est indispensable, c’est pourquoi je fais appel à vous, chère
Princesse, comptant sur votre claire raison et sur votre affection active, pour
m’aider efficacement à réaliser nos vœux communs».
De nouveau, comme dans d’autres lettres, nous observons la référence aux

qualités d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino qui semble irremplaçable au sein du CIF.
Même avec les concessions qu’on fait au CNFR, les relations tendues entre les deux
organismes poursuivent après un autre évènement qui fait éclater les femmes
membres du CNFR. Il s’agit de la demande d’affiliation au CIF de l’Union des
Femmes Roumaines (UFR), l’organisation concurrente du CNFR.
Le 14 octobre 1937 la présidente de l’UFR, Maria Baiulescu, adresse une de-
mande d’affiliation à la présidente du CIF, Marthe Boël. Le document comprend
six feuilles dactylographiées dont seulement cinq sont numérotées. La première
feuille contient le message de la présidente Baiulescu et le reste représente le pas-
sage en revue du Comité central de la Fédération et les sociétés membres de l’UFR:
«Madame la Présidente,
En qualité de Présidente de la Fédération: „L’Union des Femmes Rou-
maines de la Grande Roumanie“, sous le Haut Patronage de Sa Majesté la
Reine Marie de la Roumanie représentant un nombre de 84 sociétés de toutes
les régions du pays, ainsi que les 20 filiales de „L’Association pour
l’Emancipation civile et politique des femmes roumaines“, je me permets de
vous adresser la présente requête:
Comme cette „Fédération“ aura bientôt 25 années d’existence, nous
avons pris la résolution à l’occasion d’un Congrès festif, de lui donner une
plus grande ampleur, en vous priant de nous affilier aussi à la Grande Société
Internationale „Le Conseil International des Femmes“, qu’avec honneur vous
présidez. Notre Fédération pourrait très bien s’affilier au „Conseil Internatio-
nal“, parmi les autres Sociétés affiliées, sous le nom de l’Union des Femmes
Roumaines de la Grande Roumanie.
Nous vous donnons ci-joint la liste du Comité Central et des Sociétés qui
font partie de l’Union. Nous espérons, Madame la Présidente, que vous serez
d’accord avec notre requête et nous vous prions instamment, de nous donner
votre opinion là-dessus»1.
1
Lettre datée Bucarest, le 14 octobre 1937 adressée par Maria Baiulescu à Marthe Boël,
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653. Les membres du Comité Central sont énumérés à la feuille 1:
Maria Baiulescu, présidente générale, Hélène Pop Hossu Longin, vice-présidente pour la
Transylvanie, Caterina Bârsan, vice-présidente pour le Banat, Alexandrina Vidrighin, Elena
Meissner, Ella Negruzzi, vice-présidentes pour la Moldavie, Florica Gramatovici, vice-présidente

Marthe Boël répond à cette demande en précisant que les Statuts du CIF ne
permettent pas l’affiliation de plus d’un Conseil de Femmes par pays1. En avril
1938 Marthe Boël écrit à Alexandrina Cantacuzino pour lui annoncer que la de-
mande d’affiliation de l’UFR a été rejetée:
«Madame et Chère Princesse,
En octobre dernier j’ai reçu une demande d’affiliation au CIF de la part
de l’Union Nationale des Femmes Roumaines. À la demande du Bureau qui
s’est réuni la semaine dernière à Bruxelles, je vous envoie une copie de cette
demande, ainsi qu’une copie de la réponse que j’ai adressé à l’époque à la
Présidente de ce groupement, pour votre information»2.
Alexandrina Cantacuzino ne répond pas à cette lettre et le CNFR semble igno-

rer l’épisode UFR: le CNFR continue son travail au niveau international et en juin
1938 on retrouve une résolution du Conseil roumain sur la protection de l’enfant.
Laura Dreyfus-Barney écrit à ce sujet une lettre à Janet Campbell, l’officier de liai-
son du CIF auprès de l’Organisation de la Santé de la SDN:
«La Baronne Boël me demande de vous écrire au sujet d’une résolution
que nous venons de recevoir du Conseil Roumain et qui sera sans doute pré-
sentée à Edimbourg à la Commission de la Paix et à celle de la Protection de
l’Enfance. Vous en trouverez le texte ci-dessous. Cette question de zones neu-
tres pour la protection de l’enfance a été premièrement proposée à la Com-
mission de la Protection de l’Enfance de la SDN à Genève le mois dernier.
Comme vous le savez sans doute, cette Commission a estimé qu’elle était du
ressort de la Croix Rouge et elle sera discutée à Londres à la Conférence In-
ternationale de cette Association à laquelle vous représenterez CIF. Nous
vous serions très reconnaissantes de bien vouloir suivre cette question afin
que nous sachions exactement où elle en est car les décisions prises à Londres
peuvent être susceptibles de modifier la rédaction de cette résolution»3.
Alexandrina Cantacuzino ne participe pas au Congrès d’Edimbourg mais

envoie une déléguée spéciale du CNFR, Zefira Colonel Voiculescu. Dans une
pour la Bucovine, Calypso Botez, Eugenia de Reuss-Ianculescu, vice-présidentes pour la Valachie,

Maria M. Pop, vice-présidente pour l’Olténie, Maria Dimitriu-Castano, vice-présidente pour la
Dobroudja, Maria Popescu-Bogdan, Tini Socaciu, Elena Pricu, Maria Dr. Debu, présidentes locales
de Braşov, Florica Georgescu, secrétaire générale, G. Baboi, caissier. Aux feuilles 2-3 sont
énumérées les Sociétés fédérées et aux feuilles 3-5 les filiales de l’Association pour l’Emancipation
Civile et politique de la femme.
1
Lettre datée Bruxelles, le 8 novembre 1937 de Marthe Boël à Maria Baiulescu, CARHIF
(Bruxelles), dossier 1653. «Je suis malheureusement dans l’obligation de vous faire savoir que nos
statuts ne nous permettent pas d’accepter plus d’un Conseil National ou Conseil de Femmes par
pays. Or il existe en Roumanie un Conseil National des Femmes Roumaines affilié à notre
organisme depuis 1921».
2
Lettre du 11 avril 1938 de Marthe Boël à Alexandrina Cantacuzino, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier 1653. La lettre contient l’extrait du Procès-Verbal de la réunion du Bureau du CIF à
Bruxelles, le 28 mars 1938: «Lettre de l’Union des Femmes Roumaines, représentant 84 sociétés et
demandant l’affiliation. La réponse de la présidente, citant la Constitution d’après laquelle on ne
peut avoir qu’une seule affiliation dans chaque pays, est approuvée. Sur la proposition de Mme
Plaminkova, on décide d’envoyer des copies de cette correspondance au conseil National de
Roumanie, pour ses observations». La Tchécoslovaque Frantiska Plaminkova est une des
vice-présidentes du CIF.
3
Lettre de Laura Dreyfus-Barney du 9 juin 1938 à Janet Campbell, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier intitulé «Dreyfus-Barney», in dossier 941. Janet Campbell prend la fonction d’officier de
liaison en 1936.

lettre-réponse adressée à la présidente du CIF, Zefira Voiculescu présente ses im-

pressions liées à ce Congrès. On apprend de nouveau qu’Alexandrina Cantacuzino
est irremplaçable à la Commission de l’Art:
«À la Commission des Arts, présidée par la princesse Cantacuzène, qui
n’a pas pu participer au Congrès, j’ai constaté avec quelle difficulté on a pu
trouver une remplaçante»1.
L’affaire UFR semble donc oubliée, mais elle ressurgit en 1939 au même mo-
ment où Alexandrina Cantacuzino est attaquée dans une lettre de Jean Glogo-
veanu, ancien Président du Tribunal et ancien sénateur, adressée à Marthe Boël, la
présidente du CIF. On ne se rend pas compte de quoi se fait coupable Cantacu-
zino aux yeux de Glogoveanu. À cette lettre l’auteur avait annexé un extrait du
journal Curentul du 24 février 1939-25 février 1939 traduit en français, mais mal-
heureusement l’extrait ne se trouve pas dans le contenu du dossier analysé.
«Permettez-moi, Mme, de vous envoyer ci-joint le prononcé de la sen-
tence que le tribunal d’Ilfov (Bucarest) a prononcé le 20 janvier 1939 contre
Mme A. Gr. Cantacuzène, une des vice-présidentes du Conseil International
des Femmes que vous avez l’honneur de présider [...], afin que vous soyez à
même d’apprécier les agissements très peu honorables de mme Cantacuzène
à l’égard des collègues et camarades, parmi lesquelles Mme Marie Glogo-
veanu […] qui l’ont élue présidente à la suite du décès de la très vénérée
Mme A. Filipescu. Pour la bonne renommée de l’activité féminine internatio-
nale, qui ne peut que répudier des attitudes de mesquines ambitions et
d’abus de pouvoir, il m’a semblé utile que vous ayez connaissance des agisse-
ments d’une dame qui occupe une haute dignité dans le Conseil International
des Femmes et que vous puissiez, si vous croyez devoir le faire, en informer
les membres de votre Bureau»2.
Marthe Boël répond en précisant que les faits décrits dans la lettre ne relèvent
pas de la compétence du CIF, mais elle informe le CNFR de cette lettre. En plus,
Marthe Boël revient avec l’affaire UFR parce qu’Alexandrina Cantacuzino n’avait
pas donné encore une réponse relative au sujet. Marthe Boël écrit donc une lettre à
Cantacuzino le 26 avril 1939 dont on apprend que la princesse roumaine continuait
à s’absenter aux séances du Bureau du CIF:
1
Lettre datée Bucarest, le 10 octobre 1938 de Zefira Colonel Voiculescu à Marthe Boël,
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653. On apprend aussi de cette lettre les imperfections du Congrès:
«Les lacunes que j’ai constatées se rapportaient à l’organisation même du Congrès: Presque rien
n’était en langue française, langue diplomatique, qui ne peut être ignorée, surtout pour celles qui
ne connaissent l’anglais […] les rapports des sections n’étaient même pas tous traduits en
français, et ceux que l’on traduisait étaient si mal rédigés qu’on leur donnait une autre
interprétation. Dans l’organisation des réceptions, le secrétariat n’avait même pas donné le nom
de toutes les personnes qui représentaient les pays respectifs, ainsi moi je fus plusieurs fois omise
d’y être invitée. Evidemment je n’étais pas allée au Congrès pour me distraire, mais je me suis
sentie vexée pour mon pays […] Madame la Présidente, je vous remercie pour la confiance que
vous m’avez témoignée, je crois avoir répondu, selon vos vœux, à la lettre que vous avez bien
voulu m’adresser et je vous prie d’agréer mes salutations les plus cordiales».
2
Lettre datée Bucarest, le 14 mars 1939 de Jean Glogoveanu à Marthe Boël, CARHIF
(Bruxelles), dossier 1653. La lettre parle de la fonction de vice-présidente du CIF détenue par
Alexandrina Cantacuzino. Elle prend cette fonction en 1925.

«Votre absence aux réunions du Bureau a été très regrettée et par moi
plus que par toute autre! [...] Je ne voudrais vous parler spécialement que de
deux points:
I Procès-vérbal du 28 mars à 9h30 page 3:
„Mlle van Eeghen demande à la Présidente si elle a obtenu une réponse
du CNFR Roumaines concernant la requête faite par différentes organisations
roumaines. La Présidente répond négativement“.
Puis-je insister vivement auprès de vous pour avoir une réponse à ce su-
jet. Je vous ai en effet déjà écrit à deux reprises officiellement (sans compter
mes lettres personnelles) et à chaque réunion du Bureau on me demande si
vous m’avez répondu à ce sujet.
II Procès-vérbal du 29 mars à 9h30 page 1:
„La Présidente donne connaissance de lettres de Roumanie relatives à
des difficultés dans le Conseil National Roumain“»1.
Même si cette lettre est adressée à Alexandrina Cantacuzino, la réponse vient le

20 mai 1939 de la part de la secrétaire générale du CNFR, Elena Stângaciu. On re-
trouve le même ton arrogant adopté il y a deux ans par la secrétaire Caterina Cerkez:
«Madame la Présidente,
J’ai le devoir de vous faire connaître la douloureuse surprise que nous
avons eue en lisant la lettre que vous nous avez adressée.
[…] Nous n’avons pas connaissance d’une lettre adressée par des associa-
tions roumaines ou étrangères, à quoi se réfère-t-elle? Veuillez avoir l’obligeance
de nous l’expliquer. Pour la réponse demandée, aux calomnies d’un compatriote
malade, nous nous y refusons, d’abord parce qu’il y a des infamies qui ne méri-
tent que le mépris, puis parce que ce n’est pas de notre compétence, encore
moins, de celle du Conseil International, qui, n’a pas, dans aucun article de ses
statuts ou règlement, le droit de se mêler des questions nationales, non seule-
ment du Conseil Roumain et encore de celui des Sociétés affiliées. S’il en était
autrement la susceptibilité nationale étant en jeu, nous risquerions de ne plus
avoir des Sociétés affiliées, toutes se retirant pour éviter une immixtion étran-
gère inadmissible. Quant à la personne de notre éminente présidente, qui est vo-
tre collaboratrice depuis de 20 ans, je pense que vous avez pu apprécier sa va-
leur exceptionnelle morale et intellectuelle»2.
1
Lettre du 26 avril 1939 de Marthe Boël à Alexandrina Cantacuzino, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier 1653. La Hollandaise Louise van Eeghen est vice-présidente du CIF. On comprend de
cette lettre que la correspondance entre les deux femmes avait continué même si Cantacuzino ne
participait plus aux séances du Bureau. «J’ai trouvé votre lettre personnelle», écrit Marthe Boël et
finit en remerciant pour cette lettre: «Merci de votre lettre personnelle et des choses gentilles y
contenues pour mon pays. Comme vous le dites, tout est encore bien sombre, mais comme le
disait notre chère Lady Aberdeen, „Faith not fear“ et nous devons espérer en un temps plus
paisible». En 1932 Alexandrina Cantacuzino et Louise van Eeghen se retrouvent du même côté
quand elles demandent au CIF d’avoir «le courage de s’affirmer» et de prendre position vis-à-vis
de l’attaque de la Mandchourie par le Japon, v. Catherine JACQUES et Sylvie LEFEBVRE, «Du
pacifisme à l’action humanitaire», in Eliane GUBIN, Leen VAN MOLLE (sous la dir.), Des femmes
qui changent le monde…cit., p. 179.
2
Lettre datée Bucarest, le 20 mai 1939 d’Elena Stângaciu à Marthe Boël, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier 1653. «Les nombreuses membres du Conseil International venues en Roumanie, peuvent
vous renseigner sur notre travail et surtout l’immense prestige, de celle qui est la grande
animatrice de tout notre mouvement. C’est pour elle que nous travaillons […], nous continuons
seulement pour elle à lutter, car vraiment les soucis sont trop grands, pour avoir encore de
douloureux mécomptes, comme celui de cette lettre honteuse de notre compatriote et de ces
questions auxquelles nous n’avons rien de plus à répondre».

La lettre est un hommage à Alexandrina Cantacuzino et au lieu de répondre à

la question principale, celle liée à la demande d’affiliation de l’UFR, se concentre
sur la lettre calomnieuse de Glogoveanu, pour pouvoir mieux louer les qualités de
la présidente du CNFR. La réponse de la présidente du CIF, amie d’Alexandrina
Cantacuzino, vient le 15 juin 1939:
«Madame la Secrétaire,
J’ai bien reçu votre lettre du 20 mai dernier, en réponse à celle que
j’avais adressée le 26 avril à la Princesse Cantacuzène. Je vous avoue qu’elle
m’a profondément étonnée:
1o parce qu’après avoir fait non seulement parvenir le document dont il
s’agit sous le 2o de votre lettre, j’ai à différentes reprises demandé réponse à
ce sujet (voir mes lettres du 26.4.38, du 29.8.38 et du 26.4.39 à la Princesse
Cantacuzène).
2o parce que vous semblez croire que le CIF a demandé l’avis du Conseil
National des Femmes Roumaines sur un échange de correspondance entre
une personnalité roumaine et notre organisme international.
Nulle réponse ne vous était demandée à ce sujet et le passage de ma let-
tre-adressée à la Princesse Cantacuzène, qui avait trait à cette affaire, avait pour
but de mettre loyalement un membre du Bureau du CIF absent aux réunions,
au courant d’une question qui l’intéressait personnellement. Pour le surplus
le Bureau du CIF a répondu dans l’esprit de sa Constitution et de sa Règle
d’Or; une copie de notre réponse était d’ailleurs jointe au dossier transmis à
la Princesse Cantacuzène et je vous avoue ne pouvoir admettre les termes as-
sez vifs par lesquels, dans votre lettre, vous donnez votre avis sur l’attitude
du CIF dans cette affaire, attitude qui a été de la plus parfaite correction.
J’aime à croire que cette amicale mise au point clôturera un pénible incident
et je ne retiens que le 2o de votre lettre: „Nous n’avons pas connaissance [… ]“.
Je crois que vous connaissez les liens d’amitié qui m’unissent à la Prin-
cesse Cantacuzène et savez par conséquent que la personnalité de votre Prési-
dente est hors cause ici et que point n’est besoin de faire l’éloge de la grande
activité qu’elle n’a cessé de mettre au service de son pays et de la cause des
femmes roumaines»1.
Marthe Boël exprime «l’étonnement» vis-à-vis de la tonalité de la lettre

d’Elena Stângaciu et exprime encore une fois l’amitié pour Alexandrina Cantacu-
zino. En juillet 1939 Elena Stângaciu répond à cette lettre de la présidente du CIF,
en essayant d’expliquer et d’excuser l’attitude adoptée dans la lettre précédente:
«Je tâcherai de faire de mon mieux pour dissiper tout ombre de malen-
tendu. Le document reçu [référence à la lettre de Glogoveanu] nous a beau-
coup chagrinées. Le Monsieur, qui a osé attaquer une vie si pure, une si vaste
activité, cette belle œuvre culturelle et sociale de la Princesse, qui est hors
concours dans notre pays, nous a toutes horriblement impressionnées.
[…] En ce qui concerne la demande signée par un certain nombre de
groupement de femmes roumaines, je ne puis vous dire que ceci: à notre
CNFR elles [les membres de l’UFR] n’ont jamais fait une demande d’affiliation,
tout au contraire, elles ont fait et font la propagande la plus acharnée dans le
pays contre notre CNFR, malgré qu’elles connaissent le bon travail que nous
réalisons, sous l’ingénieuse initiative et directive de la Princesse.
1
Lettre du 15 juin 1939 de Marthe Boël à Elena Stângaciu, CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653,
f. 1, f. 2. La Règle d’Or du CIF, qui devient aussi la règle du CNFR, est: «Faites à autrui ce que
vous voudriez qu’on vous fit à vous-mêmes». Le soulignage dans le texte appartient à Boël.

[…] Espérant que tout est élucidé et que nous sommes dans la juste voie, je
vous prie Madame la Présidente de recevoir mes sentiments les plus distingués»1.
Cette lettre met fin aux rapports tendus entre le CNFR et le CIF. La période
qui suit se déroule sous le signe de la guerre qui éclate. L’occupation de la Pologne
par l’Allemagne nazie rapproche les féministes européennes qui se rallient pour ai-
der les réfugiés polonais.
1939-1971: de l’effort de guerre

à la reconstruction du CNFR sous le communisme
Avant l’éclatement de la Seconde Guerre Mondiale, le CNFR s’inquiète du sort
des enfants lors des éventuels conflits militaires. Dans le but de protéger les en-
fants, le CNFR propose en 1938 une résolution qui veut constituer des zones neu-
tres dans chaque pays où les enfants seraient à l’abri. La préoccupation pour le sort
des enfants n’est pas nouvelle pour les Roumaines membres du CNFR. Dès 1921 le
travail d’Elena Văcărescu, déléguée du CNFR à la SDN, est loué par les féministes
étrangères2. La résolution du CNFR de 1938 est reproduite dans la lettre de Laura
Dreyfus-Barney adressée à Janet Campbell:
«Résolution du CNF Roumaines
Considérant la nécessité de protéger l’enfance en cas de guerre, on pro-
pose la création de zones neutres dans chaque pays, sous l’égide des grandes
associations internationales, comme le Secours aux enfants, la Croix Rouge,
où seraient réunis les enfants ainsi protégés contre les bombes, les gaz etc. Un
drapeau spécial flotterait sur les zones neutres de protection de l’Enfance,
auxquelles chaque nation assurerait le fonctionnement. Des démarches de-
vraient être faites de suite pour faire accepter la mise en pratique par tous les
États d’une semblable zone, seul moyen efficace de préserver l’enfance»3.
En 1939 la préoccupation principale du CNFR est l’aide accordée aux réfugiés

polonais. La Roumanie est le pays qui, par sa position géographique, est en mesure
de devenir un abri pour les femmes, les hommes et les enfants chassés par la
guerre. Marthe Boël, la présidente du CIF, envoie une lettre à Alexandrina Canta-
cuzino pour lui demander si le CNFR a besoin de l’aide de la part des pays neutres
pour faire face à la vague des réfugiés:
«Ma chère Présidente,
Nous sommes persuadées que votre Conseil a été très préoccupé par la
quantité de réfugiés polonais admis en votre territoire et sommes certaines
1
Lettre d’Elena Stângaciu adressée à Marthe Boël, datée Braşov, le 12 juillet 1939, avec
l’antet «Consiliul Naţional al Femeilor Române», f. 1, f. 2, CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653. Le
soulignage appartient à Stângaciu.
2
Lettre de Pauline Chaponnière-Chaix à la Princesse Callimachi, datée Genève, le 1er novembre
1921, CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 929, f. 1: «J’ai eu le très grand plaisir de faire la connaissance de
Madame Hélène Vacaresco, pendant sa présence à Genève pour la Société des Nations et j’ai
ressenti beaucoup de fierté de son beau succès dans la Commission contre la Traite des Femmes
et des Enfants».
3
Lettre de Laura Dreyfus-Barney datée le 9 juin 1938 et adressée à Janet Campbell, CARHIF
(Bruxelles), dossier «Dreyfus-Barney», in dossier 941.

que, comme toujours, la charité roumaine a été à la hauteur de cette nouvelle

tâche quelque lourde qu’elle ait été.
Nous savons que la Croix-Rouge internationale a déjà envisagé la ques-
tion d’une aide matérielle à apporter à la situation exceptionnelle de ces réfu-
giés en territoire roumain, et si nous nous adressons à vous aujourd’hui, à ce
sujet, c’est parce que certains de nos membres nous ont écrit pour nous de-
mander si une aide ne pourrait pas vous être fournie par les pays neutres.
[…] Un mot de réponse aussitôt que possible me ferait grand plaisir, et
en l’attendant, veuillez trouver ici, ma chère Présidente, l’expression de mes
sentiments les meilleurs»1.
À cette lettre adressée à Alexandrina Cantacuzino répond la secrétaire géné-

rale du CNFR, Elena Stângaciu, qui exprime ses remerciements pour une éven-
tuelle aide matérielle accordée par les États neutres:
«Chère Madame,
En réponse à votre lettre du 25 Octobre 1939, nous vous remercions de
tout cœur pour l’aide matérielle que vous voulez bien apporter aux réfugiés
polonais en notre pays, par le Conseil National des Femmes, et nous vous en
sommes très reconnaissantes.
En Roumanie, c’est l’État et la Croix Rouge qui s’occupent officiellement
des réfugiés polonais; le Conseil National des Femmes, pourtant, a aussi fait
tout ce qu’il a pu pour leur venir en aide.
À la Casa Femeii – Maison de la Femme – nous avons donné l’hospitalité à un
grand nombre de réfugiés; des familles entières des dames seules, la plupart fai-
sant partie de l’aristocratie polonaise, ont été reçues à la Casa Femeii.
Madame Wanda Grabinska, la première femme juge bien connue et
l’organisatrice des tribunaux d’enfants en Pologne, aussi été logée dans notre
Maison de la femme […]
Pour les fêtes de Noël nous voudrions bien distribuer quelques vête-
ments chauds aux femmes et enfants pauvres polonais et pour pouvoir réali-
ser ce vœu, nous vous en serions très obligées pour toute aide matérielle que
vous voudriez bien nous faire parvenir»2.
À cette lettre est jointe une liste de 19 réfugiés polonais abrités à Casa Femeii.
L’effort du CNFR est complété par celui de l’État qui apporte une contribution
essentielle aux réfugiés. La période après 1939 est marquée par l’absence de
correspondance entre le CNFR et le CIF. Quelques lettres échangées entre
Laura Dreyfus-Barney et Marthe Boël témoignent de l’inquiétude des féministes
étrangères à l’égard du silence du CNFR. Dans une lettre3 du 29 avril 1940
Dreyfus-Barney demande à la présidente du CIF si elle a des nouvelles de la part
1
Lettre du 25 octobre 1939 de Marthe Boël à Alexandrina Cantacuzino, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier 1653.
2
Lettre d’Elena Stângaciu datée Bucarest, le 18 novembre 1939, adressée à Marthe Boël,
CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653. En 1942 on retrouve Wanda Grabinska à Londres, où elle
maintient le fonctionnement de la Commission de Morale sociale du CIF, en organisant des
discussions informelles pendant la guerre, v. Catherine JACQUES, Sylvie LEFEBVRE, «Les modes
d’action du CIF. De la création à la Seconde Guerre mondiale», in Eliane GUBIN, Leen VAN
MOLLE (sous la dir.), Des femmes qui changent le monde…cit, p. 117.
3
Lettre de Laura Dreyfus-Barney adressée à Marthe Boël le 29 avril 1940, CARHIF
(Bruxelles), dossier «Dreyfus-Barney», in dossier 941: «Je me demande si de votre côté vous avez
des nouvelles de la Princesse Cantacuzène».

d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino et Boël répond, le 6 mai, qu’elle n’a aucune nouvelle

de la princesse roumaine1.
Seuls quelques documents incomplets du CIF, datés mai-juin 1942 et septem-
bre 1943, nous informent sur la situation du CNFR. En 1942 on constate que les dif-
ficultés du Conseil ont été dépassées et que l’activité a été reprise d’une manière
énergique dans les dispensaires, restaurants économiques, foyers, écoles ménagè-
res, assistance juridique, écoles de fermières etc2. On parle aussi de la visite de la
présidente du CNFR, Alexandrina Cantacuzino, sur le front de Bessarabie. En 1943
on constate que «l’activité ne s’est pas ralentie. On se préoccupe de préparer
l’après-guerre»3. Il y a un seul document qui contient plus d’informations quant à
la période 1942-1943 et qu’on a déjà présenté au début de notre article.
L’après-guerre est une période difficile pour le CIF. Les contacts entre les
Conseils nationaux et le CIF reprennent lentement. Laura Dreyfus-Barney constate
en 1945 le silence de certains conseils nationaux, mais croit en même temps dans la
renaissance du CIF:
«Malheureusement pour certains de nos Conseils s’est maintenant le
silence, mais je crois trop à l’idée internationale pour ne pas croire à la renais-
sance et au rayonnement accru du CIF»4.
Le CNFR est un de ces Conseils qui ne communique plus avec le CIF. Le

CNFR se confronte avec des difficultés après la mort d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino
en 1944 et se voit en même temps obligé de rompre les liaisons avec le CIF à cause
de l’arrivée au pouvoir du communisme. Mais en 1946 les femmes membres du
CNFR essaient de contacter le CIF pour remettre les bases d’une nouvelle collabo-
ration. La même année on essaie de renouveler le CIF et de trouver des solutions
pour le relancer. Laura Dreyfus-Barney écrit à Marthe Boël pour lui dire qu’avoir
une Américaine comme présidente du CIF ne serait pas «sage»5.
La vice-présidente du CNFR, Ethel Pantazzi, écrit en juin 1946 à Marthe Boël,
toujours présidente du CIF, en lui demandant un rendez-vous pour lui parler du
Conseil roumain6. En même temps des contacts s’établissent en France, où
Madame Catargi rend visite à Marguerite Pichon-Landry, présidente du Conseil
National des Femmes Françaises. Catargi, appartenant aux anciennes familles de
Bucarest, «s’est alliée au nouveau régime mais serait tentée d’établir un point entre
1
Lettre de Marthe Boël du 6 mai 1940 adressée à Laura Dreyfus-Barney, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier «Dreyfus-Barney», in dossier 941: «Je suis sans nouvelles directes de la Princesse
Cantacuzène. D’après les renseignements que je reçois elle serait toujours chez elle à Bucarest –
dans sa maison gardée. Il est impossible de correspondre avec elle, mais je compte voir dans
quelques jours un membre de sa famille qui me donnera peut-être d’autres nouvelles».
2
Document du CIF intitulé «Conseils Nationaux, Roumanie», CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier
1653. On parle aussi dans ce document d’une demande adressée par l’Assemblée générale du
CNFR au chef de l’État pour inclure les femmes dans le nouvel État corporatif.
3
Ibidem.
4
Lettre de Laura Dreyfus-Barney à Marthe Boël, datée le 6 juillet 1945, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier «Dreyfus-Barney», in dossier 941.
5
Lettre de Laura Dreyfus-Barney à Marthe Boël, datée le 2 février 1946, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier «Dreyfus-Barney», in dossier 941: «Je ne suis pas du tout sûre qu’il serait sage d’essayer
d’avoir une Américaine comme présidente du Conseil International des Femmes. Je crois qu’un
pays étranger aurait plus de prestige et causerait moins de jalousie ici».
6
Lettre en anglais d’Ethel Pantazzi adressée à Marthe Boël et datée Bruxelles, le 24 juin 1946,

les deux sociétés»1. La Roumaine exprime le désir de «faire revivre le Conseil rou-
main»2 après la mort d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino et de Calypso Botez, la demi-re-
traite imposée par le régime politique à Caterina Cerkez et la perte de la Maison de
la Femme, confisquée par l’État. Catargi veut affilier le Conseil roumain à deux orga-
nisations internationales, le CIF et la Fédération Démocratique Internationale des
Femmes (FDIF), formée par des organisations féministes des pays devenus commu-
nistes à l’issue de la guerre. Pichon-Landry écrit une lettre à Marthe Boël en juin 1946
en lui demandant quelle attitude elle devait adopter vis-à-vis d’une telle déclaration.
Avant de demander conseil à la présidente du CIF, Pichon-Landry exprime son ad-
miration envers Madame Catargi, qui lui apparaît «fort intelligente et très réaliste»3.
Dans sa réponse du 1er juillet 1946, Marthe Boël recommande prudence en ce
qui concerne le dialogue avec Madame Catargi, à cause du climat politique en
Roumanie. Elle avoue avoir passé plusieurs heures en compagne d’Ethel Pantazzi,
Canadienne d’origine, qui lui avait parlé du fait que le Conseil roumain avait re-
pris l’ancien local et l’argent qui lui avaient été confisqués par le nouveau régime.
Marthe Boël fait connaître à Pichon-Landry qu’Ecaterina Cerkez a repris la direc-
tion du Conseil et «qu’il y a là un embryon d’excellent Conseil renouvelé»4. La let-
tre finit avec le conseil d’avancer avec circonspection dans le dialogue avec les
membres du CNFR:
«Je viens d’écrire une carte recommandée en nom personnel à Mlle Cer-
kez pour lui dire que j’avais dîné avec Mme Pantazzi, mais le climat dont j’ai
eu écho ne me semble pas encore très propice à la reconnaissance d’un
Conseil National comme tel, d’où n’avancez qu’avec circonspection»5.
Le 2 juillet 1946, après avoir dîné avec Marthe Boël, Ethel Pantazzi lui écrit une
lettre en essayant de clarifier deux points, premièrement ses connections avec le
CNFR et deuxièmement les sympathies pro-allemandes d’Alexandrina Cantacu-
zino6. Pantazzi explique qu’elle est devenue présidente du CNFR après l’arrestation
au domicile d’Alexandrina Cantacuzino pendant le régime de Carol II et que pen-
dant l’occupation allemande elle a cédé sa place à Elena Manicatide-Venert. En ce
qui concerne Alexandrina Cantacuzino, Pantazzi souligne que la majorité des
membres du CNFR n’étaient pas d’accord avec ses sympathies pro-allemandes et
que plusieurs ont démissionné à cause de son attitude. Cela explique, dit Pantazzi,
le fait qu’Alexandrina Cantacuzino est morte isolée de sa famille et de ses ancien-
nes amies. Les clarifications de Pantazzi avaient été dictées par l’attitude de Marthe
Boël pendant les discussions7.
1
Lettre de Marguerite Pichon-Landry à Marthe Boël, datée le 29 juin 1946 et qui porte l’antet
«Conseil National des Femmes Françaises», CARHIF (Bruxelles), dossier 1653, f. 1. Marguerite
Pichon-Landry est présidente du Conseil National des Femmes Françaises de 1932 à 1952.
2
Ibidem.
3
Ibidem.
4
Lettre de Marthe Boël à Marguerite Pichon-Landry, datée le 1er juillet 1946, CARHIF
5
Ibidem.
6
Lettre en anglais d’Ethel Pantazzi à Marthe Boël, datée Londres, le 2 juillet 1946, CARHIF
7
Ibidem. La lettre conclut: «I hope I haven’t bored you with all this but you were so
sympathetic in your attitude that I want to make sure that I left as correct impression as possible
with you».

La réaffiliation du CNFR au CIF est un échec, jugeant d’après une déclaration

faite par Laura Dreyfus-Barney en 1953:
«Le conflit Est-Ouest a pesé sur les affiliations au CIF. Avant la Seconde
Guerre mondiale, des conseils nationaux étaient affiliés et actifs au niveau na-
tional et international dans des pays qui ne sont plus membres actuellement
ou qui n’ont plus d’existence propre: Estonie, Lettonie, Lituanie, Pologne,
Tchécoslovaquie, Hongrie, Roumanie, Yougoslavie, Bulgarie»1.
La Roumanie devient membre de la FDIF qui «s’implante précisément dans les

pays de l’Est où existait auparavant une section affiliée au CIF»2. Mais les contacts
entre le CIF et le CNFR continuent, et en 1968 la présidente du CIF Mary Craig
Schuller McGeachy fait une visite officielle en Roumanie. En 1969 le CNFR est in-
vité à participer en 1970 en tant qu’observateur à la 19e Assemblée Triennale du
CIF à Bangkok3. Le dernier document qui relie le CNFR au CIF date du 20 janvier
1971. Il s’agit d’une réponse de la secrétaire générale du CIF à l’envoi d’un livre
écrit par Maria Groza et intitulé La Femme dans la Roumanie contemporaine. On re-
mercie de l’amabilité d’avoir adressé au Secrétariat du CIF ce livre en quatre exem-
plaires, deux en français et deux en anglais et on félicite le CNFR des succès obte-
nus, en lui souhaitant d’autres réussites à l’avenir4.
Conclusion
Les liaisons entre le CNFR et le CIF pendant les 50 ans étudiés prouvent que
les féministes roumaines se sont intégrées dans le mouvement international des
femmes, en apportant leur contribution au succès des projets du CIF. En même
temps on constate, à travers la correspondance, que les deux organisations ont
connu des périodes difficiles mais qu’elles ont réussi à les dépasser, en se solidari-
sant dans les moments les plus dramatiques de la Seconde Guerre Mondiale. Les
relations d’amitié et de confiance qui s’établissent entre les féministes roumaines et
étrangères prouvent l’internationalisation du mouvement féministe roumain, mais
aussi que la contribution des Roumaines devient indispensable pour le bon fonc-
tionnement du CIF.
1
Citée par Leen BEYERS, «Le CIF et ses conseils nationaux. Une formidable expansion
séculaire», in Eliane GUBIN, Leen VAN MOLLE (sous la dir.), Des femmes qui changent le
monde…cit., p. 49.
2
Ibidem, pp. 48-49. Les pays énumérés par l’auteur sont la Roumanie, la Bulgarie, la Pologne,
la Tchécoslovaquie, la Hongrie, l’Allemagne de l’Est, la Yougoslavie.
3
Lettre d’Anne Price à Maria Groza datée Paris, le 26 septembre 1969, CARHIF (Bruxelles),
dossier 1653: «Au nom de la Présidente [Mary Craig Schuller McGeachy, présidente du CIF de 1963
à 1973] et des membres du Bureau j’ai l’honneur et le plaisir d’inviter votre organisation à nommer
des représentantes en qualité d’observatrices à la 19e Conférence Plénière du Conseil International
des Femmes». Cette Conférence s’est tenue à Bangkok du 31 janvier au 12 février 1970.
4
Lettre de J. Raguideau à la présidente du CNFR datée Paris, le 20 janvier 1971, CARHIF
(Bruxelles), dossier 1653: «Je l’ai lu [le livre de Maria Groza] avec beaucoup d’attention et j’en fais
parvenir un exemplaire en anglais à Mrs. Mary Craig Schuller McGeachy, présidente du CIF […]
Je suis sûre qu’elle sera très heureuse de lire ces pages où se racontent les succès obtenus par les
femmes roumaines. Avec mes meilleurs vœux pour la réussite de votre organisation […]».

394 CAMIL ALEXANDRU PÂRVU

From Diversity to Difference 395
From Diversity to Difference

Structural Dilemmas of Identity Politics
CAMIL ALEXANDRU PÂRVU
In the last decades, we witnessed a substantive and abundant literature on the

topics of multiculturalism, identity politics, struggles for recognition, or the politics
of difference, most of these writings connecting or treating these subjects as inte-
grated with the broader aims of justice and political justification. The notions of
multiculturalism, identity politics or difference politics are either used inter-
changeably, or claimed to be distinct in some of their aspects or implications. They
are adopted as moral, political ideals, or as grounds for differential policies that fo-
cus on the uniquely important influence that such identities bear on the individ-
ual’s capacity to be an authentic actor of political justification. Whatever the case,
the positions and arguments developed in the name of these ideals and policies
claim to widen, broaden the scope of toleration in a way that some liberal democ-
rats consider unwarranted.
Beyond the sheer conceptual diversity of the works on multiculturalism and
the struggles for recognition of distinct identities, the focus of these writings does
vary according to concrete cultural and historical experiences and to the political
contexts in which such debates were born in recent years. The problematic of mul-
ticulturalism fundamentally changed according to such contexts, in ways that ex-
plain why there is no unified set of presuppositions or arguments that all theories
of multiculturalism might share. For this reason, I intend to address here a rather
much more narrow set of arguments put forward under the name of ”politics of
difference” or ”identity politics” by such authors as Iris Marion Young, Seyla Ben-
habib1 and others.
The differences entailed by identity represent more than just a rephrasing of
the rather uncontroversial idea of value-pluralism. Value-pluralism denotes a
broad and diverse set of theories and accounts which share, at least in a generic or
minimal sense, an acknowledgement of the cultural diversity and plurality of in-
terests, values and forms of life in modern societies, and of the need to adequately
take this fact in consideration within the normative construction of the political
terms of our living together. In this quite uncontroversial version, it has character-
ized liberal and other theories, including republicanism or deliberative democracy.
The accounts in question develop a different type of reasoning, however, by
replacing value pluralism and the diversity of interests, with difference in identity;
not only that identity, religion, culture, language, ethnicity crucially define the way
in which we relate to the others: membership in identity-based social groups be-
comes itself the key focus of political theorizing.
This paper is structured in two main parts: in the first part, the structure of
politics of difference is discussed, by examining some main arguments developed
by I.M. Young on the role of identity, oppression and justice. The wider intellectual
1
Seyla BENHABIB (ed.), Democracy and Difference: Contesting the Boundaries of the
Political, Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1996.

context in which this debate takes place is briefly characterized. In the second part,
I raise a number of issues which are related to the implications of this move from
diversity of interests and conceptions, to difference of identity. I claim that a number of
serious difficulties arise: such arguments are still dependent on problematic essen-
tialist and reductionist views of identity; culture or identity become the actors of
political justification, instead of individuals; they tend to overlook the fact that re-
spect for diversity is not self-sustaining, hence the need for a definition of common
conditions in which diversity is valued; such arguments have a hard time account-
ing for the internal diversity and legitimacy issues within those groups; finally,
their attempt to provide a formal definition of cultural membership runs afoul of
the contextually determined, historically relative experiences which have repre-
sented the origin of these debates.
IDENTITY AND OPPRESSION IN IRIS MARION YOUNG’S

”POLITICS OF DIFFERENCE”
In Justice and the Politics of Difference1, I.M. Young mounts a long critique of
both communitarian and liberal understandings of justice, and at the same time at-
tempts to elaborate a different perspective on the relevant and multiple forms of
oppression that characterize contemporary plural societies. It is her claim that the
liberal ideals of impartiality, equal rights or color-blind state have become more of
an instrument for denying and ignoring relevant differences in favor of dominant
attitudes and identities, and that denying differences represents in itself a form of
oppression against the various minority social groups. The ”politics of difference”,
then, represents an appeal for the need for group-differentiated policies and
group-differentiated representations, as means to undo the structures and forms of
oppression that the liberal theory apparently chooses to ignore.
Young’s objective is to reformulate the ideal of social justice and the concept of
oppression, so that the modern focus on a ”homogeneous” public will be displaced
in favor of a perspective in which social groups and their specific and different
identities, rather than individuals, become the subject of justificatory discourses.
In that sense, Young criticizes what she calls the reductionism and the positiv-
ism of the dominant liberal political theory. The perceived reductionism of contem-
porary political theory is manifest, according to Young, in the constant fixation of
liberal political theory to ”reduce political subjects to a unity and to value com-
monness or sameness over specificity and difference”2. The positivism of such ac-
counts is determined by ”too often assuming as given institutional structures that
ought to be brought under normative evaluation”3.
Misrepresentation or negation of the normative implications of identity differ-
ences represent defining trends that modern and contemporary liberal political
1
Iris Marion YOUNG, Justice and the Politics of Difference, Princeton University Press,
Princeton, 1990.
2
Ibidem, p. 3. The main illustration of this denial of differences is perhaps the Rawlsian
construction of an ”original position”, with its abstraction from the individual characteristics that
differentiate persons in real life, in order to ensure fair conditions for the choice of the principles
of justice.
3
Ibidem.

theory assumes either overtly or implicitly, according to Young, and the reason for
this incapacity to consider difference originates in a weak understanding of the norms
of equality and the value of impartiality, as well as in the abandonment, by contem-
porary political theory, of the critical perspective on social and historical contexts.
The drive towards de-contextualization is precisely what Young and other au-
thors would intend to reverse, in the name of a critical theory represented as a nor-
mative reflection that begins ”from historically specific circumstances, because
there is nothing but what is, the given, the situated interest in justice, from which
to start”1. One argument that shares affinities with communitarians’ critique of lib-
eralism is that liberal theorists’ claim to provide an elaboration of the elements of
”a universal normative system insulated from a particular society” is at best illu-
sory, and fails to correctly represent the proper role of normative (critical) theory.
”Without social theory, normative reflection is abstract, empty, and unable to
guide criticism with a practical interest in emancipation”2. Moreover, the philoso-
pher must always perceive the distress of others’ (or his own) life – and his reflec-
tion on oppression will necessarily contribute to either reinforcing it or fighting it.
The philosopher himself is socially situated, then, and hence he cannot abstract
himself meaningfully or fruitfully from his own context. Choosing to deny or ig-
nore the forms of oppression present in his society will only reinforce these. The
role of critical theory is thus to explore the ”normative possibilities unrealized but
felt in a particular given society”3, in other words to elaborate norms and ideals
that originate in the various modes of social organization that would be possible,
preferable or desirable given the various experiences of oppression that the theo-
rist must uncover.
Young’s theory is thus one that tries to reformulate the scope and aims of po-
litical theorizing about justice and social institutions. In order to expose the theo-
retical and practical shortcomings of dominant (liberal) political theory, inade-
quately focused on the ideal of impartiality and mechanisms of redistribution,
I.M. Young elaborates a different conception of social justice, and at the same time
develops a complex analysis of the notion of oppression and of the mechanisms to
fight it, namely the ”politics of difference”.
The main weakness of theories aiming for the ideal of impartiality and con-
structing mechanisms of redistribution in order to correct unfair inequalities is, ac-
cording to her, that these theories ignore the normatively significant differences and
tend thus to confirm structural and latent forms of oppression, associated mainly,
but not exclusively, with the attribution, by the dominant groups’ world views, of
marginalizing roles and demeaning identities to the minority social groups. This in-
capacity of contemporary political theorizing to connect to some pertinent critical
dimension represents the characteristic feature that Young attempts to correct, by
providing the social theorist with the critical tools of evaluating experiences that are
normatively relevant when focusing on institutional injustices.
Young identifies the reasons for the growing disparity between ”contempo-
rary situated claims” about societies containing institutional injustices and the
theoretical claims about justice, in some of the fundamental presuppositions of
”modern western political philosophy” namely the ideal of impartiality and the
1
Ibidem, p. 5.
2
Ibidem.
3
Ibidem, p. 6.

associated mechanisms of correcting social injustice by redistributive mechanisms.

The ideal of impartiality, according to her, ”denies difference”1.
The reasons and implications of this important claim must be explained. The
ideal of impartiality is typically assumed by, or associated with contemporary lib-
eral theories, and these are the focus of Young’s critique, but we may attempt to
elaborate on one of Young’s remarks: ”The ideal of impartiality suggests that all
moral situations should be treated according to the same rules”2.
If I understand it correctly, the ideal of impartiality suggests rather that ”all
moral situations, the differences among which are non-relevant, should be treated
according to the same rules”. If that is the content of the ideal of impartiality, then
this is of course a characteristic claim of most liberal theories, but it is also an aim
present in most political, moral, and legal theories. The notion of judicial prece-
dent, for instance, and the dicton ”cases alike must be treated alike” in legal theory
and judicial practice involves perhaps the same idea, namely that non-relevant dif-
ferences should not be taken into consideration and that adjudication must pro-
ceed relying on the evaluation of the relevant similarities as well as the relevant
differences across cases or situations. What is debatable then is what qualifies as
”cases alike” and not whether they should be treated alike.
My contention is that eventually not the ideal of impartiality itself is conten-
tious in this sense, but rather the evaluation of the normatively ”significant” differ-
ences that should be taken into consideration and the differences among situations
that should be discarded from the reasoning leading to adjudication or pol-
icy-making. In this sense, contesting or arguing about the ”relevant” differences
does not necessarily amount to denying the notion of impartiality altogether.
It may also be the case that I.M. Young provides a too vague description of the
ideal of impartiality3. The idea that ”all moral situations must be treated according
to the same rules” cannot easily be attributed to any coherent political or moral
theory. Perhaps it means rather that ”all significantly similar moral situations must
be treated according to the same rules”, and this would be again a rather general
and little controversial ideal, leaving for theoretical and critical debate to establish
the adequate ”relevant” similarities among moral situations. To recapitulate the
analogy with jurisprudence, which ”cases” are ”alike” (which ”moral situations”
display significant similarities) is the real subject of controversy, and much less the
idea that they should be treated alike.
The ideal of impartiality is also associated by Young, in a move similar to that
of thinkers like Michael Sandel or Charles Taylor, to the idea of a single standpoint
that ”all subjects can adopt”, an idea which ”denies the difference between sub-
jects”. ”By positing a unified and universal moral point of view, it generates a di-
chotomy between reason and feeling. Usually expressed in counterfactuals, the
ideal of impartiality expresses an impossibility”4.
This critique has a stronger implication, since it is related to the complex no-
tions of difference, identity and especially to the elaboration of the category of ”so-
cial groups”. Taylor’s ”politics of recognition” and Young’s ”politics of difference”
1
Ibidem, p. 10.
2
Ibidem.
3
For an elaborated account of the various understandings of impartiality as a criterion for
justice and its possible alternatives see Brian BARRY, Justice as Impartiality, Oxford University
Press, Oxford, 1995.
4
Iris Marion YOUNG, Justice and the Politics of Difference, cit., p. 10.

bear multiple similarities, including many aspects related to their foundations or

presupposition, that is, a critique of the perceived theoretical shortcomings of the
modern or contemporary view of the subject. Subjects of justice, in many liberal
political theories, are invited to adopt a certain ”public” or ”common” standpoint,
and that move entails denying or abandoning the differences that make the experi-
ences of each individual unique. Young contends that the moral ideal of impartial-
ity is often associated to a certain political ideal, the ideal of the ”civic public”. That
political ideal is in fact the idea of homogeneous public that entails that many dif-
ferences are left aside as non-important. The ideal of impartiality is finally criti-
cized by I.M. Young in virtue of being a form of cultural imperialism, namely a
kind of oppression, which tends to be less visible and at the same time more dan-
gerous than other forms of oppression.
The defense of an alternative understanding of justice entails for Young em-
phasizing the overwhelming influence of social groups (and their status in the
broader society) on the capacity of their members to realize the values that consti-
tute a good life, values of self-determination and self-development. It also entails
deploying a complex analysis of what may impede on the individuals’ capacity to
realize these values, and that means elaborating a typology of oppression that criti-
cizes the liberal – and even the Marxist understandings and classifications.
Young’s claim is that "standard" elaborations of the concept of oppression
missed some central aspects of that concept, and that could be explained by mod-
ern political theory’s concentration on finding the sources of oppression in the de-
liberate actions of identified or identifiable individuals or institutions, aiming to un-
justly or unjustifiably coerce individuals. Beyond deliberate oppression or domina-
tion however, there are, according to Young, many other fundamental aspects that
are equally capable of diminishing or denying one’s capacities to realize the values
of a good life. And these other aspects are even more damaging or destructive as
they are less visible, non-intentional and hence it is more difficult to attribute them
to, or originate them in the deliberate actions of specific individuals or institutions.
These other forms of oppression are mainly structural, meaning that they are
attached to a network of multiple and unrelated institutions, conducts, attitudes,
informal relations and symbolic references, they most of the times concern specific
(minority) social groups by attaching to the identity shared by the members of
those groups devaluating social meanings, symbols or practices and they under-
mine by that the capacity of those individuals to form an adequate and positive
valuation of their moral experiences, situations and traditions.
Moreover, in order to undo the effects of oppression, some forms of group
rights (among which there is a central political right of group representation) are to
be devised and implemented. The ”politics of difference” aims then to realize the
emancipation and liberation of social groups from their ascribed demeaning identi-
ties not by internally and publicly repudiating such identities, not by conforming
to mainstream attitudes and practices, but on the contrary, by re-appreciating and
re-constructing these identities as positive and worthy, as enabling – rather than
shameful aspects.
Of course, since in Young’s construction it is social groups that are represented as
the primary focus of (structural) oppression, and individuals are considered as suf-
fering from oppression only by virtue of their belonging to these groups – as mem-
bers of those groups that receive a certain socially demeaning or degraded projection
of their identity – it becomes of central importance for Young to provide an adequate
definition of these ”social groups”. As we shall see, her intention is to offer such a

description of social groups that is both adequate for explaining the special forms of
oppression associated with groups, and that enables her theory to avoid standard
criticisms, especially the accusation of essentialism1. Social groups, according to
Young, must not be assimilated to aggregates, nor to mere associations.
Aggregates are constituted by ”any classification of persons according to
some attribute”. This means that persons sharing a set of attributes, like eye color,
the brand of their computers or the kind of music they listen to, can be classified
into such groups without there being any obvious social or normative meanings
associated with this casual membership. In this sense, it is not that attribute that is
primarily meaningful and determines the existence of a social group: African
Americans are not defined as a social group simply by their skin color; as Young
notes, sometimes such an attribute is necessary, however it is not the attribute it-
self that marks a social group, but instead ”it is identification with a certain social
status, the common history that social status produces, and self-identification that
define group as a group”2.
That also means that what is shared by the members of a social group is not
simply the common (objective) attribute – sometimes the attribute is not even pre-
sent in some of its members, (as when the color of the skin is fairly light) – but a
common identity. What actually defines their membership is this sense of a shared
identity, a common fate, or a common understanding of their status as belonging
to a same cultural or social situation. The meanings that constitute this identity
may have been perhaps forced upon them or created by them, or a combination of
both, but these meanings and identities are what differentiates their belonging to a
social group from their belonging to an aggregate.
People’s eye color or their skin color may seem to produce similar implica-
tions on their integration into the relevant categories or classifications if we regard
aggregates as relevant, but the meanings associated with skin color are obviously
much different if we take seriously the social significance and historical weight of
some dimensions of the identification of skin as particularizing a group of people
with or without their own acceptance of it. It is obvious that skin color, unlike eye
color, has indeed played an overwhelming importance in the way entire groups of
individuals, without any other connection among them, were treated, and also in
the way they came to identify themselves, not always assimilating this feature with
a positive or socially valued one. Skin color has been a ground for discrimination,
oppression or fixation in rigid, unjust and undeserved social and political inferior
positions. Individuals were oppressed because of their skin color, as a mark that
applied to them as a group, and the same may be said about other marks such as
gender, sexual preference etc.
In Young’s view, that is a central feature of social groups, their members being
marked as distinct from the rest by a certain feature, objective or not, and without
there being a necessary connection between the mark itself and the treatment of the
group in question. The social meaning attached to that feature is distinguishable
from the trivial meanings attached to other features.
1
As her theory is intended as an alternative to both liberalism and communitarianism,
Young has to provide an account of social groups that enables her to dissociate her view from
both the aggregative/associative individualist views and the communitarian idealization of the
communities.
2
Iris Marion YOUNG, Justice and the Politics of Difference, cit., p. 43

The key element that differentiates a social group from an aggregate is the
identity that comes to be shared by the members of the group, an identity either
imposed upon them or developed by the members themselves, and this identity
supplants the common feature (skin color, practice etc.) that initially defined mem-
bership. This key element enables Young to formulate a thesis that is similar to
many communitarians’ claim, that is, that ”group meanings partially constitute
people’s identities in terms of the cultural forms, social situation, and history that
group members know as theirs, because these meanings have been either forced
upon them or forged by them or both”.
Social groups are equally distinct from associations. These are institutions that
are formally organized and ruled, such as trade unions, clubs, political parties or
even, according to Young, churches. The model of association is itself different from
that of an aggregate in that it does acknowledge that the members do share com-
mon practices, values, beliefs or forms of common living. However, Young main-
tains that this model lacks a fundamental dimension necessary to tackle the com-
plex aspects of oppression suffered by individuals as members of certain groups:
this model can only consider individuals as ”ontologically prior to the collective”1.
This implies viewing individuals as setting up such associations in many
fields of their social interactions on a voluntary basis, defining, controlling and
modifying their constitutions as well as deciding when and why to leave such as-
sociations. It is of course a familiar structure of widespread social relations and in-
volves us on many levels of our social life. However, claims Young, this represents
an incomplete perspective. Such a model, favored by the individualist contrac-
tarian approaches, is unfit to describe and build around phenomena of oppression
associated with membership in a certain social group. What this model of associa-
tion misses is two-fold, and I.M. Young explains these two deficiencies in the fol-
lowing manner: first, adequately conceptualized social groups are not made up,
constituted by individuals in a voluntary and deliberate manner. The individual is
not, hence, prior to the collective, to the group itself, but rather finds himself in that
social group. I will come back to this aspect below. The second claim put forward
by Young, is that a person’s identity itself and sense of self are not prior or inde-
pendent of membership in the social groups.
An association is indeed constituted by its members and it exists only as long as
they see it fit. They institute it, define its rules, procedures, criteria of membership,
structure and internal positions. Membership is usually voluntary and the individu-
als do come together ”as constituted persons”, in that their identities ”are usually re-
garded as prior to and relatively independent of association membership”.
”A contract model of social relations”, according to Young, ”is appropriate for
conceiving associations, but not groups”. Individuals constitute associations and
enter these associations with already-structured identities.
”Groups, on the other hand, constitute individuals. A person’s particular
sense of history, affinity, and separateness, and even a person’s mode of rea-
soning, evaluating, and expressing feeling, are constituted partly by her or his
group affinities. This does not mean that persons have no individual styles, or
are unable to transcend or reject a group identity. Nor does it preclude persons
from having many aspects that are independent of these group identities.”2
1
Ibidem.
2
Ibidem, p. 44.

The problem emphasized by Young can be understood as follows: claims for

recognition coming from members of oppressed social groups cannot be ade-
quately grasped if one places himself within the dominant paradigm in which so-
cial interactions are viewed as belonging to a ”privatized” sphere of voluntary as-
sociations. The control that individuals do possess upon associations, and their ca-
pacity to retain an identity somehow separated from these, is not matched by the
influence of non-voluntary social group membership on their sense of self:
”A person joins an association, and even if membership in it fundamen-
tally affects one’s life, one does not take that membership to define one’s very
identity, in the way, for example, being [an Indian] Navaho might”1.
The difference between an association and a social group is fundamental for

Young in order to distinguish the specific forms of oppression that are associated
with group membership but not to association membership. The fact that member-
ship in a social group influences a person’s identity in a manner that is incompara-
ble with voluntary association membership provides a ground for Young’s critique
of a model widely accepted in (liberal) political theory but which does not, accord-
ing to her, render justice to the normative dimensions of the complex and less sali-
ent aspects of a person’s social status and position. Whether a person belongs or
not to a social group that has traditionally been object of structural oppression is a
fact without serious consequences in a contract model of association membership,
whereas in the model proposed by Young, this fact becomes crucially relevant both
for critical normative theory and for the effort to find institutional remedies to the
situation of oppression.
Non-deliberate and non-voluntary membership in social groups has quasi-po-
litical implications for Young:
”Group affinity [...] has the character of what Martin Heidegger calls
’thrownness’: one finds oneself as a member of a group, which one experi-
ences as always already having been. For our identities are defined in rela-
tion to how others identify us, and they do so in terms of groups which are
always already associated with specific attributes stereotypes and norms”2.
I mention this quasi-political dimension of group membership, besides the

identification dimension, because this analysis of social group membership bears
significant parallels to the strongest normative implications of the justification of
political obligation in political theory. Without explicitly affirming this, I.M. Young
”raises the normative stakes” of social group membership for political theory to
the level of political membership in a political community.
According to many conceptions in political philosophy, the most important po-
litical institutions and norms of a society have to be justified to those under their do-
minion precisely because of their non-voluntary and non-deliberate foundations.
Social contract theory and other political theories, instead of considering political
membership as voluntary, have placed such a considerable justificatory burden
upon political discourse precisely because membership in a political order is not
voluntary in the way membership in associations is. Constitutions and fundamental
political institutions can and should be rationally justified to their subjects; social
1
Ibidem.
2
Ibidem, p. 45.

contract, or rather hypothetical rational agreement, can be understood without

there being the notion of a group of individuals actually deciding to set up an asso-
ciation that will rule their lives in the way they would set up a football association.
The premise of political justification is that political membership is already
given, individuals are born in already existing political societies, and what is
needed is a theory explaining in which conditions their authoritative directives are
justified. That is, in which conditions the authority is legitimate. The need for
strong rational normative justification arises from this closed character of political
communities. Their members have no meaningful exit option: we enter when born
and exit by death. The existence of an exit option would entail that a person be able
to re-create with others the basic terms of their political cooperation in a complete
overhaul of these terms, or that he be able to leave one political community in or-
der to re-create another elsewhere; but one has nowhere else to leave because
wherever he settles he will find himself subject to some political authority that he
did not participate in establishing.
This is what makes the case of political justification so compelling: fundamen-
tal political relations are different from associational voluntary relations precisely
because, as John Rawls characterizes political relationship:
”First, it is a relationship of persons within the basic structure of society,
a structure of basic institutions we enter only by birth and exit only by death
(or so we may appropriately assume). Political society is closed, as it were;
and we do not, indeed cannot, enter or leave it voluntarily.
Second, political power is, of course, always coercive power backed by a
state’s machinery for enforcing its laws. But in a constitutional and democ-
ratic regime political power is also always traced to the power of equal citi-
zens as a collective body: it is regularly imposed on citizens as individuals,
some of whom may not accept the reasons widely believed to justify the gen-
eral structure of political authority (the constitution); or when they do accept
that structure, they may not regard as well grounded many of the laws en-
acted by the legislature to which they are subject”1.
However, Rawls goes on in the following paragraph to make a contention that

has been intensely criticized by Young:
”There is a distinct domain of the political identified by these features
(among others) to which certain values specified in an appropriate way, char-
acteristically apply. So understood, the political is distinct from the associa-
tional, say, which is voluntary in ways the political is not; it is also distinct
from the familial and the personal, which are affectional, again in ways the
political is not. (The associational, the familial, and the personal are simply
three examples of the nonpolitical; there are others.)”.
It is precisely this clear-cut distinction between the domains of the political

and the non-political and their differential normative implications for political
justification, that I.M. Young contest so strongly in her Justice and the Politics of
Difference. The communitarian critique of the ”fictious” and ”un-situated” self at-
tempting to achieve an impartial standpoint void of particularisms, traditions and
communal influences – associated with the feminist critique of the public/private
1
John RAWLS, Justice as Fairness. A Restatement, ed. by Erin Kelly, The Belknap Press of
Harvard University Press, Cambridge (Mass.), London, 2001, p. 182.

liberal distinction that excludes ”the familial and the personal” from the proper do-
main of political justification, enable Young to formulate a critique that targets
most of the standard assumptions of liberal political theory.
Of course, the Rawlsian distinctions between public/nonpublic or the po-
litical/non-political do not completely overlap with the other classical liberal dis-
tinctions separating the public from the private, but it remains a strong assumption
of many such theories that private attachments and personal commitments and af-
finities are not to be put on the same level as the fundamental political relation-
ship. Conciliating feminism and communitarianism is a rather difficult task, but
Young deploys a combination of such arguments that are linked and harmonized
in view of displacing a perceived dominant discourse in political theory that hap-
pens to be embraced mostly by liberal theorists.
Young’s argument of the overwhelming importance of social group member-
ship as a matter of justice is comparable, as I mentioned above, to the liberals’ insis-
tence that a membership in a political community is the focus of political justifica-
tion. A methodologically individualist approach – which characterizes ”the social
ontology underlying many contemporary theories of justice” – is not suited, in
Young’s view, to render the ”thrownness” of group affinity. If the individual is pre-
sumed prior to the social, if the self is considered authentic if and only if autono-
mous, which for many critics of liberalism means ”self-made, standing apart from
history and affiliations, choosing its life entirely for itself”1, then one is not able to
adequately relate identification with oppression. Missing the complex way indi-
viduals’ identities are shaped by their group membership leads many (liberal) theo-
rists to find the reason for oppression in the group identification itself. Eliminating
oppression then means eliminating groups. For Young, however, ”group differen-
tiation is both an inevitable and a desirable aspect of modern social processes”2.
In order to understand this claim one has to remember Young’s first claim:
namely, that traditional concerns with political and social rights are not to be con-
fused with the new concerns related to the recognition of individuals’ identity-re-
lated differences.
What renders Young’s theory of social justice distinct from mainstream liberal
egalitarianism and enables her to develop a strong critique thereof, is the original
and at the same time controversial link between her definitions of social justice, op-
pression, difference and social groups, which in turn allow her to elaborate on the
political consequences such as the ”politics of difference”. This means that in order
to prove the existing (liberal or egalitarian) accounts of justice misguided or incom-
plete, she has to explain the way in which situations of lack of justice (that is, op-
pression) are not adequately answered by these accounts.
In this sense, then, it is important to adequately understand the complex
elaboration by Young of the situation of injustice determined by what she calls the
absence of proper institutional support for the realization of self-development and
self-determination. This implies for Young a discussion of the aspects of oppres-
sion and domination that emphasizes their multifaceted character. This, in turn, is
then correlated with the fact that injustice originates mainly through inadequate
treatment of group-specific differences. Oppression and domination, for Young,
are much more complex phenomena than what has been understood thus far.
1
Iris Marion YOUNG, Justice and the Politics of Difference, cit., p. 45.
2
Ibidem, p. 47.

Liberal or Marxist elaborations of these notions have missed a central feature of

oppression: the fact that it is not simply a matter of either illegitimate deliberate co-
ercion, or of class domination. It is rather a phenomenon that involves different,
sometimes overlapping, non-intentional forms of obstruction on self-development,
and it is a basic task for the political theorist to attempt to provide an account of
oppression that covers its multiple forms.
Oppression, for Young, is a more relevant concept for political theory. It some-
times includes or entails domination, but it is the multiple and many times elusive
forms of oppression that render this concept both fundamental and difficult to grasp:
”Oppression consists in systematic institutional processes which prevent
some people from learning and using satisfying and expansive skills in so-
cially organized settings, or institutionalized processes which inhibit people’s
ability to play and communicate with others or to express their feelings and
perspective on social life in contexts where others can listen”.
”Domination consists in institutional conditions which inhibit or pre-
vent people from participating in determining their actions or the conditions
of their actions. Persons live within structures of domination if other persons
or groups can determine without reciprocation the conditions of their actions,
either directly or by virtue of the structural consequences of actions. Thor-
ough social and political democracy is the opposite of domination”1.
Young is keen to emphasize the radical difference between her elaboration of

the concept of oppression and most previous conceptualizations. It is her conten-
tion that we should not consider it as limited to conditions of material deprivation.
This remark is manifestly directed against dominant (liberal) understandings,
which presents the struggle for justice as a struggle for equal individual rights and
equal access to the social, that is material and political, conditions for the fair value
of these rights and liberties.
The fact that oppression involves issues beyond material unfair inequalities
and unfair distribution represents for Young a central claim used to extend the
scope of the idea of oppression in order to cover many more aspects that equally
impede the individual’s capacity for self-determination. Understanding oppression
and thus injustice as entailing more, perhaps something radically different from,
fair distribution, presupposes an elaboration of the concept that takes into consid-
eration both deliberate and non-deliberate, or ”structural”, forms of oppression, in
other words requiring a mode of analyzing focused on the evaluation of social and
institutional structures and practices that is ”incommensurate with the language of
liberal individualism”.
What differentiates then her analysis of oppression from previous accounts is
the fact that hers corresponds to an account that proposes ”an enabling conception
of justice”. That means in turn that questions of injustice are not simply related to
issues of adequate or fair distribution of rights and opportunities, but more impor-
tantly, to the ”institutional conditions necessary for the development and exercise
of individual capacities and collective communication and cooperation”2.
This enabling conception of justice must include references that cannot be
reduced to distributive patterns, since it is not only unfair distribution that charac-
terizes the conditions of injustice. These references relate to disabling constraints
1
Ibidem, p. 38.
2
Ibidem, p. 39.

on self-development and self-determination involved in procedures of deci-

sion-making, labor division, and culture, among others.
Of course, the abstract definition of oppression is not sufficient for Young in
order to provide a significant alternative conception of justice. Beyond the general
understanding which equates oppression with some sort of inhibition or limitation
of individuals’ capacities for formulating, expressing and pursuing their needs and
feelings, there are some quite precise but mutually non-exclusive forms of oppres-
sion that together constitute the alternative understanding of the meaning of op-
pression and injustice which lays at the basis of Young’s construction. She charac-
terizes the analysis of this notion as revealing in fact ”a family of concepts and con-
ditions”, divided in five categories: exploitation, marginalization, powerlessness,
cultural imperialism, and violence1. Among these complex forms of oppression,
Young claims that it is cultural imperialism and marginalization that have been
overlooked by most theories of justice, while violence or exploitation have already
constituted the object of many discourses of justice.
One central feature of this analysis is that this definition of oppression neces-
sarily has to include an adequate account of these five complex aspects or forms of
oppression, and does not consider any one of these forms as having any sort of
moral priority over the others. This means that not only are these not limited to the
Marxist or liberal ”reductionist” accounts, but also, more importantly, that no one
aspect can account for the ”true” or ”basic” form of oppression. Moreover, as indi-
viduals or members of groups, we may be the object of multiple forms of oppres-
sion and this situation may require differentiated remedies.
It is important for Young to explain the limits of standard accounts of justice
and oppression in order to make place for the alternative understanding that she
promotes. As it has been mentioned, these limits are mainly related to the ”reduc-
tionist and simplistic” understanding of the actual conditions in which institutions,
practices, and attitudes generate non-intentional constraints upon the individual’s
capacities for realizing self-determination and self-development. Her own account
of the five forms of oppression is intended as a more exhaustive and nuanced ac-
count of the situations in which such capacities are unjustly limited and develops
in the same time a conception in which the systemic aspects of oppression are
highlighted. In emphasizing these non-deliberate, structural aspects, Young draws,
in an original way, upon various critical theories that include Marxism, communi-
tarianism, feminism and manages to extend these approaches towards an elabora-
tion of these forms of oppression that traces their causes and manifestation in prac-
tices and institutions that were not considered to be the proper object of study, that
is, not having significant or relevant references for most theories of justice.
These include everyday interactions among well-intentioned individuals, their
assumptions and reactions illustrating cultural stereotypes, the mass media and its
capacity to reproduce and propagate such often unconscious symbols and presup-
positions, institutional hierarchies and bureaucracies, and the market. The some-
times-elusive character of such forms of oppression must not obliterate the funda-
mentally damaging and lasting consequences upon the individuals that are object
of such oppression. It is one thing to acknowledge the source of such forms of op-
pression as being ”embedded in unquestioned norms, habits and symbols, in the
assumptions underlying institutional rules and the collective consequences of fol-
1
Ibidem, p. 40.

lowing those rules”1, and another one to give up on trying to alleviate or eliminate
such manifestations.
Precisely because ”[o]ppression refers to systemic constraints on groups” and ”in
this sense it is structural, rather than the result of a few people’s choices or policies”,
that the critical theorist’s duty is to uncover and expose the complex manifestations
and forms of oppression and suggest methods that adequately answer the plight of
those who suffer because of these previously un-accounted for forms of oppression.
It is indeed because such a complex account of ”structural” oppression may
discourage approaching it within the standard requirements of analytical political
theory, that Young employs such a lengthy analysis of this subject and of the corre-
lated notion of social group. She does claim that the reason for the modern political
theory’s difficulty and ultimately, according to Young, incapacity to properly
evaluate the causes and consequences of injustice as structural oppression, lies in
the so-called misconstrued aim (the ideal of impartiality) and consequently in its
preferred method (some sort of distribution and equality of opportunity).
Liberal political theories, as well as other modern political theories, have con-
ceived as the fundamental proper subject of justice, the individual. The person,
agent, actor has always been taken as not only the primary but the unique subject,
and groups, minorities and communities in general were treated as merely associa-
tions of individuals, that is, their claims of justice were taken as amounting to not
more than the sum of individual such claims. Individuals can be oppressed by
states, tyrants, even communities, and their legitimate claims take precedence over
any other collective aims. Traditionally, individual civil and political liberties rep-
resent protections against such entities and when associated with various forms of
distribution these are meant to enable individuals to control and participate in
those entities’ procedures of decision-making. Legitimate authority is authority
that has a right to issue authoritative, compelling, and coercive directives, and that
right is established through some sort of free agreement, acquiescence or participa-
tion from individuals as equals.
In recent liberal theorizing, various aims related to perfectionist, paternalist poli-
cies or social utility can only be accepted, if then, after adequate respect and protec-
tion of individual legitimate basic interests, and these protections are always against
salient, visible, deliberate such policies or actions by specific entities such as individu-
als, collectivities, institutions or the state. This explains the unease, which is manifest
in these theories, to take into consideration any forms of injustice that do not corre-
spond and cannot be corrected according to the aims and methods specified above.
According to Young, the structural character of oppression render inadequate
former approaches of based on distribution and equality of opportunity. It is insuf-
ficient to devise some new rules or laws in order to eliminate such forms of oppres-
sion for the reason that these tend to reproduce themselves, which means that such
mechanisms cannot fundamentally affect and change the omnipresent and perva-
sive cultural, political, social, and economic institutions that confirm and propa-
gate structural oppression.
Which are then these forms of systemic or structural oppression? One form
that has been, indeed, only marginally treated in political theory, and then mainly
in feminist writings, is cultural imperialism. It has been marginally treated for the
simple reason that it is almost a matter of perception, or rather non-perception. On
1
Ibidem, p. 41.

the one hand, its supposed effect on individuals is to inoculate meanings and inter-
pretations of a dominant group, replacing their original understandings and
self-understandings. On the other hand, I will argue that one major difficulty with
Young’s claim is that one has no independent criterion to establish whether forms
of cultural imperialism have ceased.
What Young understands by cultural imperialism is the phenomenon by
which a member of one social group experiences ”how the dominant meanings of
a society render the particular perspective of one’s own group invisible at the same
time as they stereotype one’s group and mark it as the Other”1. In a similar move
with many critical feminists, Young argues that modern and contemporary politi-
cal theorizing ignores the complex and often subtle ways in which dominant
groups impose their experiences and cultural forms upon the other groups, trans-
forming these dominant understandings into ”the norm”, and thereby not only de-
nying other groups the capacity to form and express their own (self-) understand-
ings, but also contributing to their marginalization, fixation in pejorative, negative
or repressed identities.
Again, this process and its consequences do not have to be intended, deliber-
ate, and indeed, it is precisely when it is not deliberate that it becomes more diffi-
cult to contemplate and correct. What is interesting in Young’s analysis is the per-
ception that the non-deliberate character of cultural imperialism takes the forms of
apparently ”neutral” positions. Neutrality, as impartiality, is a dangerous ideal
precisely because impossible. It only hides and renders difficult to observe the fact
of cultural imperialism. Groups that experience cultural imperialism are rendered
invisible and at the same time marked as the Other, but the cultural imperialists
themselves need not be aware of their non-neutral attitudes, indeed not aware that
they form a group, a dominant group.
”Judgments of beauty or ugliness, attraction or aversion, cleverness or
stupidity, competence or ineptness, and so on are made unconsciously in in-
teractive contexts and in generalized media culture, and these judgments of-
ten mark, stereotype, devalue, or degrade some groups.”2
Cultural imperialism, marginalization, powerlessness are forms of structural,

non-intentional oppression that need not be associated with overt discrimination
or downright violence. The fundamental aspect underlying this strange relation,
for Young, is that
”The systemic character of oppression implies that an oppressed group
need not have a correlate oppressing group. While structural oppression in-
volves relations among groups, those relations do not always fit the para-
digm of conscious and intentional oppression of one group by another”3.
There is, however, always a (sometimes unaware) privileged group for any
oppressed one. Moreover, when oppression takes these less visible forms, the im-
age of neutrality and impartiality serves to mask deep and devaluating prejudices,
and the social groups thus oppressed are in a twofold difficulty. Cultural imperi-
alism, according to Young, is associated with false neutrality, and that renders
1
Ibidem, p. 91.
2
Ibidem, p. 133.
3
Ibidem, p. 41.

oppressed groups not only humiliated by the condescending, aversive behavior of

others, but also silent, forced to experience such treatment while unable to confront
the others about the perceptions that inform the oppressive attitudes.
If I understand Young correctly, that implies that the neutralist or impartialist
standards in moral and political reasoning and discourse not only mask prejudice
against particularities, but also incapacitate members of oppressed groups to react
against such prejudice and force these to perpetuate and confirm the prejudices.
This may be explained perhaps also by a lesser capacity of oppressed groups to
translate their claims into the neutralist discourse that serves to propagate oppres-
sion itself. Remember Young’s critique of the ideal of impartiality:
”The ideal of impartial transcendental subject denies or represses differ-
ence in three ways. First, it denies the particularity of situations. Second, in
its requirements of dispassion, impartiality seeks to master or eliminate het-
erogeneity in the form of feeling. Third, the most important way that ideal of
impartiality reduces particularity to unity is in reducing the plurality of
moral subjects to one subjectivity. In its requirement of universality, the ideal
of impartial reason is supposed to represent a point of view that any and all
rational subjects can adopt, precisely by abstracting from situational particu-
larities that individualize them.”1
Or, it is – according to Young –, precisely by the forced ignorance of the ”situ-

ational particularities” that the ideal of impartiality undermines the quest of authen-
ticity and thus the capacity of oppressed groups to resist or fight prejudice. If the
goal is a ”transformative politics that aims to undermine oppression and domina-
tion”, then one must take seriously the contexts in which these occur, whatever their
complexity. That means for Young acknowledging the difficulty of the task of ”locat-
ing the conceptual and normative problems that bedevil our political conflicts” and
the ”perpetual failures to redress injustice”. ”Liberal individual institutions”, she
claims, are not sufficiently adapted ”to overcome the very real dilemma that to do
justice we must attend to liabilities generated by social group differentiation, but we
must also attend to the relational fluidity and internal differentiation of groups”2.
This is indeed the ambitious aim that may single out the effort of Young from
both liberal individualism and communitarianism: Providing an account of struc-
tural and systemic, not only manifest, deliberate oppression – which places
group-differentiation as one of the defining trigger-causes of such oppression and
justifies group-differentiated rights of representation – and at the same time, em-
phasizes mediation and fluidity instead of rigid fixating or reifying group attrib-
utes. Ultimately, I contend that this strategy fails, for the reasons developed in the
second part of this article.
The conception of groups is central in Young’s theory:
”A social group is a collective of persons differentiated from at least one
other group by cultural forms, practices or ways of life. Members of a group
have a specific affinity with one another because of their similar experience
or way of life, which prompts them to associate with one another more than
with those not identified with the group, or in a different way. Groups are ex-
pressions of social relations; a group exists only in relation to at least one
1
Ibidem, p. 100.
2
Iris Marion YOUNG, ”A Reply to Trebble”, Political Theory, vol. 30, no. 2, April 2002,
pp. 286-287.

other group. Group identification arises, that is, in the encounter and interac-
tion between social collectivities that experience some differences in their
way of life and forms of association, even if they also regard themselves as
belonging to the same society”1.
Nevertheless, despite Young’s efforts of demarcation, the main tension of this

theoretical construction derives from her insistence that social groups be the sub-
jects of discourses of justice and the central aim of the politics of difference, while
at the same time defining the object of social justice (reducing oppression and
domination) in rather individualist terms.
After all, even in Young’s alternative account of social justice, it is individuals’
capacities for self-determination and self-definition that justice is meant to protect.
This tension is actually capable of undermining her explicit effort to present her
theory as different from both liberal individualism and communitarianism. By re-
fusing the idealization of communities, offering a description of a fluid and over-
lapping membership in social groups, Young has to address the possibility that op-
pression occurs not only among groups, but also, crucially, within groups. The de-
fense of group rights and the defense of individual rights can many times be in-
compatible and Young does not seem to provide a clear method of adjudicating be-
tween competing claims.
Young’s critique of the ideal of impartiality actually expressly shares many
features with both Michael Sandel’s critique of John Rawls’ theory as well as femi-
nism’s critique of liberalism. Her argument
”against the effort to construct an impartial point of view is not simply that is
it abstract, unencumbered, as Sandel ably shows. More important, I argue,
drawing on theorists of class, gender and racial hegemony, that the assertion
of an impartial standpoint under circumstances of differential power results
in distortion or silencing of members of the polity who are not members of
the hegemonic group”2.
This double perspective in Young’s work provides an interesting tool for ap-
proaching the main theories of justice and avoiding the standard responses to com-
munitarian or feminist critiques.
However, at least one important question mark is raised by Young’s insistence
that oppressed social groups should be entitled to special rights of representation. To
generalize the problem, the question is, why should historical oppression give social
groups some sort of permanent rights beyond the (however durable) always tempo-
rary rights for compensation of their individual members? After all, liberal policies
already include a long set of principles of compensations, redistribution etc, which
are intended precisely to provide the members of such historically oppressed groups
with the means for not being unfairly disadvantaged in their choices.
The challenge that Young mounts against liberal theories is radical, in this
sense, since it does not merely purports to re-arrange the already present or desir-
able policies for that aim. Instead, the ”politics of difference” introduces the pre-
scription of group rights of representation, and while she firmly denies any incom-
patibility with individual rights, one cannot exclude the conflicts that such an
approach may allow.
1
IDEM, Justice and the Politics of Difference, cit., p. 43.
2
IDEM, ”A Reply to Trebble”, cit., p. 284.

Questions as ”who is the narrator of the group’s history of oppression?”, or

”who decides which aspects of the fluid identities need to be protected?” are not
simply to be answered by designating either ”the group” or ”the majority in the
larger society”. Of course, within groups themselves historical oppression may
also exist. In that case, we may end up in a cycle of dilemmas in which protecting
some identities necessarily means reinforcing intra-group oppressions and, unfor-
tunately, there may be no accurate way to exit such dilemmas.
The problem may be one of good intentions and bad policies, but in fact, as I
will argue in the next section, there are certain structural dilemmas of the dis-
courses aiming to protect groups or cultures that inevitably brings them into colli-
sion with classical liberal concerns for the primacy of the individual, and, inevita-
bly, with the basic tenets of the contemporary justificatory project. To quote Mar-
tha Nussbaum, one may, in the end, wonder which is the normative appeal of such
protection, after all; referring to more radical discourses for the protection of mi-
nority cultural practices and their potential conflict with the main protections of in-
dividual liberties, Nussbaum draws this conclusion: ”It is hard to understand how
the sad history of a group can provide a philosophical justification for the gross de-
nial of individual rights and liberties for the members of the group”1.
WHOSE IDENTITY, WHICH TOLERATION?

I advance, in this final section, a number of considerations pertaining to the
problematic nature of the arguments for identity policies and the ”politics of differ-
ence”. There are several aspects, in my view, that may indeed pose significant diffi-
culties in the way toward an elaboration of a conception of group-differentiated
cultural rights, aspects that are insufficiently taken into consideration by authors
such as Seyla Benhabib2, Charles Taylor3, Iris Marion Young, or Will Kymlicka4.
I concentrate my analysis around the following three points: first, we may
question the internal incoherence or indeterminacy of theories that prescribe
group-differentiated policies while defining groups in a rather indeterminate fash-
ion. I call this the problem of structural over-inclusiveness and I treat it as applying to
the arguments for instituting group-differentiated policies such as special repre-
sentation rights for ambiguously defined oppressed social groups, or exemptions
from generally applicable laws.
Secondly, I follow Brian Barry and others in questioning the possible hidden
logic of cultural essentialism in these writings, a charge that is though vigorously (but,
I contend, unsuccessfully) denied by many theorists of multiculturalism. This cri-
tique applies to the internal logic and practical consequences of instituting cultural
group-differentiated policies, and is best captured by Susan Moller Okin’s question-
ing of the compatibility between multicultural policies and gender equality.
Thirdly, I question the lack of symmetry of the burdens of justification,
among the levels of political justification and intra-group justification. This final
1
Martha NUSSBAUM, Sex and Social Justice, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1999, p. 109.
2
Seyla BENHABIB, The Claims of Culture, Princeton University Press, Princeton, 2002.
3
Charles TAYLOR, Amy GUTMANN (eds.), Multiculturalism, Princeton University Press,
Princeton, 1994.
4
Will KYMLICKA (ed.), The Rights of Minority Cultures, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1995.

critique refers to the puzzle of justificatory asymmetry; it reveals the difficulty of

conceiving a differential burden of justification, and has a clear implication on the
(in)compatibility of identity group-differentiated rights and the individual rights
to political justification.
Structural Over-inclusiveness
What is perhaps overlooked in many occurrences of the debates on the desir-
ability of multicultural policies advocating the public recognition of distinct and
valuable identities is that many theories of multicultural toleration seem to have
failed to account for the full variety of potential social groups, cultural identities, or
cultural practices that may press claims for toleration. By simply praising the exis-
tence of a visible plurality of forms of cultural experience, many theorists seem to
ignore the fact that there is also a significant variety of the claims for toleration, and
that it is not clear why all these claims should be compatible or equally valuable.
A community with a historical experience of racial discrimination and margin-
alization obviously may advance claims for a different type of toleration than, for
example, a radical environmentalist or a religious group. The reasons for these
claims for recognition are completely different, and a theory that praises ”cultural
survival” or ”difference” as such may fail to capture and render justice to the real
differences in the reasons and justification of the various claims.
At the same time, it seems that many theories of multiculturalism focus on
some ideal of cultural community, which is somehow threatened to disappear in
the context of modernity, criticism, and social mobility. In reality, however, there
are very few entities resembling such ”pure” communities, if they exist at all, and
while trying to preserve this ideal projected upon some existing cultural communi-
ties in the name of ”difference”, one has to acknowledge that many other similar
claims, whether reasonable or not, should be publicly endorsed too.
That may explain why discussions about the proper limits of (liberal or democ-
ratic) tolerance are so difficult to settle. One of the difficulties with the ”identity poli-
tics” or the ”politics of difference” is that they may at times plausibly identify reason-
able claims for remedy from specific historically discriminated and oppressed com-
munities, but at the same time, they do lend legitimacy to many other claims that
have unrelated origins. An adequately developed theory of toleration must provide
for criteria and forms of toleration that are neither under-inclusive nor over-inclusive.
While the multiculturalist critique addressed to liberal justifications of political
toleration is that the liberal construction of the criteria and forms of toleration is un-
der-inclusive, and that it does not account for a multitude of relevant differential cul-
tural or social experiences – be they of oppressed minorities or fragile cultures –, the
reverse critique of over-inclusivity may be addressed to some of the theories enthu-
siastically praising ”difference”. Not all differences and not all claims for toleration
can be equally justified.
An adequate theory of toleration, according to Sheldon Leader, must corre-
spond to a number of criteria, among which ”that it will cover a sufficient range of
real issues, and […] that it will not be biased”1.
1
Sheldon LEADER, ”Toleration without Liberal Foundations”, Ratio Juris, vol. 10, no. 2, June
1997, p. 139.

If we focus on the first of these criteria, it entails that such a theory must be ca-
pable of accounting for a relevant number of situations that ”come under the ge-
neric topic of toleration”, while developing a limited set of formal and substantive
tests and principles. A theory of toleration that focuses narrowly on the demands
of a certain social group, or on the contrary, extends the public recognition of such
claims indiscriminately to any manifestation of ”difference” – is an inadequate the-
ory, either biased or under/over-inclusive or both.
Moreover, a theory may be under-, or over-inclusive in two distinct ways. It
may be so either in respect to the specification of real situations that should prop-
erly fall under its scope and be legitimately accounted for, that is, its tests and cri-
teria may refer to a too limited or to a too indiscriminate set among the possible
and legitimate situations of tolerance; or it may be so in relation to its internal
structure, that is, this inadequacy may be built into the very premises of the justifi-
cation for toleration.
Let me explain this distinction. A theory of toleration, for example, must pro-
vide, on the one hand, a set of principles that offer guidance as to how to answer
specific claims for toleration, and on the other hand, a set of criteria, that offer
guidance as to which situations properly fall under the scope of those principles.
Now, it is one thing to say that a certain theory’s criteria miss certain situa-
tions of toleration or perhaps include claims for toleration that should not properly
be awarded recognition (I will call this contextual under- or over-inclusiveness),
and it is another thing to say that the reasons for toleration themselves, apart from
the criteria for judging to which claims these principles apply, are inadequately
formulated (structural under- or over-inclusiveness).
If, let’s say, the reason for toleration is that all cultures or cultural forms are
equally valuable and must be equally protected, or if that reason is cultural sur-
vival per se, then the indeterminacy and over-inclusivity is built into the very prem-
ises of the argument for toleration. If, on the other hand, the reasons for toleration
are drawn from a larger and coherent theory that includes also an indication of the
limits of such toleration, limits that are necessary in order not to witness performa-
tive contradictions, then the charge of over- or under-inclusiveness may refer
rather to the particular, modifiable criteria that establish which claims are properly
covered by these principles, and not to the principles themselves.
It follows that an adequate theory of toleration must, on the one hand, provide
an argument for toleration that is cogent and thoroughly coherent, that explains
the reasons for and the limits of toleration in a principled and precise way, and on
the other hand provides specific criteria that enable us to distinguish properly
among the possible situations that should be covered by its principles. At both lev-
els such a theory should avoid over- or under-inclusiveness.
It may not be reasonable to expect from any political theory of toleration to
provide a full set of justifications for its principles as well as a complete set of crite-
ria for all possible situations that should fall under its scope of application. How-
ever, it is reasonable to demand from such a theory that it preserves a certain co-
herence among justifications, principles of toleration and the criteria of application.
Theories of toleration are indeed, after all, theories of public justification.
I.M. Young’s theory represents perhaps such an example of structural over-inclu-
siveness in the formulation of the reasons for, and of the principles of toleration.
The manifest but widely overlooked over-inclusiveness derives from the defini-
tions that the author provides for the relevant social groups that deserve to be pro-
tected under the ”politics of difference”. Her characterization of these groups and

the reasons for their special representation is, in this sense, more problematic than
the formulation of the criteria for assessing which situations properly fall under
the application of her principles.
The theory is thus over-inclusive not as much because of these criteria, but
rather because Young offers at the first level, a too vague notion of what consti-
tutes a social group and why it needs special policies of representation. The notion
of a social group is central in Young’s account, and it is incorporated into the main
argument for the ”politics of difference”. It explains the reasons for such a policy,
since structural oppression occurs at the level of the social group. Consequently,
the notion of a social group is not one that is used only to highlight marginal exam-
ples or possible applications.
Throughout her book, the only references, when it comes to examples of op-
pressed social groups and the comparison of the remedies provided by (according
to her, inadequate) liberal institutions and alternatively by the institutions apply-
ing a ”politics of difference”, are chosen among the various social groups involved
in the civil rights movements, and especially groups based on gender, race, age or
physical disabilities. Comparing these restrictive criteria with her own – rather
generous – definition of a social group, generates a number of obvious interroga-
tions, which are unfortunately not answered.
On the one hand, Iris Young’s definition of a social group is regrettably vague
and indeterminate, since it relies on differential cultural forms: ”A social group is a
collective of persons differentiated from at least one other group by cultural forms,
practices, or ways of life”1. On the other hand, by distinguishing the social group
from aggregates or associations, and instituting shared identities and cultural
forms as the defining elements of social groups, Iris Young does indeed provide a
powerful account of the complexity of social experiences and relationships. She
also provides a compelling argument for taking into consideration structural op-
pression, its reasons and its consequences on the ability of members of such op-
pressed social groups to meaningfully act as equal citizens. However, it is difficult
to associate group-differentiated rights to social groups thus (broadly) defined.
Moreover, while Young restricts the ”eligible” social groups with criteria related to
gender, race or sexual orientation, this restriction is in no way demanded by her
definition of what a social group is, or how structural oppression works.
The impression left when reading these examples is that Young never stops to
consider whether other social groups, given the generous and all-encompassing
definition thereof she provides, might be equally entitled to file for such special
protections. It does seem intuitively obvious that certain groups’ claims to tolera-
tion may be at odds with her own idea of what should be protected; but, as it is ap-
parent also in the case of the possible hidden logic of cultural essentialism, it seems
again that the theory, as it is formulated, cannot but include and legitimize claims
that perhaps contradict the initial intentions and moral outlook of the author.
Will Kymlicka introduces in Multicultural Citizenship2 a number of distinctions
among forms of cultural pluralism, among group-differentiated rights and among
reasonable protections for such groups. These distinctions are necessary, in his
view, in order to clarify the precise contours of the conflict between liberal individ-
ual rights and collective rights, more precisely, to accommodate the protection of
1
Iris Marion YOUNG, Justice and the Politics of Difference, cit.p. 43, emphasis added.
2
Will KYMLICKA, Multicultural Citizenship. A Liberal Theory of Minority Rights, Oxford
University Press, Oxford, 1996.

the cultural contexts of autonomous choice with the traditional liberal concerns for
individual rights.
The first distinction is between multinationalism and polyethnicity, where the
former describes territories on which, over time, more than one people or nation
exists; the latter refers to the presence of newly immigrated communities. The sec-
ond distinction separates self-government rights, polyethnic rights1 and special
representation rights. While the first two kinds of rights are usually the focus of the
new literature on multiculturalism, the special representation rights are assimi-
lated to the already standard liberal defense of temporary measures of compensa-
tion and protection for historically oppressed groups, such as, for instance, af-
firmative action policies in education and political representation.
Kymlicka’s argument throughout the book is that collective rights and individ-
ual rights must not necessarily come into conflict or be incompatible. By focusing on
the terminology of group-differentiated rights instead of ”collective” rights, Kym-
licka argues that we should view the problematic of group-differentiated rights in
terms of external protections to groups (protections of group-specific cultural experi-
ences against the dissolution in the wider society) and internal restrictions (restric-
tions imposed on individuals members of such groups). While external protections
may be warranted for providing compensatory (yet – importantly – not temporary,
as in the case of the liberal defense of affirmative action) measures for minorities
that are vulnerable in the face of the larger society, and as such do not necessarily
come into conflict with individual rights, the internal restrictions – intended or
claimed as limitations of members’ individual rights in order to promote or protect
some collective aim – are, from the liberal perspective, truly problematic2.
These distinctions, while providing a very useful categorization of the different
contexts of the claims of minorities, and at the same time treating as a matter of jus-
tice the differential responses that the liberal state must provide to these minorities,
have inevitably a too rigid character. In the words of I.M. Young, the distinction it-
self between national minorities and ethnic minorities, while a first step towards
contextualizing the demands of justice for these groups, has a too categorical na-
ture. It is impossible to distinguish with such confidence, according to Young, ”mu-
tually exclusive categories of cultural minorities”3. Instead, she suggests that:
”It is far better to think of cultural minorities in a continuum, or perhaps
in a set of continua […] Thinking of differences among cultural groups as a
matter of degree rather than kind, […] seems to me to fit the facts better and
to support more nuanced moral arguments”4.
However, the basic problem in this context is, in my view, that while Kym-
licka’s categorical distinction, and the differential prescriptions of justice he associ-
ates to it, renders his conceptual apparatus under-inclusive – by missing a host of
situations (i.e., cultural minorities) that do not fit in either of his categories, and at
1
Joseph Carens estimates that the difference between the first two kinds of rights lies in that
”polyethnic rights do not necessarily require any control by the group over the legislative or
administrative process establishing or carrying out the rights”; Joseph CARENS, ”Liberalism and
Culture”, Constellations, vol. 4, no. 1, 1997, p. 37.
2
Will KYMLICKA, Multicultural Citizenship...cit., pp. 34-48.
3
Iris Marion YOUNG, ”A Multicultural Continuum: A Critique of Will Kymlicka’s
Ethnic-Nation Dichotomy”, Constellations, vol. 4, no. 1, 1997, p. 50.
4
Ibidem, pp. 50-51.

the same time seriously but groundlessly over-emphasizing the difference between
national and ethnic minorities –, Young’s own version is symmetrically over-inclu-
sive, for the reasons suggested above.
The origin of this conundrum consists in fact in the considerable difficulty of
conceiving ”groups” as rights-bearers, in a strong sense; that is, in the sense of
groups holding rights to political justification, since that implies searching for the
fundamental yet ever-elusive characteristics that entitle such groups to acquire the
formal status of actors or subjects of political justification. The next lines are dedi-
cated to the critique of this search, and the further complications it generates.
Cultural Essentialism
It is interesting to view some of the most powerful critiques that, for instance,
Brian Barry1 among others, addresses against some of the authors best known for
their insistence upon some forms of multiculturalism or politics of difference, as
targeting in fact the internal incoherences of such theories. Barry argues, for exam-
ple, that there is a common problematic assumption in the arguments of I.M. Young
or James Tully2, namely that of essentialism.
Of course, Tully, Young and Kymlicka3 explicitly and repeatedly deny that any
such assumption exists in their arguments; they, moreover, criticize in turn alternative
or competing theories as failing precisely to reject and eliminate this presupposition.
We can surely read Barry’s critique as representing more than an all-out, prin-
cipled opposition to the inclusion of diversity and cultural forms from liberal po-
litical justification. In his book, he devotes a great length of argumentation in favor
of accommodating liberal principles to contemporary pluralism and multicultural-
ism, understood as a social characteristic of liberal societies. He convincingly de-
ploys a number of liberal positions intended to cover the relevant aspects of social
exclusion and injustice, and despite the polemic tone of his work, he is committed
to answer the fundamental concerns of his opponents.
Instead, he makes the distinction between multi-culturality and multicultural-
ism, in other words between the fact of multiculturalism and the policies usually
advocated under this name. While praising diversity and multi-culturality and ad-
vocating for the inclusion of plural experiences and identities into the main liberal
justificatory project, he explicitly rejects any capacity to principled and non-tempo-
rary multicultural policies, as advocated by Young, Kymlicka or Taylor, to effec-
tively ensure the value of equal citizenship and meaningfully equal political rights.
In this sense, Barry’s commitment to liberal equality prevents him from ac-
cepting multicultural policies other than with temporary effects. Contemporary
liberalism’s advocacy in favor of affirmative action or positive discrimination is
meant to reduce, as temporary policies, the effects of historical discrimination and
oppression, and equalize through temporary compensations the conditions for the
1
Brian BARRY, Culture and Equality, Polity Press, Cambridge (UK), 2001, and IDEM,
”Essentialism and Multiculturalism, A Response”, Ethnicities, vol. 2. no. 2, June 2002, pp. 284-288.
2
James TULLY, Strange Multiplicity. Constitutionalism in an Age of Diversity, Cambridge
University Press, Cambridge, New York, 1995.
3
Will KYMLICKA, Politics in the Vernacular: Nationalism, Multiculturalism and Citizenship,
Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2001, p. 44.

equality of opportunity or equality of chances. Multicultural policies, instead, are

supposed to render permanent a special status for particular cultural or ethnic
groups by virtue of these groups’ cultural specificity, and not by virtue of their
members’ equal status as free citizens.
Building on such an argument, it becomes clear that multicultural policies risk
fixing members of given groups within a particular reading of their own identity,
certainly perpetuating by neglect the contradictions and tensions within those
groups. In addition, that particular and always temporary reading of the group’s
identity – which would thus be recognized and sanctioned by the state – is by no
means the only possible reading. It might just as well represent a certain given
power structure within the group, a synthesis of historical injustices and exclusions
characterizing not just the relation between the group and the rest of the society,
but the relations within the group itself. And thus, the problem cannot be solved
by simply granting state recognition to some particular definition of the group’s
identity. Who is entitled to provide that definition? Which are the normal guaran-
tees that have to accompany that process of (self-) definition, such that mis-recog-
nition does not simply shifts places?
Because, if Charles Taylor legitimately warns us against the consequences of
society’s misrecognition of particular identities, then there is a particularly sensi-
tive case to be made regarding the risk that the misrecognition within groups be-
comes sanctioned by such group-differentiated rights. The problem of misrecogni-
tion is not solved by simply shifting its possible location. If the language of rights is
deployed – and not just employing these terms as a figure of speech –, it is funda-
mentally necessary to identify what defining features would allow for the identifica-
tion of the right-bearer, and hence the problem of the definition of those essential
features becomes central and inescapable. The process of providing an explicit and
definitive identification of the essential features – which in turn allow the identifi-
cation of a group as rights-bearer – is deeply problematic, not only because of the
essentialist approach implied, but also because of the fact that there are no inde-
pendent ways to verify whether the definition itself does not rely upon, or conse-
crates, historic forms of misrecognition and oppression.
The definition of the essential features of a group deserving rights can only
come from two directions. On the one hand, it can be the majority, or the state, or
some administrative agencies which are entrusted with, and have the authoriza-
tion to proceed with such characterizations. On the other hand, it may be some
process of self-identification that results in the public affirmation of the defining fea-
tures to be protected, and of the associate claims for group-differentiated rights.
Administrative decisions in such sensitive issues are, of course, profoundly unreli-
able and leave much space for prejudice and misrepresentation But the alternative
process of self-identification is also problematic. It is always a complex course and
one that should raise serious concerns.
The origin and the actors of the process of self-identification, as well as the
content of the group’s characteristics that have to be protected, constitute a delicate
problem. In certain situations, self-identification processes generate a race among
potential actors in search for more radical and exclusive definitions and affirma-
tions of the group’s essential attributes, and struggles for sharper identification.
While the normal history of such groups makes possible the gradual confrontation
and even critical examination of their central cultural, religious attributes, prac-
tices, values, the problematics of rights based on such attributes generates, un-
avoidably, a fixation and a reduction of that complex evolution, an essentialization

or re-essentialization. That might be the basis for Barry’s concern. If the language
of rights is employed, that fact by itself is inevitably associated with an effort of
identification and formalization of such debatable and inexorably fluid attributes
of various groups, paradoxically generating a need for the fixation of otherwise
changing identities.
Cultural essentialism, according to Barry, is closely related to a ”birth is fate”
presupposition, to the idea that group differences are acquired at birth, and refers
to the deeply problematic idea
”that members of such groups have some sort of primordial attachment to
certain ways of life or ways of looking at the world, and can flourish only if
these are sustained, if necessary over the objections of some of those who are
members of the group by birth”1.
The assumption of cultural essentialism, while vigorously denied by Tully,

Young and others, must actually be present in their theories, according to Barry, in
order to make sense of several of their arguments and examples. Without such a
presupposition, it would be difficult to understand why cultural differences per se
would play such an important role in the prescription of multicultural policies, and
why is it necessary to protect cultural forms, whatever their nature, even against
the options of the members of those groups that are attached to, or define them-
selves by reference to these differences.
An account of toleration based on the ideal multiculturalism, which does
indeed presuppose cultural essentialism, is manifold problematic. In the case of
I.M. Young, while she emphatically denies2 any fixed identities for the members
of the social groups that deserve special representation rights, emphasizing the
fluidity of identities and the permeability of groups’ borders, one cannot make
sense of her demands for special group-differentiated rights without assuming
some sort of cultural essentialism. Despite the distinction she operates between
”difference” and ”identity”, these rights seem less intended to compensate for his-
torical oppression, as rather to validate and endorse the given definition of cultural
forms and ways of life within groups, whatever the origin of such definitions.
As Adam Trebble remarks, despite Young’s insistence on offering an anti-es-
sentialist justification of such rights:
”No account is offered to explain why social group-differentiated domi-
nation and oppression is normatively significant – and thus meriting institu-
tional attention in the form of specific representation – whilst the oppression
of a subgroup from within a social group is not. Yet, it seems that subgroups
are just as important as social groups as objects of domination and oppres-
sion because membership of more than one social group may be the trigger
of oppressive relations for the same individual at any given time”3.
While Young’s own solution to this problem is to grant specific representation

to these subgroups within the institutions in which social groups exert their
1
Brian BARRY, ”Essentialism and Multiculturalism…cit.”, p. 284.
2
Iris Marion YOUNG, ”Difference as a Resource for Democratic Communication”, in James
BOHMAN, William REHG (eds), Deliberative Democracy. Essays on Reason and Politics, MIT Press,
Cambridge (Mass.), 1997, pp. 383-406.
3
Adam James TREBBLE, ”What is the Politics of Difference?”, Political Theory, vol. 30, no. 2,
April 2002, p. 267.

group-differentiated representation rights, that is not the same, Trebble argues, as

granting these subgroups some special representation within the larger public.
And we have here, indeed, the possible asymmetry of the burdens of justification
(in the form of arbitrarily differential ”special” representation rights) that consti-
tutes the third critique mentioned below.
Of course, not all theorists of multiculturalism attach the same ”primordial”
dimension to group differences. It is reasonable to conceive of a scale of such as-
sumptions, varying from truly primordialist accounts to more open-ended and
multifaceted accounts of how identities are formed and the role they play in any
conception of toleration and justification.
It may be confusing and even unfair to associate every theorist of multicultur-
alism or of ”the politics of difference” with a commitment to a primordialist view
of cultural identities, but at the same time it is important to pay close attention to
Barry’s charge that there is present in many of these theories a hidden logic of cul-
tural essentialism. Barry’s forceful claim is that such a de facto hidden logic exists.
We may add that when such logic is present, it steers the conception in question to-
wards a form of structural over-inclusivity that renders it problematic.
Justificatory Asymmetry
There is an apparent ambiguity concerning the drive towards group-differen-
tiated rights. There is, first, the question related to the reason, or justification, of
each of the rights under discussion. That involves weighing the legitimacy of the
claim for having some different, and not equal, rights recognized across particular
groups. The other question, not completely separated from the first one, is related
to the actual entity that can be said to enjoy these rights.
Group-differentiated rights may mean either rights that apply for the individ-
ual members of some group, or indeed group-rights, that is, rights claimed by the
group itself and not by the individual members of the group, but on behalf of
them. That may entail either their protection from alienation form their own cul-
ture and assimilation in the larger society, or the protection of the distinct identities
themselves, as singular cultural forms and ways of life that are transmitted
through generations within the group. This difference between rights of members
and rights of groups is crucial, I argue, for one reason because there is still a funda-
mental problem and a difficulty for modern political theory to envisage, as rights
bearers, anything other that persons, individuals, citizens.
Of course, states, institutions, agencies, political authorities in general may be
said to have a right to issue authoritative directives, potentially coercively im-
posed, by virtue of their being legitimate such authorities. Political legitimacy en-
tails the existence of a right to issue such directives, and there is, in most political
theories, considered to exist also a corresponding duty or obligation to obey, on be-
half of their subjects. Hence, political legitimacy and political obligation may be
such two elements of a relation connecting conceivable rights of non-individual en-
tities, to obligations attributed to individuals.
However, the institutions of the modern liberal democratic state and the vari-
ous social (ethnic, cultural, religious) groups that are the focus of the literature on
multiculturalism and group rights, are hardly comparable entities. The question
of political legitimacy, as it is conceptualized regarding the state’s right to issue

authoritative directives, and especially the conditions that are considered to be

necessary for such a right to be justified, have no conceivable correspondent and
application when compared to a social groups’ relation to its members, or a
church’s relation to the followers of the faith in question.
The way in which ”internal restrictions” (to use the vocabulary suggested by
Will Kymlicka) are in fact defined and applied within certain cultural, ethnic, and
(especially) religious groups, has no correspondence with the present justificatory
burden that the liberal tradition imposed on the state. The frequent contradictions
within such groups is an indicator of the incoherence of any political theory which
bestows rights to composite entities within which the definitions of the cultural
identity, religious precepts, and ethnic filiations are subject to the same pluralism
as the wider society.
This represents a principled argument, as opposed to an argument from fact.
The simple evidence that such groups sometimes impose unjustified coercion upon
their members – usually by means of exclusivist readings of ancient texts or tradi-
tions – does not represent by itself a sufficient counter-argument to the defense of
group-differentiated rights. One would just as well direct comparable evidence
against the liberal democratic justificatory accounts. That is not, however, enough
in order to invalidate the reasons for such commitments. The principled argument
presented here is rather the one which points to the internal incoherence of the
theoretical stance of the defenders of group based rights. The basic difficulty in-
volved in this critique is that of an unwarranted inconsistency across the several
levels of political justification.
Since the central focus here is on the elements of a coherent account of political
justification, there is an obvious requirement that whenever the same circum-
stances for justification are said to be met, the same justificatory approach – or at
least the same normative requirements – should be deployed. Thus, when discuss-
ing the need of political justification, the various accounts which ground it on the
non-voluntary aspect of membership into political communities, have to respond
to the same reasons, whenever these apply.
In any definition of a social group (including Iris Young’s definition), it is pre-
cisely the non-voluntary aspect of membership that is emphasized and considered as
central. It represents one of the aspects of what makes a social group different from
voluntary associations, in Young’s view. One ”finds himself”, in Young’s words, as a
member of a group he never actually chose to enter. That kind of membership may
correspond, in an important measure, to some objective features (skin color, gender,
age) – but it is never that feature itself that is significant. Instead, what is significant
is a set of identifications from non-members and self-identifications by the members
themselves, a process of acknowledging that there is a particular identity, a set of
practices or cultural forms – perceived by others and by the members themselves.
That distinctive identity has constituted the reason for various structural or deliber-
ate forms of discrimination or oppression, by other groups or the wider society.
However, whatever the definition and characterization of the dimensions of
membership in such social groups, there is never a burden of justification toward
their members that can be reasonably compared with the requirements of political
justification as we now normally conceive them. This represents one of the main
problems highlighted in the present argument, an argument regarding the funda-
mental difficulty of conceiving non-individual entities as holders of rights.
Since membership in a social group thus defined, and membership in a po-
litical community, are both de facto non-voluntary, unavoidable, un-chosen, and

moreover, affect individuals’ lives in ways that find no equivalent in voluntary as-
sociations, it follows that the political and quasi-political relations which character-
ize such memberships need to be justified in a similar way.
Once we placed such a huge burden of justification on the state and its main
institutions, the ensuing legitimate right to use coercive power and impose duties
to citizens under specified conditions cannot, normally, be a weaker right than a
potential right of groups to impose duties on their members. In addition, when the
state and the institutions in question are liberal, then it follows that the illiberal
groups in a society cannot normally enjoy broader rights than the liberal state’s in-
stitutions themselves.
Of course, the argument is rather complex, but its main lines should be by
now salient. It is in this context that we can understand the difficulty posed by
what I call the political form of the paradox of toleration. When the differential in
justificatory burdens is visible, the political theorist has to find some reasons for
that difference. Justificatory asymmetry, here, could be defended only by an argu-
ment which appeals to some overriding value of the preservation of cultural iden-
tities – something which few theorists, if any, are prepared to explicitly make. Oth-
erwise, in the absence of the presupposition that survival of cultural identities is
more important than equal rights to political justification – whenever the ”politi-
cal” context of justification is present, i.e., including at the level of social groups –
the asymmetry cannot be defended.
The presence of justificatory asymmetry within the various accounts of multi-
cultural policies or ”the politics of difference” makes visible the underlying as-
sumption that the preservation of given – but in a certain way, arbitrarily defined –
identities overrides the claims for equal rights to political justification. The often
associated prejudices or the inherent incentives for radicalism generated by the
process of forced definition of these identities are revealed when analyzing the
more complex situations of self-identification (discussed above) or the alternative –
potentially equally biased – administrative identification of the identities to be pro-
tected. The problem, therefore, is created not only by the claim itself that preserva-
tion of identities has preeminence over equal individual rights to political justifica-
tion; in addition, the definition of the identities is a complicated process which
may involve a questionable degree of arbitrariness.
Furthermore, there is another possible argument against group-differentiated
rights that relates to the first point of ambiguity identified above: what exactly
does it mean to say that groups have rights by virtue of having distinct identities,
or by virtue of they representing the necessary conditions for the survival of cer-
tain cultural forms, and that without such protections (specific group rights), these
identities would disappear or would be dramatically undermined? What, in other
words, would be the possible reasons for such rights?
Why indeed protect through guaranteed exemptions certain dimensions of
”cultural” interpretations and practices, why insulate them from possible internal
and external criticism and debate? The worth of some cultural practices and tradi-
tions is perhaps difficult to be measured within a tradition which, for some time
now, praises or at least allows a significant degree of critical reflection to accom-
pany social practices. But similar contradictions and tensions existed at various
moments in the affirmation of critical individualism, personal liberties, the rule of
law, etc, and there is no reason why some political engineering should be deployed
today to protect other cultures.

Both Charles Taylor and I.M. Young are right that mis-recognition is indeed a
form of re-essentialization. The conundrum arises when realizing that the move
from explaining it to prescribing group-based policies cannot be made without it
involving in fact the same logic of re-essentialization. I recall here some examples
from Susan Moller Okin’s provocative essay1 on the compatibility between femi-
nism and multiculturalism.
The three critiques (related to structural over-inclusiveness, cultural essentialism
and the asymmetry of the burdens of justification) illustrate the considerable difficul-
ties that characterize attempts to extend the limits of toleration, and by that the limits
of public justification without a clear understanding of the circumstances in which
theories of toleration risk be internally inconsistent. The politics of difference also
fails to offer a better account on how the underlying common framework of tolera-
tion and respect for diversity can be fostered and preserved, when the focus shifts to-
wards identity difference, rather than diversity. The reasons themselves for valuing
pluralism and diversity seem to be radically undermined within such an approach.
1
Susan MOLLER OKIN, ”Feminism and Multiculturalism: Some Tensions”, Ethics, vol. 108,
no. 44, July 1998, pp. 661-684, and IDEM, ”Is Multiculturalism Bad for Women”, in Joshua
COHEN, Matthew HOWARD (eds.), Is Multiculturalism Bad for Women, Princeton University
Press, Princeton, 1999.

Charles Taylor and the (Modern) Self 423
Charles Taylor and the (Modern) Self

CIPRIAN BOGDAN
Introduction. Crises of Modern Identity
It is usually said that thinking begins by questions. Our basic question is: What
makes Charles Taylor different from other philosophers? A synthetic answer could
be: Taylor is different because of his constant effort to define identity (especially mod-
ern identity). Surely, by this we don’t mean he is the only one who paid attention to
this problem, rather he is among the few who places identity in the very core of our
major philosophical problems – theory, practice and aesthetics, the three domains
defining the modern imaginary are, in this view, all issues involving identity.
We think, by placing Taylor’s vision in a larger context, that his works try to
offer a solution to three major crises running through modernity, all related to our
understanding of human being. What is all about? Before starting a more detailed
description of this major shifts, we must have a relative agreement around the con-
cept of modernity: we trace modern world (of course, in a more symbolical manner)
at the end of 18th century around a few important cultural figures such as Kant,
Herder, or Hegel, having also in mind, as Taylor carefully does, the fact that this
beginning is actually the result of previous cultural and structural developments –
especially the changes occurred in 17th century due to the emergence of science and
Protestantism1. Having this said, we can proceed in describing the major crises
that, we believe, Taylor identifies, more or less in the same distinct manner as we
present them, as covering the main problems of modern identity2.
(a) The first crisis is directly related to the spectacular marching of scientific
thought (since 17th century) to the centre of our ”social imaginary” and resulting in
the spread of predominantly neutral or impersonal definitions of human being
meaning a picture of the human self as a non-cultural product, a self envisioned as
a bearer of some kind of pure consciousness sovereignly coordinating its ”innate
thoughts” (Descartes), ”habits” (Locke, Hume), ”a priori categories” (Kant), ”sub-
jective rights”, or social functions. This self tends to be defined, as Taylor believes,
through its ability to disengage itself from the cultural background in order to have
1
Jürgen HABERMAS in Der philosophische Diskurs der Moderne, Suhrkamp Verlag, Frankfurt
am Main, 1985, also traces modernity at the end of 18th century: Kant is the major turning point in
this emergence, but only with Hegel modernity becomes aware of itself.
2
Charles TAYLOR in Etica autenticităţii, Romanian transl. by Al. Moldovan, Editura Idea,
Cluj, 2006, pp. 9-13, clearly identifies, for example, three major sources of discontentment that
partially correspond to the description we offer about modern identity crises: the first one is
originated in modern individualism that often sees itself as being self-referential, disconnected
from community; the second one is located in the spread of the instrumental reasoning that
transforms nature and humans in potential resources for technological or economic growth; the
third one lies in politics and it has to do with the growing refusal of individuals to involve
themselves in the public life.

424 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
a value-free, scientific look on the world. No wonder, therefore, that the faculty
that this vision values the most is its self-consciousness, a faculty that allows the
self to objectify not only its social and natural environment, but also itself. The
paradox lies, following Heidegger, in the fact that this neutral definition of the self
can provide two different perspectives on personal identity: on the one hand, the self
is a detached observer of the world (in Kant’s case, for example, reason is not
something we can trace anymore in God or nature, but in the human spirit itself),
on the other hand, the self is only a small piece (object) in a social or natural system
(the horrified social imaginary, for example, about human beings reduced to pure
economic functions is already prepared by the cultural shift from a traditional-hi-
erarchical world to a scientific-uniform one in which people are caught up in a de-
terministic universal machinery).
But, in order to make things clearer, we must answer the following questions:
in what terms can we best describe the crisis brought by this new vision of the self?
Moreover, this redefinition brings only problems, or we have also positive aspects
that we should mention? Answering the latter, this development has had, un-
doubtedly, substantial positive effects: to mention only the subjective rights that al-
low individuals to emancipate from arbitrary social pressure and to open them-
selves towards universal forms of identification. But, on the other hand, this neu-
tral, non-cultural perspective has brought also a reductive image about human be-
ing: destroying the old world which could embrace the selves more or less coher-
ently and consistently in a hierarchical order – we must avoid, as Taylor does, a
nostalgic look on these times –, the new world offers instead an atomistic alterna-
tive in which autonomous individuals try whether to assure some kind of fragile
consensus (in the best scenario), or to impose their own truth against other indi-
viduals perceived as adversaries (in the worst scenario). We believe that perhaps
the best formula which can describe the crisis of this neutral view is, following this
time Peter Sloterdijk, the development of a cynical consciousness. Two hundred
years after Kant’s famous Critique of Pure Reason, Sloterdijk writes his Critique of
Cynical Reason. His aim is to uncover the huge gap created between the initial ide-
als of Enlightenment and its effective results. Thus, instead of a harmoniously de-
signed society formed by rational agents, we have ended up in a social world
where everybody tries to survive through a disengaged or cynical reasoning: we
don’t believe anymore, in order to give some examples of this cynicism, in ideals
but we need them because we must pragmatically maintain some kind of individ-
ual or social order; or, we cannot trust anyone because we suspiciously and po-
lemically know that everybody tries to survive on our behalf1.
(b) The second crisis, on the other hand, can be related to another perspective
on human being: the self is not defined so much as a neutral agency, but, follow-
ing Taylor, more as an expressive, self-creative being. Having its origins in the Ro-
mantic movement, this view tries, in Taylor’s opinion, to connect the individual
with nature and society: authenticity, as its best known ideal, represents a kind of
expression that doesn’t sacrifice our natural desires in the name of reason or soci-
ety, on the contrary, it succeeds miraculously to combine all these elements (at
least in the first moment, in the more enthusiastic Romantic writings). We are au-
thentic when we are able to express our natural needs in a highly personal
1
Peter SLOTERDIJK, Kritik der zynischen Vernunft, Suhrkamp Verlag, Frankfurt am Main, 1983.

manner. The model of this view is not so much a disengaged, self-reflective rea-
son, but more an artistic impulse which brings to light some of its potential, crea-
tively transforming the self and its environment. If the first definition values
mostly our capacity of being self-conscious, of detaching ourselves from arbitrary
socio-cultural contexts, the second one emphasizes our capacity to provide a crea-
tive meaning to our life. We have the power to transform ourselves and our envi-
ronment. But where is the crisis in this scenario? The problems appear when, as
Taylor notices, we radicalize the premises of this view, when we put too much
emphasis on the individual. There are two options here: on the one hand, the indi-
vidual can be considered, in a Nietzschean manner, as a perfectly self-productive
being that can denounce, in the name of his creative will to power, social solidar-
ity, he is strong enough to remake himself endlessly1; on the other hand, the indi-
vidual can be described, in an existentialist manner, as a being who is projected in
a confusing cultural context, defined by the famous formula: ”everything is possi-
ble”, destined to make decisions on his own without any kind of certainty (social
or metaphysical) about his choice. The name for this loss of meaning, due to the
radical contingency of the modern world, is nihilism: no meaning can be secured
by external references (God, society, nature etc.), all we have left are individuals
capable (or not) to face this groundless situation.
(c) The third crisis can be related to a more socio-cultural and also political defini-
tion of the self: in order to have a self, we have to be, as Taylor often emphasizes,
part of a community and culture; moreover we have to participate in the political
arena of this community because we are, as already said, primarily public beings. All
these dimensions are, in Taylor’s view, unthinkable without language, the medium
through which we can understand each other, developing some kind of consensus
about our most important values regarding society and nature. Having all these in
mind, the worst alternative we can imagine is, following Hegel, that of alienated indi-
viduals that are cut off from their community by a pathological retreat in their pri-
vate realms. The social consensus seems broken. But we can say that in fact there are
two sides of this shift: the first one can be described, as Hegel does, in terms of an in-
dividual alienating himself from his community, discovering through negation
(self-reflection) his own (incomplete) individuality; the second one can be defined by
another kind of mutilation, one which happens in the middle of the community and
takes the shape of pure conformism, the individual is part of the community but he
lacks a voice of his own, following, more or less blindly, other people2.
Having this larger perspective, our aim is from now on to follow the three
lines of thought mentioned above through some of Charles Taylor’s works, also
keeping in mind the fact that these lines are always related to each other and often
mixed up: the view of the self as a disengaged being, for example, is at the root, as
Taylor believes, of the rising of nihilism (this neutral perspective suspends any
kind of strong distinctions which enables us to evaluate something as good or bad,
noble or ignoble etc.) but also alienation (the atomism brought by disengagement
erodes the political involvement required by the community).
1
Friedrich NIETZSCHE, Also sprach Zarathustra. Ein Buch für alle und keinen, Alfred Kröner,
Stuttgart, 1930.
2
Kierkegaard, Nietzsche or Heidegger are among those who sharply criticize the leveling of
the individual by anonymous social structures.

426 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
The Disengaged Self

In his first book, Explanation of Behaviour, Taylor has already clearly pointed to-
ward his opponents: in this particular case, the behaviorism (developed by the
American psychologist Skinner) which, during the 1950’s seemed to have some im-
pact on human sciences. Taylor reacts against behaviorism because of its reductive
definition of human being: according to this, all we are can be reduced to the inter-
play of stimulus and responses; we are lacking any kind of inner depth, intention-
ality or complexity because our self is nothing but a reactive agency responding to
external stimuli1. Drawing its inspiration from phenomenology (Husserl, Heideg-
ger and Merleau-Ponty), Taylor emphasizes, against an already criticized behav-
iorism (in the 1960’s, when Taylor published his book, behaviorism lost a great
deal of its influence), that human action is intentional and not a simple reaction to
stimuli. But, in fact, behaviorism is only a small and recent ramification of a larger
and more profound development defining, since 17th century, Western culture.
Taylor often uses the term ”naturalism” in order to capture this massive change.
But how can we define it? Naturalism, as a product of scientific thinking, adopts a
critical stance against all previous metaphysical or religious assumptions by por-
traying human being not predominantly as a creation of God or culture, but rather
of nature (as science defines it: a region with exact and impersonal features)2. The
self is a part of nature, but having one important advantage: the humans are the
only objects/animals with consciousness3. Therefore, it is not a surprise that natu-
ralism emphasizes epistemology against morals, leaving out, in this way, the whole
cultural background that in fact, thinks Taylor, shapes our identity4. But what are,
more exactly, the features of naturalism? This view covers, under a neutral appear-
ance, several values that are (inconsistently) rejected as having a moral dimension:
”disengagement”, ”autonomy” or ”freedom” are, for example, the main values im-
printed in the ”moral topography” of naturalism (despite its reluctance regarding
such qualitative distinctions, it cannot avoid making them)5.
Disengagement refers to the major shift, already present in Descartes’s and
Locke’s writings, by which the self is portrayed as having the capacity to suspend
the intentional character of its own mind (the intentionality is the faculty of our
mind, relating us to something; we don’t think in general, as Husserl puts it, we
rather think about specific objects): the self is therefore no longer viewed as some-
thing intimately related to its body, form of life or culture6, but, on the contrary, it
is perceived as a pure consciousness ”suspending” everything outside itself and
”examining” afterwards in a ”clear and distinct” (Descartes) manner its surround-
ings7. As Taylor briefly expresses it: ”Disengagement involves our going outside
1
Charles TAYLOR, Human Agency and Language. Philosophical Papers 1, Cambridge University
Press, London, New York, 1985, p. 2.
2
Ibidem, p. 2.
3
Ibidem, p. 99.
4
IDEM, Philosophical Arguments, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass., London, 1997,
p. 34.
5
Hartmut ROSA, Identität und kulturelle Praxis. Politische Philosophie nach Charles Taylor,
Campus Verlag, Frankfurt/New York, 1998, p. 345.
6
Charles TAYLOR, Philosophical Arguments, cit., p. 62.
7
IDEM, Sources of the Self. The Making of Modern Identity, Harvard University Press,
Cambridge, Mass., 1992, p. 168.

the first-person stance and taking on board some theory, or at least some supposi-
tion, about how things work”1. Strangely enough, this flight outside the subjective
view towards a third-person perspective is an inconsistent one because, as Taylor no-
tices (following one of Heidegger’s insights): ”Radical objectivity is only intelligi-
ble and accessible through radical subjectivity”2. But naturalism also goes hand in
hand with a ”foundationalist” model concerned with reaching absolute certainty
about the way reality reflects in our mind3. Therefore, by suspending intentional-
ity, we end up in radically different kind of relation with the world, a relation de-
fined mainly by mirroring things, as accurately as possible, in our mind. Rational-
ism and empiricism, despite their differences, agree both on this point: philosophy
has to explain the basic model by which things are represented in our thought. Fur-
thermore, all these have great consequences for the way we describe language.
Naturalism, foundationalism, representationalism etc., all consider language noth-
ing more than an instrument of the mind simply describing mental representations
of neutral facts, therefore the language is reduced to a second hand product of a
more basic structure of our consciousness (whether ideas, signs, or associations)4.
Besides disengagement, naturalism also emphasizes, in an unprecedented
manner, the autonomy and freedom of the self. We are by nature autonomous beings,
outside the influence of any kind of cultural, political or religious authority5. Disen-
gagement of the mind and autonomy of the will generate a powerful mixture, pre-
paring the way for a vision centered predominantly on instrumental rationality:
”Radical disengagement opens the prospect of self-remaking”6. The will’s main
function is, from now on, to produce, as long as we are viewed as creatures of na-
ture, the maximum of individual happiness and pleasure7. The result is, therefore,
quite obvious: disengagement and autonomy describe society, according to Taylor,
in terms of an aggregate made out of individual atoms in which every single atom is
portrayed as having the possibility, due to an impersonal reason and a instrumental
will, to radically re-create itself and its environment. This view is the main source for
those liberal ramifications (if we take in account the political tradition) that end up,
as Taylor believes, in a highly damaging (because undermines people’s motivation
for participating in public life) and inconsistent (because of an absurd radicalization
of the idea of individual autonomy) self-referential individualism8.
In his major work Sources of the Self. The Making of Modern Identity, Taylor
brings to light those Western values that have fundamentally contributed in shap-
ing modern identity. An unavoidable stop in this journey is Greek philosophy (es-
pecially Plato): Taylor identifies some of the ideas that, later on, will develop,
through successive radicalizations, into the modern perspective of the self. Plato,
for example, opens the prospect of modern self by his emphasis (criticizing in this
way the Homeric view which allowed a fragmented self with unexpected flows of
1
2
Ibidem, 176.
3
IDEM, Philosophical Arguments, cit., p. 40.
4
Ibidem, p. 102.
5
IDEM, Sources of the Self...cit., pp. 193-194.
6
Ibidem, p. 170.
7
Ibidem, p. 171.
8
IDEM, ”Two Theories of Modernity”, The Hastings Center Report 25, no. 2 (1995),
http://www.questia.com, p. 18 (Accessed on 12 February 2007).

428 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
energy coming from gods) on the centering and unification of the self through the
soul1. Even though, Plato argues, as in the case of the Greek dispute between indi-
vidual soul and polis (the space of political action), in favor of the soul, he still re-
mains very far from those theories embracing modern individualism based on the
radical distinction between inner and outer2. The basic reason for this inadequacy is
the fact that Plato identifies truth and values not in us, but in a hierarchically struc-
tured cosmic order3. The next stop in self’s journey is Augustin, the famous Christian
theologian considered one of the most important representatives of the cultural syn-
thesis between Greek philosophy and Christian faith. Augustin is, according to Tay-
lor, the first one who brings to light ”radical reflexivity”, a new kind of thinking con-
cerned not so much with outside reality, but with the activity of thought itself4. The
first-person perspective that tries to capture the way the world is for us has now en-
tered Western culture5. Therefore, Augustin must engage, in order to make this
transformation, the radical idea of a sharp distinction between inner (soul) and
outer (body, world)6. Furthermore, he is at the origin of another major shift: Au-
gustin manages to secure, against a powerful Socratic tradition in which passions
are nothing but mere instruments for reason, an autonomous status for the will. It is
not enough, from now on, to believe that knowing the truth/good is the equivalent
of willing or wanting the truth/good. We can rationally have access to real truth (for
Augustin: Christianity), but still rejecting, on the basis of a distorted will that sup-
ports a self-absorbed reflexivity, our relation to this truth (God).
Plato and Augustin, despite their contribution in forging the vision of modern
self, are still far, Taylor believes, from those premises that allowed Descartes to
change so radically the way we see ourselves7. Even though Descartes continues
some Augustinian ideas8, he introduces in the same time, under the pressure of sci-
entific discoveries from 17th century, a radicalization in both subjectivity and objec-
tivity, first and third-person perspective. What is all about? Contrary to Augustin,
Descartes places our moral sources almost entirely in ourselves9. Ego cogito, cogito
ergo sum means exactly the fact that the existence of the self is not related predomi-
nantly to a God-creator, but rather to our mind. Descartes’s universe denies the
aristotelic teleology (in which reality is the result of a process of actualization fol-
lowing some predetermined telos or model) bringing instead a cold mechanistic
image of the world. Our mind, sharply distinct from the body (the famous
mind-body dualism), is from now on concerned mostly with having a correct rep-
resentation of things. The ”ideas” are not placed (as in Plato’s case) in a transcen-
dent realm, but in our spirit which, in the same time, produces the proper order of
this ideas10. If the Platonic reason is looking for a ”substantive” reality lying outside
ourselves, the new reason is, on the contrary, preoccupied with procedures that al-
low us to mirror nature in our mind11. Therefore, in order to attain objectivity, we
1
IDEM, Sources of the Self...cit., p. 118, 120.
2
Ibidem, p. 121.
3
Ibidem, p. 123.
4
Ibidem, p. 130.
5
Ibidem.
6
Ibidem, p. 129.
7
8
Ibidem p. 141.
9
Ibidem, p. 144.
10
11
Ibidem, p. 156.

necessarily have to go through a radical subjectivity which suspends everything

outside it. But one step further, Descartes emphasizes, as never before, the major
importance of the ”strength of will” based on an ”ethics of rational control”, the
old ethic centered on ”generosity” is replaced by another one focusing on the ”dig-
nity” of human beings1.
Another important figure, in this line of thought, is the famous empiricist John
Locke who seems to be, at least in Taylor’s reading, close to the rationalist Des-
cartes. Locke is also impressed by the new scientific vocabulary and this impact
can be easily traced in his ideas: he rejects the old Aristotelian order, and he also
takes further the Cartesian disengagement by objectifying nature and the self (get-
ting out of the first-person perspective) and by suspending and examining all our
previous beliefs that connected us to our body, culture, religion etc. As a good em-
piricist, he denies innate ideas, putting instead habits formed by experience: ”We
are creatures of ultimately contingent connections: we have formed certain habits.
But we can break from them and re-form them”2. Taylor describes Locke’s image
of the self as a ”punctual self”:
”The subject, who can make this kind of radical stance of disengagement
to himself or herself with a view to remaking, is what I want to call a ’punc-
tual self’. To take this stance is to identify oneself with the power to objectify
and remake, and by this act to distance oneself from all particular features
which are objects of potential change”3.
This self is ”extensionless”, in the way that it is nothing concrete, but exists
only in its capacity to order things4. Locke identifies this self with consciousness, re-
jecting in the same time the idea of substance (material or immaterial). From a
moral point of view, Locke portrays the self or the person as being a ”forensic
term” based on the idea of punishment and reward. The person is a moral agent
which assumes responsibility for his actions and seeks for future retributions. But
this definition only continues, in Taylor’s view, the reification of the human self, an
abstract being cut off from its intimate relation to its body, language or culture5.
Taylor presents us, in his large attempt to make sense of the cultural genesis of
the modern world, four major sources that shaped our understanding of the self: a)
the disengaged self (Descartes, Locke); b) the idea of ”self-exploration” (Mon-
taigne); c) the emergence of ”personal commitment”; d) and the emphasis on ”or-
dinary life”6. The first two of them are forms of radical reflexivity (self-exploration
anticipates the later expressivism emerging at the end of 18th century), meanwhile
personal commitment is meant to designate the fact that after 17th century, due
mostly to the Reform, the community is not something given that one instantly ac-
cepts, but it involves personal deliberation7.
Another important cultural moment is ”radical Enlightenment” that further
uses disengagement as a weapon against tradition (whether metaphysical or reli-
gious) reducing the self to a radically natural being. The radical Aufklärer sharply
1
2
Ibidem, p. 170.
3
Ibidem, p. 171.
4
Ibidem, p. 172.
5
Ibidem, p. 173.
6
Ibidem, p. 211.
7

430 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
argues that we have to reject any kind of cosmological order and we should in-
stead simply focus on our nature in order to understand it and control it. The ethic
consistent with this kind of thought is a utilitarian one: we are natural creatures
seeking happiness and pleasure and avoiding pain. Therefore, Enlightenment
rejects ”constitutive goods” in the name of ”life goods” (values oriented towards ordi-
nary life) such as: a) the ideal of a ”self-responsible reason”; b) ”the ordinary fulfill-
ments that we seek by nature” (happiness, work, family); c) the ideal of ”universal
and impartial benevolence”1. But Enlightenment falls into a ”pragmatic contradic-
tion” (as, in fact, any instrumental reasoning) when, on the one hand, it rejects any
kind of ”strong evaluation” (the belief that there are goals that ”are incommensur-
able with our other desires and purposes”)2 and, on the other hand, it implicitly as-
sumes some strong values as those mentioned above.
Kant reacts, despite his close ties with the Aufklärung, against its two-sided, re-
ductive anthropology: the first side focuses on human subjectivity by defining the
self in relation to scientific objectivity, meanwhile the second one concentrates on
the idea that human beings are essentially products of nature3. Kant is highly criti-
cal to this portrayal of man as natural being defined by desire and by its (small)
place in a deterministic universe. The individual has, in such an asphyxiating uni-
verse, no freedom and, therefore, no dignity. Taylor, when talking about Kant,
seems to have a relatively ambivalent attitude: he admires, on the one hand, the
above mentioned reaction of Kant to radical Enlightenment and also his argument
against Hume remarkably anticipating the phenomenological idea of intentional-
ity4, but, on the other hand, he rejects Kant because of his culture-neutral definition
of the self. Kant is at the origin of another great radicalization of self’s understand-
ing, brilliantly managing to offer an almost perfect self-referential picture of man:
all we need, says Kant, is produced in us, in our reason that secures our theoretical,
practical and artistic judgments. That is why Taylor places Kant in a tradition
(starting with Descartes) that he wants to avoid opting instead for the other great
reaction to the cold-hearted radical Enlightenment: expressivism or Romanticism.
The disengaged understanding of the self, despite the critics, becomes the
dominant trend in modern culture. Sociology, psychology, and even psychoanaly-
sis are all different branches of the same tree rooted in the 17th century revolution
of science5. This scientific approach defines a person as a being having conscious-
ness, consciousness meaning here the capacity to frame our representations of ex-
ternal objects6. According to this view, the human mind has all the neutral ingre-
dients of a machine; the only thing that distinguishes humans from computers is
the fact that humans possess consciousness7. Therefore, language is also reduced
1
2
Ibidem, p. 332.
3
IDEM, Hegel, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, London, New York, 1975, p. 10.
4
Taylor in Philosophical Arguments, cit., p. 71, notices that Kant argues against Hume by
saying that our mind cannot be the product of individual sensations because these have to be
recognized as being sensations, therefore, it has to be something that preexists these bits of
information and coordinates them in a coherent and consistent manner. This capacity will later be
called (by Husserl) intentionality and will involve the relation of the mind and its objects by
reference to a cultural background.
5
Charles TAYLOR, Sources of the Self...cit., pp. 33-34.
6
IDEM, Human Agency and Language…cit., p. 98.
7
Ibidem.

to the function of designating, as accurately as possible, external reality. The HLC

(from Hobbes, Locke and Condillac) theory of language, as Taylor with an ironic
touch names it, closely follows the pattern of a scientific model in which language
is nothing but a humble and transparent instrument of our underneath represen-
tations free from any kind of subjective distortion (human intentionality, emo-
tions, desires etc.)1.
Another symptom related to our instrumental understanding can be traced in
the concept of ”negative liberty” (a famous formula of Isaiah Berlin, Taylor’s pro-
fessor at Oxford in his early years) which hides, in a subtle manner, our tendency
to adopt a culture-neutral and value-free perspective. Taylor notices (continuing a
long political tradition) that negative liberty opposes ”positive liberty”: the first
one goes from the assumption that human being is free as long as it has no external
obstacles that limit its freedom, the emphasis here is on possibility and less on our
acts to reach freedom; the second one is rather preoccupied with the way we strug-
gle, as cultural beings, in order to become free by overcoming our internal (motiva-
tional) and external obstacles2. Negative liberty (one of the main formulas of liber-
alism) is, in fact, indebted to naturalism because it makes no strong distinctions be-
tween its obstacles, these are all the same, freedom exists only when we overcome
every obstacle (that’s why the State, for example, in this liberal reading, must not
actively intervene in society, but it must only neutrally prevent disorder)3. Society
follows the image of nature: values/objects are exposed to a neutral observation
without qualitative distinctions that would jeopardize this perfect uniformity.
Positive liberty, on the other hand, assumes a cultural background in which some
obstacles are more important to overcome than others. It’s obvious, in this case,
Taylor’s political background as a communitarian that reacts against a liberalism
that unrealistically places human being in empty contexts that are filled only after-
wards with ideas/values created ex nihilo by every individual.
But Taylor’s critique is pointed not only against those (neo)liberal thinkers
blind to cultural arguments, but also against more social sensitive thinkers such as,
for example, Habermas. Taylor admires at Habermas the great emphasis on com-
munication and intersubjectively developing identity, but on the other hand rejects
Habermas’s position on the ground that only further continues a formal-proce-
dural approach that comes from utilitarians and Kant4. The ideal of ”undistorted
communication” (Habermas’s famous formula) is not necessarily a solution to the
problem of motivating people in order to involve themselves actively in public life
and also to have an authentic personal existence. Habermas presents his theory as
being context-free, blind to cultural differences, but, says Taylor, the ideal of undis-
torted communication already presupposes, by emphasizing it against other ideals,
some kind of previous strong evaluation. Therefore, this universal-formal ideal is
an abstract theory (and Habermas is the only individual he believes in it) as long as
this ideal is not internalized by specific individuals living in a culture in order to
motivate them towards action5.
1
2
IDEM, Negative Freiheit? Zur Kritik des neuzeitlichen Individualismus, Suhrkamp Verlag,
Frankfurt am Main, 1992, pp. 121-122.
3
4
IDEM, Sources of the Self...cit., p. 86.
5
Ibidem, p. 88.

432 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
Self-interpreting Animals.
The Ideal of Authenticity
Taylor’s effort to offer an alternative to the all pervasive naturalism takes the
form of two philosophical approaches that in a way can sum up his vision: firstly,
Taylor wants to elaborate a philosophical anthropology (for example, in Human Agency
and Language) that should clarify the universal possibilities that define the concept of
person; secondly, he attempts, in order to sustain the first project, to define modern self
(in the already mentioned Sources of the Self) by going back in Western culture and
bringing to light those values that constitute the horizon of our present understand-
ing of the self1. Following these two dynamics we can also understand the rather
minor difference between self and identity: the concept of the self predominantly
covers a universal meaning designating those conditions that make possible self-un-
derstanding; identity, on the other hand, has a more specific meaning describing
rather those particular actualizations of the self (we could say that we have only one
self but with several identities: professor, parent, Romanian etc.)2.
Reacting to the impersonal approaches of identity, Taylor replaces the famous
Kantian question: ”What is the man?” with a more personal one: ”Who am I?”. The
third-person perspective forgets, according to Taylor, about a fundamental feature
of the self or person: the notion of ”self-understanding” meaning here not only that
we possess a certain knowledge of ourselves, but, more profoundly, that we are
partially constituted by this understanding. Going deeper, self-understanding em-
bodies our perception about us relating it to a background of strong evaluation.
Being a person or a self, says Taylor, means to exist in a space defined by qualita-
tive distinctions, that is, a space that opens the self towards fundamental questions
that he partially tries and manages to answer3. Taylor introduces here the famous
formula of human beings as ”self-interpreting animals”. This 20th century’s major
thesis (having its origin in the Romanticism) developed by Dilthey, Heidegger,
Gadamer and even Habermas replaces the old formula of man as ”animal rationale”
because of its excessively intellectualistic view4. By adopting this anthropological
reading, we necessarily accept the idea that human being cannot be described re-
ductively as an object. Naturalism understands object as an entity existing outside
our interpretations, a person, on the other hand, exists only as self-interpretation5.
The naturalist emphasis on abstract consciousness objectifying its body and the
natural world are now replaced with the idea of an engaged self intimately accept-
ing its culture (self-interpreting) and its own body (animal). Furthermore, Taylor
tries to connect, against the naturalist way of thinking, understanding or reason
with emotions and language6. Taylor’s hypothesis regarding our emotions rejects
the idea of some pure emotions not incorporating an implicit understanding of the
meaning that things have for us (their value for us) and also not intentionally refer-
ring to a particular object. ”Human life is never without interpreted feelings; the
1
Hartmut ROSA, Identität und kulturelle Praxis...cit., p. 83.
2
Ibidem, p. 84.
3
Charles TAYLOR, Human Agency and Language…cit., p. 3.
4
Ibidem, p. 45.
5
Ibidem, p. 75.
6
Ibidem, p. 61.

interpretation is constitutive to the feeling.”1 Taylor introduces the concept of ”im-

port” in order to make things more clear: an import can be defined as a way by
which something can be relevant or important for our desires, purposes, aspira-
tions, or our feelings2. We cannot adopt a purely impersonal stance towards reality
because we are part of a world saturated with cultural values, every object means
being felt/interpreted/valued by a subject in a particular context according to
some background that he incorporated.
Self-interpreting animal also radically redefines our relationship with language.
Taylor, following the expressivist tradition and phenomenology (especially Hei-
degger and Gadamer), considers language not as a medium helping in the process
of mirroring reality in our mind, but the most important way to define ourselves.
Language means expression and not description. For Taylor, expression is not crea-
tion ex nihilo: human being is not born in paradise in order to be the first which
names the things around it, but rather it is a historical-cultural being that is pro-
jected in a world already having its meanings. Therefore ”expression partakes of
both finding and making”3. On the one hand, every articulation brings to light some
of the implicit interpretation lying in cultural horizon but, on the other hand, every
interpretation re-creates, on the basis of an irreducible difference inscribed in every
individual, this background. The whole of culture is always partially brought to
light, being filtered by a personal interpretation. Moreover, language has the ca-
pacity (replacing, in this way, the reign of abstract consciousness) to assure the
unity and continuity of the self through personal narrative. Identity is not reducible
only to the question of ”who we are now?”, but also to ”what we are going to be?”
and to ”what we were?”. Our personal narrative manages to bring, despite the
changes, these temporal dimensions together by describing life as a ”quest” (Mac-
Intyre), as a story with an open end that progressively unfolds itself. Moreover,
our life-history filtered by our personal narrative gives us the possibility to relate
ourselves to the whole of our existence, unifying all the fragments of our life in a
relatively consistent story4.
Taylor, by positing himself in the expressivist line of thought, acknowledges
the most important value of this cultural tradition: the ideal of authenticity. If auton-
omy relates to the impersonal approach initiated by Descartes, meaning, stricto
sensu to give our own law, authenticity further continues this tendency towards in-
ternalization by focusing, this time, on the ideal of being in harmony with our-
selves, with our own natural desires and needs5. Taylor speaks about the ideal or
ethics of authenticity in order to demonstrate the strong connection between mor-
als and artistic impulses (our desires that must be creatively expressed). We are,
despite our personal originality, social creatures. Taylor offers an interesting solu-
tion to the relationship between our natural dimension (needs, desires), on the one
hand, and our socio-moral one (ideals, values), on the other hand, succeeding in a
way to avoid the old and dead-end conflictive distinction between nature and cul-
ture. There is no pure nature that simply lies outside our cultural interpretations,
but only a nature that is absorbed by society through early socialization. Children
are, for example, educated by family and society in order to incorporate the values
1
Ibidem, p. 63.
2
Ibidem, p. 49.
3
Charles TAYLOR apud Hartmut ROSA, Identität und kulturelle Praxis...cit., p. 152.
4
5

434 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
of the present cultural horizon. At this stage, children internalize non-reflectively

these values, shaping in this way their nature, that is, their needs and desires (we
know that emotions are necessarily framed by an already existing cultural inter-
pretation); later on, as adults, human beings are in the position to reflectively claim
authenticity as a way of being, therefore, in harmony with their firstly socialized
nature1. To sum up, Taylor wants to offer a common ground to the classical oppo-
sitions between individual/society (individual cannot exist outside society and
culture) or nature/culture (neither of them can be imagined without the other).
Taylor traces along the tradition of a disengaged self initiated by the cold ra-
tionalist Descartes, another tradition initiated this time by the warm-hearted
French writer Montaigne (17th century). Taylor names this new ramification of
Western culture ”self-exploration”. If Descartes looks for some absolute point secur-
ing our knowledge of the world, Montaigne has only but doubts about the possi-
bility we can perfectly understand ourselves. He becomes insecure from the mo-
ment he sits at his table trying to write about himself and discovering that his life is
nothing but a changing flux in which all he can do is to maintain some kind of bal-
ance. Montaigne ends up, in this way, not in some impersonal point of view from
where he has privileged access to the world, but in a profoundly first-person per-
spective from where the self is nothing but individual fragments put together
through self-exploration and expression in a never complete personal story. Mon-
taigne is, therefore, the source of another type of individualism than the one origi-
nating in Descartes, an individualism fully developing in Romantic expressivism
and in all those modern trends praising the authenticity of autobiography2.
At the end of the 18th century there are signs of another important cultural shift.
The French philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau dethrones, in his attempt to fight
radical Enlightenment, reason for our sentiments, also enlarging our ”inner voice”
(radical subjectivity) by which he means that we are able to know only from inside
us (and not from some external point) what nature considers being important3. Rous-
seau rejects all the Enlightenment’s optimistic narratives about progress, opting in-
stead for a return to nature: society only artificially multiplies our needs and our de-
pendence on other people. Rousseau believes, therefore, that being authentic is the
equivalent of being moral (of not depending on the image that others project on us).
But the major revolution, according to Taylor, lies in the works of German phi-
losopher Herder. Well known as the father of nationalism (even though this label
is not entirely an accurate one), he can also be considered as the father of the ex-
pressivist individualism4. If ”dignity” progressively becomes the major value of
that modern individualism (universal and egalitarian) coming from Descartes and
Kant, ”authenticity” is the ideal, emerging with Herder, of an expressivist indi-
vidualism. Herder critically replaces the old vision according to which the shape of
identity is the result of our position in a hierarchical society with another vision
1
Ibidem, p. 197 and see also Charles TAYLOR, Philosophical Arguments, cit., p. 118.
2
Charles TAYLOR, ”Inwardness and the Culture of Modernity”, in Axel HONNETTH,
Thomas McCARTY, Claus OFFE, Albrecht WELMER (eds), Philosophical Interventions in the
Unfinished Project of Enlightenment, The MIT Press, Cambridge, Mass., and London, 1992,
pp. 105-108.
3
4
IDEM, Hegel and Modern Society, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, London, New
York, Melbourne, 1979, p. 3.

praising our natural differences as individuals (the individual is the measure of

things, according to Herder). Authenticity means, therefore, that our way of being
is not socially but rather internally generated1. Reacting also against Enlightenment
and its artificially producing distinctions (such as: individual/society or culture;
reason/sensitivity; mind/body etc.), Herder proposes instead, according to Taylor,
a new kind of unity originated in the expressive work of art:
”Human life was seen as having a unity rather analogous of a work of
art, where every part or aspect only found its proper meaning in relation to
all others. Human life unfolded from some central core – a guiding theme or
inspiration – or should do so, if it were not so often blocked or distorted.”
Moreover, ”the image of expression was central to this view not just in that it
provided the model for the unity of human life, but also in that men reached
their highest fulfillment in expressive activity”2.
For Herder there is no abstract thinking, only language-dependent reflexivity.

Therefore, Herder introduces a new kind of self-consciousness producing a synthesis
between being and meaning (one of the Enlightenment’s rigid distinctions), or be-
tween Aristotle’s teleology and the modern idea of ”self-defining subjectivity”: the
man as a conscious being means recognizing his life as a real expression of what he
potentially is (Herder adopts here the attitude of an artist recognizing himself in
his creation)3. Moreover, Herder, by admitting the central place of language in cul-
tural (national) identity, places human being in a community, trying in this way to
overcome a tension that haunted his time: that between the idealized ancient Greek
community and the individual freedom (praised by Enlightenment)4.
But the philosopher who, according to Taylor, realizes in the most spectacular
manner the above mentioned synthesizes is Hegel. The German thinker seems to
be facing two alternatives popular in Germany at the beginning of 19th century: the
alternative offered by the Kantian philosophy focusing on individual autonomy
based on rationality and the one represented by expressivism (Herder and the fol-
lowing Romantics: Schlegel, Novalis etc.) praising enthusiastically the unity of
man with inner/outer nature and society5. Hegel’s philosophy of mind offers, ac-
cording to Taylor, two major ideas in which we can sense both Kant and the Ro-
mantics: the first idea is that of an embodied subject who, as animal rationale, is de-
termined (following Kant) by the activity of thinking and also by the fact that, as an
expressivist being, its thinking is a medium for the life’s-process or, as we discover
at the end of the Phenomenology of the Mind, the all pervasive Absolute Spirit6.
Therefore, the spiritual life of the subject is an embodied one in the sense that it is
the life of a thinking living being and also that its thinking exists only as expres-
sion7. Hegel’s second major idea, on the other hand, is that reflexive consciousness
manages to transform activity: if, according to Hegel, at first we are not aware of
our biological and cultural dimensions, later on, as we grow (as history progresses),
we can reach perfect self-consciousness8. This fully developed consciousness means
1
IDEM, Etica autenticităţii, cit., pp. 37-38.
2
IDEM, Hegel and Modern Society, cit., pp. 1-2.
3
IDEM, Hegel, cit., p. 17.
4
Ibidem, p. 27.
5
Ibidem, p. 29.
6
IDEM, Human Agency and Language…cit., pp. 85-86.
7
Ibidem, p. 88.
8
Ibidem, p. 90.

436 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
that we realize that individual actions are rather collective ones (we are essentially
members of a historically determined society) and, even more radically, we realize
that as individuals we are defined as vehicles of an Absolute Spirit1. According to
his dialectical movement based on successive negations, Hegel thinks of his system
as the historical synthesis between the Kantian moment and the Romantic one: all
these moments prove to be nothing but late expressions of an Absolute Spirit that
manifests itself in history and comes to self-consciousness through nothing else
than Hegel’s philosophy.
Another important source of inspiration for Taylor’s view is the work of Mar-
tin Heidegger. In an article about Heidegger and Wittgenstein, Taylor thinks that
one of their most important contributions in defining human identity is the idea of
an ”engaged” subject2. Heidegger can talk about ”finitude” only because he places
his Dasein (human being) in the limits created by a world, body or language that
precede him3; the self cannot decide whether to accept these limits or not (natural-
ist thinking makes us to unrealistically think that we can decide as individuals
about everything that concerns us), but rather it has been thrown in their horizon
by the ”Being” itself. Dasein must accept its cultural horizon and become authentic
by focusing, while taking in consideration the limit posed by its inevitable death,
on those possibilities that prove to be the most creative ones4.
If Herder, Hegel or Heidegger all provide, with relatively minor adjustments,
valuable ideas for a deep rethinking of human identity against the dominant scien-
tific discourse, there are also other cultural figures that, even though they are re-
lated to expressivism, tend to develop a nihilistic perspective close at some point to
naturalism. Nietzsche is perhaps one of the major challenges in this case. Taylor
admits that Nietzsche’s affirmation of life (”Ja-sagen”) is not possible without the
resources provided by Romantic expressivism (the vision of the unity between
man and nature)5. Moreover, Nietzsche is, we could say, one of the most convinc-
ing advocates of authenticity providing, as Taylor notices in comparing him with
his postmodernist followers, at least the ideal of the ”Übermensch”6. But Taylor
thinks, attacking Nietzsche with his own arguments that the creator of Zarathustra
ends up exactly as his enemies: a nihilist. Nietzsche portrayals, partially following
Schopenhauer in criticizing naive Romanticism, nature as an amoral force in which
wills blindly clash without any kind of cosmic coordination that would integrate
them in a harmonious plan. With Nietzsche Romanticism loses its innocence,
biology comes in, brutally replacing old cosmic visions7. But Nietzsche’s nihilism
manifests itself most vividly in his rejection of the cultural background that pro-
vides our values: this background is tainted with the principles of a moral of slaves
that weakens, through the ideas of benevolence or solidarity, the strong and
creative individual8. This individual needs no such background that limits his crea-
tivity; instead he is able to radically recreate his life according to his own will to
1
Ibidem, p. 93.
2
IDEM, Philosophical Arguments, cit., pp. 61-62.
3
Ibidem, p. 63.
4
Martin HEIDEGGER, Fiinţă şi timp, Romanian transl. by G. Liiceanu and C. Cioabă, Editura
Humanitas, Bucureşti, 2003, p. 350.
5
Charles TAYLOR, Sources of the Self...cit., p. 343.
6
Ibidem, p. 102.
7
Ibidem, p. 462.
8
Ibidem, p. 343.

power. Values are, in this scenario, nothing but mere instruments in the hands of a
will that wants only to manifest itself creatively.
Taylor believes that, unfortunately, Nietzsche’s nihilistic vision has become
popular, in present days, because of the so called postmodernists: Derrida, Fou-
cault, or Lyotard. Romanticism agrees about the fact that expression makes things
to be ”brought-to-light” (there is always a cultural background that provides our
meanings), but rejecting the idea of a pure order not involving manifestation; this
premise is then radicalized and bringing-to-light becomes ”bringing-about” (there
is no cultural background providing our meanings, but only artificial creation)1. It
opens us at least two possibilities: we can say, as Nietzsche does, that the strong in-
dividual is his life’s only creator, or we can say, following this time postmodernist
thinking, that creativity is the product not of a subject, but of the language itself
(language, in a strange formula, speaks the subject) 2.
Cultural Background and Habitus

Those theories which disconnect personal authenticity from cultural back-
ground are, in Taylor’s vision, as dangerous as those having their source in natu-
ralism: both move back and forwards between personal originality (Übermensch) or
radical subjectivity (ego cogito) and impersonal instances (the language that speaks
us) or radical objectivity (laws of nature). There is no, it seems, buffer zone that
could prevent these excessive statements. But in fact, thinks Taylor, the world as a
reality always culturally interpreted can give us the support for a more accurate
perspective on our self: there is always an underlying relative consensus that later
opens us, as we become more aware about this background, the possibility to see
more clearly its tensions and bring, if necessary, changes according to our personal
view about these things. Our background can secure some kind of consensus be-
cause we, as engaged human beings, acquire a socially transmitted horizon allow-
ing us to make sense of our experiences and of the things around us3. Disengage-
ment and (self-referential) authenticity are possible only by relating them to this
large implicit/explicit cultural background against which these in fact react. Indi-
vidualism is a cultural product and not something that transcends culture. We are,
therefore, beings who are thrown (in order to use Heidegger’s language) in the
world, meaning also in history, language or in some moral space. The word ”cul-
ture” can in fact, in close resonance with anthropology, bring all these together:
”I am evoking the picture of a plurality of human cultures, each of which
has a language and a set of practices that define specific understandings of per-
sonhood, social relations, states of mind/soul, goods and bads, virtues and
vices, and the like. These languages are often mutually untranslatable”4.
Cultures are, in a way, large-scale languages because only language can help
us to make sense of our social goods, but also of the property and power relations.
Extending language at such proportions means also that language is not reducible,
1
2
Ibidem.
3
Ibidem, pp. 68-69.
4
IDEM, Two Theories of Modernity…cit., p. 1.

438 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
according to Taylor, only to reflective linguistic articulation; there are also non-lin-
guistic languages (for example, body-language communicating through gestures,
clothes etc., information about someone’s social background) that underlie our
non-reflective practices1. Actually, linguistic articulation, in the sense of a reflective
and explicit process of clarification, is predetermined by the background of our im-
plicit practices. At first we go through a non-reflective process of internaliza-
tion/embodiment of cultural values, only afterwards being able to more fully un-
derstand their meanings. Taylor names, following the French sociologist Pierre
Bourdieu, this first-order socialization: ”habitus” (”values made flesh”)2. Habitus
contains, therefore, our implicit knowledge of the world visible in our actions and
that is socially transmitted from early stages. Linguistic articulations are (with
some exceptions) attempts to bring to light this underlying knowledge, but never
succeeding to reach absolute transparency: we manage only partially to express
those cultural meanings incorporated in us as habitus. Moreover, expressing this
background is not something that resembles perfect reproduction of an underlying
reality, rather every expression means finding and creating: things partially change
with every articulation of them.
Human beings, as self-interpreting animals, possess the capacity to use lan-
guage in naming things which, in a deeper and radical manner, means to evaluate
them ”as things worth pursuing”3. Language is, therefore, the equivalent of produc-
ing distinctions: good/bad, important/trivial etc. Because of the language some
things are more important than others. Taylor defines personal identity in direct
relation to this capacity to live in a moral space:
”What this brings to light is the essential link between identity and a kind
of orientation. To know who you are is to be oriented in moral space, a space in
which questions arise what is good or bad, what is worth doing and what not,
what has meaning and importance for you and what is trivial and secondary”4.
Moreover, ”we are living beings, says Taylor, with these organs quite in-
dependently of our self-understandings or –interpretations, or the meanings
things have for us. But we are only selves insofar as we move in a certain
space of questions, as we seek and find an orientation to the good”5.
Following Harry Frankfurt, Taylor believes that human beings are the only be-
ings having ”second-order volitions”: a person is not just a subject of desires,
choices or deliberation (first-order volitions), but more profoundly a subject of
wanting to be moved by first-order desires. Humans are, according to Frankfurt,
the only beings capable of ”reflective self-evaluation” meaning that we can sus-
pend our ideals and goals in order to find an answer to a radical question such as:
”Do I really want to be what I now am?”6. Taylor goes further and identifies two
kinds of evaluation: the first is called ”weak” because it covers trivial and contin-
gent desires and the process of choosing between them (we can ask, for example:
”Do I want to have chocolate or ice-cream?”), this kind of evaluation is directly
1
2
Ibidem, p. 178.
3
Ibidem, p. 113.
4
5
Ibidem, p. 34.
6
IDEM, ”Responsibility for Self”, in Amélie RORTY OKSENBERG (ed), Identities of Persons,
University of California Press, Berkeley, Los Angeles, London, UK, 1976, p. 281.

linked to the naturalist view of a neutral world with no qualitative distinctions in-
volved; the second is ”strong” evaluation because it means dealing with substantive
ideals that does not involve choosing between alternatives, I already know that one
of them is more valuable than the other because I use a ”contrastive language”. If
the ”weak evaluator” goes from the fact that every desire has the same meaning
for us, the ”strong evaluator” knows that we have already evaluated our desires,
some of them (honesty or courage etc.) being more valuable than others (to look
good, to be admired etc.)1. Therefore, weak evaluation can be resembled with
Harry Frankfurt’s first-order volitions and the strong evaluation with second-order
volitions2. In this sense, according to Taylor, only the strong evaluator has some-
thing we can call ”depth” because he is not preoccupied with mere calculation be-
tween alternatives (as the weak evaluator), but rather with the development of a
contrastive vocabulary that he must carefully articulate3.
Taylor defines (arguing in this way with those dominant modern trends that
exclude the content of our ideals, reducing moral to neutral procedures that we must
follow in order to prevent evil) the ”Good” that structures moral space as follows:
”I have been speaking of the good in these pages, or sometimes of
strong good, meaning whatever is picked out as incomparably higher in a
qualitative distinction. It can be some action, or motive, or style of life, which
is seen qualitatively superior. ’Good’ is used here in a highly general sense,
designating anything considered valuable, worthy, admirable, of whatever
kind or category.”4
But goods don’t have the same status. Taylor identifies actually three major
goods (sometimes confusingly close to each other): the first ones and also the least
valuable in this hierarchy are ”life goods”. These are considered to be the goals and
ideals that humans bring to light in order to define a ”good life”, as the ideal of an
autonomous reason, or the ideal of expressive fulfillment5. The second ones and
also the most valuable in Taylor’s view are ”hypergoods”: ”Goods which not only
are incomparably more important than others but provide the standpoint from
which these must be weighed, judged, decided about”6, as following God or
searching justice. Finally, the third goods are ”constitutive goods”: ”The constitutive
good is a moral source, in the sense I want to use this term here: that is, it is a
something the love of which empowers us to do and to be good”7. A constitutive
good can be considered the Platonic order of being, or the later Christian God that
replaced, in a way, Plato’s Good.
If life goods refer to human ideals, hypergoods and constitutive goods represent
something that transcend humans, are goods in themselves having a cultural back-
ground and people that believe in them. But hypergoods and constitutive goods
seem sometimes almost undistinguishable. Hartmut Rosa proposed, in order to
make things more clear, two kind of arguments: the first is a functional one: hyper-
goods must order and coordinate life, constitutive goods are, on the other hand,
1
2
Ibidem, p. 289.
3
IDEM, ”Responsibility for Self”, cit., pp. 287-288.
4
5
Ibidem, p. 63 and see also Hartmut ROSA, Identität und kulturelle Praxis...cit., pp. 117-118.
6
7
Ibidem, p. 93.

440 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
”moral sources”; the second argument is an ontological one: hypergoods have a supe-
rior ontological status because it is a value that subjects recognize as having impor-
tance for their lives, constitutive goods, on the other hand, can be valuable (as part of
the implicit cultural background) without being recognized as such by humans1.
The identity of the self is made out, according to Taylor, of two things closely
related to each other: the values, or goods that allow us to select those things that
matter to us in order to have a fulfilling life, but also our belonging to a cultural
community2. We usually identify ourselves with some kind of community or com-
munities. Having a bi-cultural background, Taylor is well aware about the impor-
tance of culture and community and also about the need to be recognized by others
in order to become a harmonious person. Our craving for recognition is something
present in us from the early stages of our lives: we define ourselves, and here Tay-
lor follows George Mead, in ”webs of interlocution” meaning the fact that we un-
derstand ourselves at first through the linguistics interchanges with our parents or
”significant others”3. Later on, we become able to consciously define our identity,
but still never in isolation: discovering our identity means therefore that I negotiate
it through a dialogue, partially open, partially internal with other people4. Even in
solitude, I am not simply cut off from the rest of the world, but I continue, because
of my linguistic nature, my dialogue with those who matter for me. Therefore, rec-
ognition, as something related to our basic need for face-to-face relationships, is
rooted, according to Taylor’s rather ambiguous definition, almost in our biological
nature, in our ontogenetics5. Having such an anthropological importance, the logi-
cal consequence of it seems quite obvious: not having recognition can be disastrous
for people’s identity. The concept directly related to this crisis is ”alienation”, a term
Taylor adopts from Hegel’s vocabulary. But we believe that Taylor seems to admit
the existence of two kinds of sources generating alienation: on the one hand, a per-
son alienates itself when, following the path of atomist individualism common to
liberal thinking, refuses to involve itself in public life by simply retreating in its
private realm; on the other hand, alienation also comes when the community rejects
those members who are too different according to the standards of common-sense
normality. Regarding this second case, Taylor wrote a famous text on multicultural-
ism: The Politics of Recognition trying to offer a solution to the problem of how can
we integrate people from other cultural backgrounds without causing them psy-
chological traumas by our refusal to recognize their basic cultural identity. Taylor
believes there are two different answers to the problem of ”equal recognition”. The
first one, the politics of universalism, belongs to classical liberalism; this option guar-
antees the equal dignity of every individual in front of a universal, neutral law. The
second answer, the politics of difference, is based on the equal respect of those differ-
ent from us and it is rooted in another kind of liberalism coming from Hegel and rec-
ognizing the basic need for cultural identity6. Taylor maintains, therefore, that alien-
ation cannot be overcome with the help of the liberal idea of a neutral State (States are
in fact culturally biased, all we have to do is to maintain a cultural equilibrium in the
1
Hartmut ROSA, Identität und kulturelle Praxis...cit., pp. 117-119.
2
3
Ibidem, pp. 38-39.
4
IDEM, Etica autenticităţii, cit., p. 38.
5
6
IDEM, ”Politica recunoaşterii”, Romanian transl. by Al. Suter, Secolul 20. Europele din
Europa, no. 10-12, 1999, pp. 491-518.

coordination of the State) or with the strong distinction between public and private.
Regarding the last point, Taylor thinks we should have the right, because of our so-
cial and expressive nature, to freely express our identities in public without casting
them (schizophrenically) to the intimacy of our private world.
Historically speaking, the old pattern of securing a socio-cultural consensus is

represented, according to Taylor’s narrative, by a hierarchical order usually hav-
ing a strong religious and metaphysical background as in the case of Greek cul-
ture and, later, Christianity. The beginnings of modernity (17th century) radically
question this cosmological pattern. There are two important moments in this
change: the first is the emergence of what Taylor names the idea of a ”personal
commitment” having its origin in the Reform and meaning the necessity of a con-
sciously made personal agreement in order to build a community (at first, a Chris-
tian community). Previously, the social consensus was established by a commu-
nity accepted as being something natural, but in 17th century emerges another
view saying that individuals are more basic than community and that in fact, as in
the case of contractualist theories anticipating liberalism, every community is the
product of a contract between rational and free agents1. Community is not any-
more a given, or a substance, but something created. The second moment of the
above mentioned change is the focus on ”ordinary life”, or, as Taylor understands
it, the two human dimensions involved in it: ”production” (work) and ”reproduc-
tion” (sexuality, marriage, family)2. The modern sensitivity reacts against the cos-
mological and social hierarchy emphasizing instead ordinary processes. Later on,
the Enlightenment radicalizes this anti-hierarchical view and defines human be-
ings in a utilitarian manner as natural beings seeking for physical pleasure3. Ro-
manticism, on the other hand, draws a different image, even though it inherits the
spirit of the changes mentioned above: humans are definable only by harmoni-
ously placing them in a natural and cultural order, but, in contrast with the old hi-
erarchy, nature and culture are something that can be expressed only through in-
dividuals. Nature is not so much a cosmic order, but more the way it ”resonates”
in us4. One step further, Hegel is the one who makes a spectacular synthesis be-
tween Enlightenment and Romanticism offering his own version of the relation-
ship between individual and his environment. Taylor notices the powerful Hege-
lian concept of ”Sittlichkeit” (”ethical substance”) meaning the set of obligations
we have to follow in order to preserve a society based on Idea (Absolute Spirit).
Sittlichkeit has a concrete meaning, it refers to the moral obligations we have in a
specific community to which we belong, therefore, this concept offers Hegel the
semantic connotation needed in order to express the unity between Sollen (duty)
and Sein (being) avoiding in this way the Kantian ”Moralität” based on a gap be-
tween the formal laws of morality and our sensual nature5. According to Taylor,
in Hegel’s philosophy:
”The State or the community has a higher life; its parts are related as the
parts of an organism. Thus the individual is not serving an end separate from
1
2
Ibidem, p. 211.
3
Ibidem, p. 327.
4
Ibidem, p. 299.
5
IDEM, Hegel and Modern Society, cit., p. 83.

442 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
him; rather he is serving a larger goal which is the ground of his identity, for
he only is the individual he is in this larger life”1.
This close relation with community is menaced by the danger of alienation:

”This comes about when the public experience of my society ceases to have any
meaning for me”2. But community is based, according to Hegel, on another impor-
tant social process: recognition. Taylor’s account regarding this concept identifies it
with the emergence of modern world: the decay of the old value of ”honour”,
based on social hierarchy (honour is valuable because not everybody possesses it),
by its replacement with the egalitarian and democratic value of ”dignity” and also
the newly born ideal of authenticity focusing on subjectivity, all these generate a
state of all pervasive insecurity3. Identity and recognition are something we reflect
upon, massively more than we did before, because from now on these are not
something socially given: as moderns, we have to struggle both for the identity we
want to express and for the underlying recognition of it. This also relates to an-
other feature of modern world: the existence of a plurality of values. The growing
complexity of modern culture undermines the possible consensus about our val-
ues, generating, in the same time, more insecurity concerning identity4. The 20th
century modernist view of man assumes, as a result of this growing complexity,
something radical that Enlightenment or Romanticism would have rejected as
pathological: the fact that our identity is defined as a multiple one often having in
its texture conflictive dimensions5.
Beside the influence of Romantic expressivism and Hegel’s philosophy, Tay-
lor is also indebted to phenomenology: Husserl emphasizes, as a fundamental fea-
ture of human mind, intentionality and related to it the ”life-world” we inhabit (a
life-world close to a cultural understanding, rather than a naturalist one)6. Hei-
degger takes some of Husserl’s ideas and places them radically in a historical ho-
rizon: we are, according to Heidegger’s story, beings living in a socio-historical
world and having a language that clarifies our basic cultural background incorpo-
rated in our ordinary practices. Taylor is also impressed by the French phenome-
nologist Maurice Merleau-Ponty especially because of his concern for our body,
and also, in a more significant manner, by the German philosopher (Heidegger’s
disciple) Hans Georg Gadamer. The hermeneutics developed by Gadamer, focus-
ing on language, dialogue, tradition, culture or the (slightly utopian) possibility of
a ”fusion of horizons” (our different cultural interpretations can, through small
steps of suspending our rigid cultural position, create a common ground for a
consensual dialogue), allows Taylor to more convincingly reconstruct Hegel’s vi-
sion by rejecting his bombastic idea of an Absolute Spirit wandering the history
and by keeping, in the same time, Hegel’s more valuable intuitions: the socio-cul-
tural nature of our identity, the need for recognition, the importance of language
and so on7.
1
Ibidem, p. 86.
2
Ibidem, p. 88.
3
IDEM, Etica autenticităţii, cit., p. 37-38.
4
5
Ibidem, pp. 480-481
6
IDEM, Hegel and Modern Society, cit., pp. 161-162.
7

Conclusion. Hierarchy and Rhythm

Surely, Taylor is not an author that agrees to some kind of value-free, dispas-
sionate stance regarding the tensions of the modern world, these frictions are not
pure differences produced by a complex society and history that we simply must
embrace or technically resolve without any kind of moral reaction to them. Con-
trary to his postmodernist or naturalist opponents, Taylor speaks about deep value
crises, or ”malaises” that we must fight even though there is no final victory as-
sured in this matter. The major modern portrayals of the self hide, as we men-
tioned at the beginning of this text, some potential or actual crises closely inter-
twined: (a) the rationalist and instrumentalist description of the self leads, as Tay-
lor often mentions, in most cases to atomism in which individuals are freed from
the deep community ties envisioning themselves as almost self-referential beings.
The relative consensus around the Enlightenment’s idea of a universally distrib-
uted capacity of reasoning becomes often challenged when individual perspectives
(worlds), following their specific interests, collide. Beside this abstract consensus
there is no other external, more concrete reference to stop disengaged selves to en-
gage in cynical battles for supremacy and survival; (b) the Nietzschean and post-
modernist stories of the self also generate serious problems: the self ends up
whether on the heights of creativity, totally disconnected from his community, or
as a humble instrument of a difference-generating discourse. But the meaningless-
ness, the ego-loss of modern self remains, according to Taylor, unresolved as long
as authenticity and expressivity is not connected to a cultural background; (c) fi-
nally, the communitarian description offers, in Taylor’s view, a better version, but
a version always menaced, most visibly in Hegel’s case with his Absolute Spirit, by
alienation and conformism.
Taylor thinks we can fight these problems through a better definition of the
self and also by a sustained effort of bringing to light those values that have deeply
shaped our views of the self. As self-interpreting animal, the human being has a
body and also the capacity of articulating, through language, a partial self-under-
standing. But this self-understanding makes sense only by relating it to a cultural
background structured as a moral space: a human being is a strong evaluator al-
ways considering some things (offered by its background) more important than
others. But we think that at this point, tensions arise: Taylor is vulnerable to pow-
erful critics because of his seemingly inconsistent story about the relation between
strong values, on one hand, and tolerance, on the other1. Let us have a closer look
on this matter. Taylor’s major problem concerning the self is a very old one, origi-
nating in Aristotle: how can we bring the diversity of goods under the unity of a
life2. This problem becomes more urgent in modern world: Taylor tells us that we,
contrary to our predecessors, are living in a society with an extended ”social imagi-
nary” defined by a plurality of values often conflictive each other. The old hierar-
chical world with one strong value (usually God) (more or less) harmoniously in-
cluding the others seems entirely gone. Aristotle solved, for example, the tension
1
Mark READHEAD, Thinking and Living Deep Diversity, Rowman & Littlefield Publishers,
Inc., Lanham, 2002, p. 3. Readhead thinks that Taylor is not capable to solve the problem of
combining his catholic belief consisting in substantive ideals and his idea of cultural tolerance
expressed in a multicultural State.
2
Ibidem, p. 121.

444 CIPRIAN BOGDAN
between unity and difference through a hierarchy originating in external universe:

some faculties (i.e., reason) are more important than others because there is a cos-
mological order mirroring in ourselves. But we, as moderns, cannot simply adopt
the same model because we would reject equality or democracy as basic value de-
fining us and also we would question the process of individuation so deeply
rooted in our culture. We believe that Taylor is actually in a very unpleasant posi-
tion because, on one hand, he says: human beings are strong evaluators both finding
and creating hierarchical orders by considering some things more important than
others; on the other hand, Taylor is aware that this basic (almost universal) feature of
the human being is put to the test by a modernity that brings a plurality of values
passionately rejecting hierarchy. What is the solution? We argue in fact that Taylor
tries to replace the old rigid hierarchical model with a more flexible one (still hav-
ing its tensions) that we would like to call rhythmic. There are several aspects, we
think, that prove this replacement:
a) Even though he is highly suspicious about the image of a disengaged self
who suspended everything around him in order to discover its neutral conscious-
ness, Taylor thinks there is still a way in which we can radically suspend our val-
ues without nevertheless ending up in a meta-language (as naturalism does).
”In re-evaluations the most basic terms, those in which other evalua-
tions are carried on, are precisely what is in question. It is just because all for-
mulations are potentially under suspicion of distorting their objects that we
have to see them all as revisable, that we are forced back, as it were, to the in-
articulate limit from which they originate”1.
This procedure is related to our basic quality as the only beings having sec-
ond-order volitions. We can radically revise our values because we can question
them. We think that one of Taylor’s inconsistencies lies exactly in this point: he
tells us that second-order volitions that make possible radical re-evaluation are a ba-
sic feature of being human but, in the same time, he implicitly admits that this
process of re-evaluation is a predominantly modern phenomenon2. We question
our values because we are more insecure about them than our forebears. Taylor
would argue saying that re-evaluation is in fact always present but is brought to
light (made explicit) in times of crises (as in modernity). Anyway, the important
thing is for us to notice that radical re-evaluation rejects a rigid hierarchy, empha-
sizing revisability and change in our value-system.
b) Another feature that, according to us, proves the switch from a rigid hierar-
chy to a soft, rhythmic one is originated in the way Taylor understands expressiv-
ist tradition: by accepting Aristotle’s philosophical pattern of something potential
that comes to light according to its telos, the Romantics reject, in the same time, the
idea of a preexistent form, the final product is not something inscribed in external
order, but is the result of the expressive effort of an individual. Hierarchies are not
so much external, but internal. Cultures create only a value-horizon, but the indi-
vidual has the responsibility to recombine the values according to its personal
1
Charles TAYLOR, ”Responsibility for Self”, cit., p. 297.
2
We believe that Taylor is also vulnerable because of his predominantly hermeneutical
assumptions: Habermas’s critique against Gadamer on the ground of his blindness to social
inequalities and power relations that distort communication can also be addressed to Taylor. His
overly optimistic view about culture covers the political and social pressures that in fact can
badly damage our chance of being authentic or sensitive to our community’s problems.

needs1. If the Romantics still believe in the unity of man, nature and society, Mod-
ernists preserve the idea of a balance between personal and transpersonal rejecting,
in the same time, the vision of a possible unity:
”’The Modernists’ multileveled consciousness is thus frequently ’decen-
tred’: aware of living on a transpersonal rhythm which is mutually irreduci-
ble in relation to the personal. But for all that it remains inward; and is the
first only through being the second. The two features are inseparable”2.
c) Taylor is also well aware that the complexity of the modern world requires
a multiple identity of the self. Talking about Modernists, Taylor notices that they al-
ready developed this ”awareness of living on a duality or plurality of levels, not
totally compatible, but which can’t be reduced to unity”3. Taylor’s version follows
mostly the same path: he believes, for example, that multiculturalism is possible
only if we accept the idea of a ”deep diversity” opened towards both collective and
individual rights by promoting both tolerance and commonality4. This is also the
reason why Taylor, despite his religious background, believes that the democratic
ideal of tolerance comes first. (Nevertheless, he tries to connect religion and de-
mocratic tolerance by using the Christian value of ”agapē”, or charity based on
God’s love for human beings5.) Moreover, the nature of a free society is not the
state of freezing in some kind of order, but rather the ”lotta continua” meaning the
fight between the higher and lower forms of liberty, no part ever being able to
wholly destroy the other part6.
d) Taylor also believes, bringing a final argument for a more rhythmic vision,
that ideals, despite their absolute requirements, can be limited in their (self)-de-
structive tendency by only admitting their inevitably partial actualization. Ideals
are cultural and historical products. There is no absolute transparency, but only a
relative capacity to make things more clear than before.
Having all these in mind, we can say that Taylor’s formula of personal identity
is, despite the basic need for hierarchy coming from evaluation, not something fro-
zen, but rather a flexible hierarchy of values sensitive to the differences introduced
by contexts. Perhaps communitarians are somehow right that we can still learn
something from Aristotle: defining phronesis (practical reason) the ancient philoso-
pher was careful enough to say that this reason does not mean a doctrine that we
literally have to follow regardless the situations, but rather a kind of wisdom flexi-
bly adapting itself to the never wholly predictable social contexts7.
1
2
3
Ibidem, p. 480.
4
Mark READHEAD, Thinking and Living...cit., p. 2.
5
Charles TAYLOR, Sources of the Self...cit., p. 410, p. 516.
6
IDEM, Etica autenticităţii, cit., p. 56.
7

446 CIPRIAN BOGDAN

Pierre Manent şi tradiţia gândirii europene 447
Pierre Manent şi tradiţia gândirii

europene despre religie şi politic˙
RADU CARP
În tradiţia gândirii politice franceze din a doua jumătate a secolului XX religia a

fost în marea majoritate a cazurilor expediată de pe poziţiile unei tradiţii laice ca fi-
ind o problemă depăşită. În această viziune, religia trebuie repudiată deoarece ţine
de absolut, este un reper în afara contingenţelor istorice şi culturale a căror analiză
este necesar să treacă în prim-plan. Triumful structuralismului şi fascinaţia cres-
cândă a marxismului în rândurile intelectualilor francezi au făcut ca reflecţia asupra
religiei şi legăturii acesteia cu politicul să fie marginalizată. De abia în anii ’80
această situaţie este inversată prin lucrările unor autori precum Marcel Gauchet,
Luc Ferry sau Alain Renaut. Interogaţia asupra temei decreştinării, mai ales în mo-
mentele posterioare Conciliului Vatican II, a stimulat un anumit gen de cercetare
istoriografică, practicată mai ales de Jean Delumeau, ce a avut meritul de a scoate în
evidenţă rolul religiei în modelarea marilor momente ale istoriei Franţei1.
Pierre Manent, cel mai cunoscut discipol al lui Raymond Aron, unul dintre
puţinii filozofi ai politicului francezi din secolul XX care a reuşit să evite tentaţia
gândirii de stânga, reprezintă prin gândirea sa dezvoltată pe parcursul ultimilor 30
de ani în mod elocvent felul în care gândirea politică franceză a început să facă loc
treptat rolului religiei. Aşa cum vom vedea, reflecţia sa nu acordă iniţial impor-
tanţă relaţiei între religie şi politică. Pe măsura apariţiei unor noi contribuţii ale
sale, tratarea acestei teme ocupă un rol din de în ce mai important, iar perspectiva
din care este privită această relaţie se diversifică.
Manent s-a bucurat de o receptare pe măsura importanţei scrierilor sale în
Franţa. Toate lucrările sale importante au fost traduse în limba română prin mijlo-
cirea lui Cristian Preda, care semnează în majoritatea cazurilor comentariile ce înso-
ţesc aceste traduceri. C. Preda semnează într-o antologie a gândirii politice liberale2 şi
un comentariu extins la viziunea lui Manent expusă în cartea Cetatea Omului. Dato-
rită autorilor clasici de filozofie politică pe care îi are în vedere, Manent este asimilat
atât în Franţa, cât şi în România, tradiţiei liberale a gândirii politice. Cu o singură ex-
cepţie, de altfel destul de discutabilă (Simona Nicoară3), comentatorii români ai ope-
rei sale nu au pus în evidenţă rolul pe care relaţia dintre religie şi politică o ocupă în
opera lui Pierre Manent. Ne propunem să scoatem în evidenţă felul în care reflecţia
lui Manent asupra acestei relaţii a evoluat şi în ce măsură am putea vorbi de anumite
teme recurente care circumscriu descrierea ei în gândirea lui Manent.
1
V., Simona NICOARĂ, O istorie a secularizării. De la cetatea lui Dumnezeu la cetatea oamenilor,
vol. I, Accent, Cluj-Napoca, 2005, p. 16.
2
Liberalismul, antologie, comentarii şi note de Cristian PREDA, Nemira, Bucureşti, 2000,
pp. 11-17.
3
Este vorba de un foarte scurt comentariu asupra cărţii Cetatea omului. Autoarea tratează
relaţia religie-politică nu în sensul pe care filozoful francez însuşi îl dă, ci trage concluzia greşită
că în opinia lui Manent „autonomia omului a însemnat […] izgonirea creştinismului din cetate“
(Simona NICOARĂ, O istorie a secularizării…cit., p. 33).

448 RADU CARP
În prima sa lucrare publicată, Naissances de la politique moderne. Machiavel,

Hobbes, Rousseau1, Pierre Manent tratează religia doar tangenţial, în paragrafele de-
dicate gândirii lui Hobbes. Manent consideră că problema convingerilor religioase
ale lui Hobbes nu prezintă importanţă, însă se poate afirma cu certitudine că locul
teologiei în opera sa creşte „pe măsură ce gândirea sa ia amploare şi contur“2.
Manent încearcă să deconstruiască argumentul formulat de Leo Strauss3 potrivit
căruia Hobbes dezvoltă o strategie dublă în raport cu textul Bibliei: pe de o parte,
încearcă să-şi întărească propria sa doctrină cu ajutorul argumentelor biblice, iar pe
de altă parte să submineze chiar fundamentele acesteia. Fără a merge atât de de-
parte până la a afirma că Hobbes urmează fidel Biblia, Manent introduce câteva
nuanţe. Există astfel în viziunea lui Manent o armonie între credinţa biblică şi gân-
direa lui Hobbes, chiar dacă această credinţă nu corespunde canoanelor teologice.
Scopul urmărit de Manent este prin urmare de a vedea în ce măsură logica gândirii
sale îl determină pe Hobbes să recurgă la teologia biblică şi care este funcţia pe care
aceasta o îndeplineşte în cadrul sistemului său de filozofie politică. Concluzia sa
este că teologia biblică nu este complementară, ci parte integrantă a filozofiei
hobbesiene. Aceasta pune în centrul său omul, iar singurul cadru istoric disponibil
în epoca lui Hobbes era cel biblic. Există potrivit lui Manent un sens hobbesian al
teologiei biblice, o teologie istorică prin definiţie, deoarece face dovada unui
„recurs la istorie implicat de viziunea modernă a omului“4. Relaţionarea între teo-
logie-Biblie-om-istorie în explicarea gândirii lui Hobbes este pentru prima oară
pusă în lumină de Manent, ceea ce face ca viziunea sa asupra acestui autor să fie
total diferită de cea a altor istorici ai ideilor politice.
Pentru prima oară relaţia între religie şi politică în gândirea lui Pierre Manent
este relevată în cartea Histoire intellectuelle du libéralisme5, publicată în 1987.
Manent consideră că există trei modele pe baza cărora Europa şi-a constituit
organizarea politică: Cetatea, Imperiul, Biserica. Cea din urmă nu poate fi plasată
pe acelaşi plan cu primele două, deoarece nu îşi propune să organizeze viaţa poli-
tică a oamenilor, însă dezvoltarea politică a Europei nu poate fi înţeleasă decât ca
suma răspunsurilor la problemele ridicate de Biserică. Aceasta este potrivit lui
Manent problema teologico-politică a Europei. Biserica este importantă ca formă
de organizare şi din punct de vedere politic pentru că de multe ori, în absenţa unei
autorităţi, generată de căderea Imperiului Roman, a fost chemată să îndeplinească
şi o funcţie socială şi politică. Manent consideră că întreaga istorie a Europei a fost
marcată de o contradicţie internă a Bisericii: pe de o parte, mântuirea nu ţine de
această lume însă, pe de altă parte, Biserica are datoria de controla tot ceea ce ar
pune în pericol mântuirea. Cum Biserica şi-a revendicat dreptul de a controla acţi-
unile oamenilor, inclusiv ale conducătorilor politici, a trebuit să revendice puterea
supremă, plenitudo potestatis. Astfel, ecclesia christiana începe a fi considerată sin-
gura res publica, formă de organizare a politicului. Manent se referă în numeroase
rânduri la Biserică, însă pune accentul pe Biserica Catolică; argumentul ar fi acela
1
Payot, Paris, 1977; Originile politicii moderne. Machiavelli/Hobbes/Rousseau, trad. Alexandra
Ionescu, Nemira, Bucureşti, 2000.
2
Pierre MANENT, Originile politicii moderne...cit., p. 122.
3
Leo STRAUSS, The Political Philosophy of Hobbes: Its Basis and Its Genesis, The University of
Chicago Press, Chicago & London, 1966, p. 78.
4
Pierre MANENT, Originile politicii moderne...cit., p. 152.
5
Calmann-Lévy, Paris, 1987; Istoria intelectuală a liberalismului, trad. M. Antohi şi S. Antohi,
Humanitas, Bucureşti, 1992.

că abia la sfârşitul secolului XI, prin urmare ulterior schismei dintre ortodocşi şi ca-
tolici, începe să fie resimţită problema teologico-politică a Europei.
Biserica nu a vrut să impună nici Cetatea, nici Imperiul şi nici rezultatul com-
binaţiei între cele două – monarhia, ci să-şi exercite controlul asupra tuturor regi-
murilor politice. Evoluţia formelor de organizare politică devine din acest motiv is-
toria reacţiilor la pretenţiile Bisericii. Pe măsură ce organizarea politică a Europei a
avansat, s-a renunţat la modelul Imperiului. În viziunea lui Manent, chiar dacă Bi-
serica nu doreşte o identificare cu o formă sau alta de regim politic, cea care îi co-
respunde este imperiul. Imperiul Bizantin este pentru Manent, ca şi pentru Joseph
de Maistre, contraponderea la ascensiunea spirituală a Romei. Această explicaţie
nu corespunde însă întru totul realităţii: Bizanţul nu a renunţat niciodată la preten-
ţia de centru spiritual al creştinătăţii.
Pentru că Imperiul este contraponderea Bisericii, odată cu dispariţia sa singura
formă politică rămasă compatibilă este monarhia. Astfel s-ar explica întemeierea
teoretică în dreptul divin a multor monarhii din Europa în perioada Evului Mediu.
Monarhia, în forma sa europeană, este pentru Manent „uniunea dintre Tron şi Al-
tar“, regele este „bun creştin şi fiu supus al Bisericii“1.
La o lectură superficială, Manent încearcă prin această carte doar să descrie
gândirea liberală a unor autori precum Machiavelli, Hobbes, Locke, Montesquieu,
Rousseau, Constant, Guizot etc. Manent încearcă prin Istoria intelectuală a liberalis-
mului să aprofundeze grila sa de lectură a autorilor clasici ai filozofiei politice ex-
pusă în Originile politicii moderne. Machiavelli/Hobbes/Rousseau. Această carte poate fi
citită însă şi într-o altă cheie de interpretare. În prefaţă Manent expune ceea ce nu-
meşte „cea mai răspândită opinie“, potrivit căreia „dezvoltarea politicii moderne
poate fi descrisă ca «secularizare»“2. Două argumente pot întemeia această opinie:
religia creştină este deposedată de puterea sa politică, proces facilitat de Revoluţia
Franceză; principiile a ceea ce Manent numeşte „politica nouă“ – drepturile omu-
lui, libertatea de conştiinţă, suveranitatea poporului – au fost concepute în contra-
dicţie cu creştinismul, iar secularizarea oferă ocazia dezvoltării acestor principii în
afara creştinismului. Interesant este că Manent nu identifică în această etapă alter-
nativa la opinia pe care o expune şi căreia îi enunţă argumentele şi nici nu afirmă
că aceasta ar fi opinia pe care o susţine. Omisiunea poate fi explicată doar prin lec-
tura combinată a începutului şi sfârşitului acestei cărţi. După analiza autorilor mai
sus menţionaţi, rezultă o contradicţie căreia multe secole nu i s-a găsit un răspuns,
cea între natură şi lege. Proiectul modernităţii este cel care dă pentru prima dată un
răspuns la această contradicţie. Pentru Manent, primul autor care a încercat să de-
păşească contradicţia natură-lege prin postularea istoriei ca opus al acesteia este
Rousseau. Modernitatea face posibilă apariţia unei noi contradicţii, cea între „isto-
rie“ şi „revoluţie“, iar conceptul de naţiune a apărut pentru a face posibilă atât isto-
ria, cât şi revoluţia. În secolul XX eşecul comunismului a dat o lovitură de graţie
speranţelor puse în conceptul de revoluţie, iar eşecul naţional-socialismului „a dis-
trus siguranţa de sine a naţiunii europene“3. Trăim astfel într-o perioadă în care
concepte precum monarhie, revoluţie sau naţiune nu mai pot avea sensul lor origi-
nar şi devin din ce în ce mai puţin operante în Europa. Astfel, singurul concept
care poate rămâne relevant pentru organizarea politică este religia creştină, chiar
dacă a suferit acelaşi proces de erodare lentă, datorată naturii societăţii civile şi
1
Pierre MANENT, Istoria intelectuală…cit., p. 23.
2
Ibidem, p. 14.
3
Ibidem, p. 176.

450 RADU CARP
legilor statului. Este vorba însă, în viziunea lui Manent, de o erodare mult mai re-
dusă decât în cazul altor concepte, ceea ce este echivalent cu a spune că nu trebuie
supraestimat fenomenul secularizării în Europa. Astfel, Manent oferă o replică in-
directă la ceea ce numea în introducerea acestei cărţi „cea mai răspândită opinie“ –
aceea potrivit căreia secularizarea ar fi un fenomen ireversibil al istoriei europene.
În cartea La cité de l’homme1 Manent revine asupra teoriilor politice enunţate de
Montesquieu şi Locke, ambii trataţi şi în Istoria intelectuală a liberalismului, însă ana-
liza sa se face dintr-o altă perspectivă. Manent tratează de exemplu tema relaţiei
dintre religie şi lege la Montesquieu. Pornind de la un citat al acestui autor, potrivit
căruia legile trebuie să dea porunci, nu sfaturi, iar religia mai multe sfaturi şi mai
puţine porunci, Manent consideră că acest text reia o distincţie sfaturi-porunci „tra-
diţională în religia catolică“2. Manent îi acordă credit lui Montesquieu, cu următo-
rul amendament: religia oferă sfaturi dar nu încetează să revendice dreptul de a
porunci în domenii importante, astfel încât legea religioasă să fie, cel puţin parţial,
o componentă a legii politice. Contradicţia între porunci şi sfaturi este doar apa-
rentă pentru Manent; în plus, această opoziţie nu oferă un răspuns la „dezvoltarea
despotismului regal […] în cadrul religios şi tradiţional al monarhiei continen-
tale“3. În acest mod, Manent revine la teza enunţată în Istoria intelectuală a liberalis-
mului: monarhia a fost, pentru o perioadă îndelungată, singura formă politică com-
patibilă cu Biserica.
În Cetatea omului Manent dezvoltă pentru prima oară o temă care va fi apro-
fundată în următoarele sale cărţi, cea a separaţiilor, considerată a fi tipică moderni-
tăţii: separaţia puterilor în stat, diviziunea societăţii în grupuri şi cea a Bisericii
creştine în diverse religii4. Această idee este expusă de Manent pornind de la un ci-
tat al lui Adam Ferguson, expus în An Essay on the History of Civil Society (1767)5.
Încă de la acea dată Ferguson considera că trăim în „vârsta separărilor“. Ideea este
reluată într-o altă parte a acestei cărţi, cea în care Manent dezvoltă ideea separării
între stat şi societate: odată cu apariţia acestei separări, legea nu mai garantează
bunurile umane, ci libertatea. Astfel, în locul religiei ca parte a legii politice, apare
conceptul de libertate religioasă6.
Locke este un alt autor clasic care se bucură în Cetatea omului de o analiză dife-
rită de cea din Istoria intelectuală a liberalismului. Bazându-se pe aceeaşi distincţie între
porunci şi sfaturi, Manent consideră că Locke „a reuşit să facă loc în doctrina sa mo-
rală poruncilor şi îndemnurilor creştine“7. Prin urmare, în viziunea lui Locke expusă
de Manent, omul evită absenţa binelui şi în particular absenţa lui Dumnezeu.
Într-o altă parte a acestei cărţi, Manent tratează concepţia potrivit căreia Dum-
nezeu este autor al legii, pornind de la constatarea că o asemenea idee este comună
atât religiei creştine, cât şi celei iudaice fiind în acelaşi timp de neînţeles pentru de-
mocraţia greacă8. Pentru greci, fiecare cetăţean putea fi în egală măsură comandant
şi comandat, arkhon şi arkhomenos, în timp ce ideea potrivit căreia omul îşi poate
porunci sie însuşi este străină creştinismului. Chiar dacă, prin intermediul politicii
1
Fayard, Paris, 1994; Cetatea omului, trad. I. Popa şi Cristian Preda, Babel, Bucureşti, 1998.
2
Pierre MANENT, Cetatea omului, cit., p. 100.
3
Ibidem, p. 103.
4
Ibidem, p. 102.
5
Hard Press, f.l., 2006.
6
Pierre MANENT, Cetatea omului, cit., p. 211.
7
Ibidem, p. 161.
8
Ibidem, p. 224.

moderne, omul se guvernează pe sine prin faptul că există unele instituţii care ela-
borează legile şi altele care le aplică, există anumite „interdicţii divine“ care
autolimitează libertatea de acţiune a omului.
În cartea Cours familier de philosophie politique1 Manent dezvoltă teoria „vârstei
separărilor“, incipientă în Cetatea omului. Manent afirmă de această dată că separa-
ţiile sunt o caracteristică a democraţiilor şi chiar că democraţia însăşi ca regim poli-
tic este o „organizare a separaţiilor“2. Acest tip de organizare ar face, în viziunea
lui Manent, diferenţa între democraţie şi toate celelalte regimuri politice care nu
cunosc separaţiile. Reluând ideile lui Ferguson, Manent consideră că există şase
astfel de separaţii în democraţie: cea a profesiunilor (diviziunea muncii; a puteri-
lor; a Bisericii de stat; a societăţii civile de stat; între reprezentat şi reprezentant; în-
tre fapte şi valori3, cu precizarea că aceste categorii „se intersectează adeseori şi se
consolidează întotdeauna“4; astfel, separaţia dintre Biserică şi stat ar fi la origini un
caz particular de separaţie între societate şi stat care a căpătat pe parcursul timpu-
lui un grad ridicat de autonomie. Momentul în care ia naştere accest nou tip de se-
paraţie ar coincide pentru Manent cu cel în care „Biserica a părăsit guvernarea“.
Această precizare estte făcută de Manent cu scopul de a anticipa o eventuală cri-
tică, anume că în Cetatea omului menţiona un alt tip de separare specifică moderni-
tăţii care are în centrul ei Biserica, separare pe care nu o mai găsim enunţată în cele
şase categorii din O filozofie politică pentru cetăţean.
Tema separaţiei dintre stat şi Biserică ocupă un capitol întreg al acestei cărţi,
dovadă a interesului crescând al lui Manent pentru relaţia dintre religie şi politică.
În opinia lui Manent, istoria europeană, începând cu secolul XI şi culminând cu se-
colul XX, are în centru relaţia adesea conflictuală între puterea politică şi cea reli-
gioasă. Odată cu separaţia dintre Biserică şi stat, garantată de exemplu prin legea
franceză asupra laicităţii din 1905, se părea că această relaţie o fost rezolvată în
mod satisfăcător. În ultima perioadă însă premisele legii laicităţii au început să fie
contestate. Prezenţa masivă în Franţa a credincioşilor unei religii care refuză sepa-
raţia între Biserică şi stat (musulmanii), pune statul în faţa unei situaţii pe care o
considera ca aparţinând definitiv trecutului. Se încearcă a se impune musulmanilor
un tip de separaţie care a fost impusă catolicilor în urmă cu un secol, fără a se ţine
cont de particularităţile unei religii sau alta. În opinia lui Manent, asimilarea în
mod fals a comportamentului religios în cazul a două religii diferite stă la baza
controversei „şalului islamic“.
În general în lucrările sale Manent refuză să intre în polemică cu autorii con-
temporani, preferând să trateze, uneori polemic, aproape exclusiv gândirea autori-
lor clasici. O filozofie politică pentru cetăţean este în acest sens o excepţie: Manent de-
dică ample pasaje în discuţia sa despre separaţia între Biserică şi stat analizei făcute
de Marcel Gauchet în lucrarea La religion dans la démocratie. Parcours de la laïcité5.
Potrivit lui Gauchet, în prezent religia se află în proces de transformare, iar
acest proces este denumit „ieşirea din religie“. Gauchet consideră că termeni pre-
cum secularizare sau laicizare nu descriu în mod adecvat acest proces, deoarece
cele două noţiuni ar avea origini ecleziastice şi provin din efortul Bisericii de a se
1
Librairie Arthème Fayard, Paris, 2001; O filozofie politică pentru cetăţean, trad. M. Antohi,
2
Pierre MANENT, O filozofie politică ...cit., p. 23.
3
Ibidem, p. 25.
4
Ibidem, p. 36.
5
Gallimard, Paris, 1998; Ieşirea din religie, trad. M. Antohi, Humanitas, Bucureşti, 2006.

452 RADU CARP
defini prin contrast, desemnând ceea ce nu aparţine acesteia. Fenomenul „ieşirii

din religie“ ar fi descris de secundarizare (ordinea politică nu mai este supusă unor
scopuri religioase) şi privatizare (religia nu mai este dominantă în spaţiul public)1.
În O filozofie politică pentru cetăţean Manent expune teoria lui Gauchet, ajungând la
aceeaşi concluzie: ne aflăm în plin proces de transformare a religiei. Manent merge
însă mai departe decât Gauchet pe această linie de interpretare, afirmând că
transformarea religiei a atras o „absorbţie a religiei în democraţie“2, iar la rândul ei
absorbţia a antrenat transformarea formei predominante de regim politic, repu-
blica. Realizarea proiectului republican şi-a pierdut adversarul care îi dădea sens,
iar din acest motiv proiectul republican nu va mai fi de actualitate. În viziunea lui
Manent, a existat multă vreme o dispută între republică – autonomia colectivă – şi
religie – heteromonia colectivă – care s-a finalizat prin a produce triumful autono-
miei individuale a cetăţeanului3.
Cea mai dezvoltată parte a reflecţiei lui Manent asupra relaţiei dintre religie şi
politică se regăseşte în cea mai recentă carte a sa, La raison des nations. Réflections sur
la démocratie en Europe4, publicată în 2006. În prefaţa acestei cărţi Manent îşi averti-
zează cititorul asupra abordării sale, întrucâtva atipică faţă de restul cărţilor publi-
cate: „religia sau, mai precis, religiile, ocupă multe din paginile de mai jos. S-ar pu-
tea ca acest fapt să vă surprindă“. Dacă până la acest volum Manent dezvoltase te-
oria separaţiei între Biserică şi stat ca o caracteristică a regimurilor politice mo-
derne, fără a face judecăţi de valoare suplimentare, în Raţiunea naţiunilor. Reflecţii
asupra democraţiei în Europa afirmă în mod explicit opţiunea sa: „Domeniul politic şi
cel religios nu sunt niciodată complet separate. Îl putem înţelege pe fiecare dintre
ele doar dacă nu le separăm“5.
Manent formulează în această carte un alt posibil răspuns la teoria „ieşirii din
religie“ lansată de Gauchet. Dacă în O filozofie politică pentru cetăţean Manent părea
a fi de acord cu premisele lui Gauchet, ajungând în cele din urmă la concluzii des-
pre care putem spune că sunt complementare acestei teorii, în Raţiunea naţiunilor.
Reflecţii asupra democraţiei în Europa Manent adoptă o perspectivă diferită. Fără a da
referinţe bibliografice explicite, Manent se rezumă la a constata că se discută în mo-
mentul de faţă două teorii contradictorii: cea a declinului religiei dar şi cea a
„reîntoarcerii religiosului“. Manent nu ne comunică de fapt ce fel de teorie ar fi
mai adecvată descrierii realităţii prezente. Evitarea unui răspuns tranşant este justi-
ficată de Manent prin faptul că religia este echivalată unui sentiment subiectiv, im-
posibil de transcris într-o paradigmă strict obiectivă; o asemenea încercare ar se-
măna pentru Manent cu „dorinţa de a fotografia un foc zglobiu“6.
Singura formă de înţelegere obiectivă a religiei este cea care consideră religia
drept fapt politic. Orice alte forme de acest gen nu ajută descifrării lumii contem-
porane. Pentru a justifica un asemenea punct de vedere, Manent porneşte de la o
constatare vizibilă: „Lumea de azi se organizează în funcţie de polarităţi politice
1
Marcel GAUCHET, Ieşirea din religie, cit., p. 12 şi urm.
2
Pierre MANENT, O filozofie politică ...cit., p. 41.
3
Asupra teoriei lui Gauchet, precum şi în legătură cu analiza pe care o face Manent acesteia,
v. Radu CARP, Proiectul politic european, Editura Universităţii din Bucureşti, Bucureşti, 2006,
pp. 92-96.
4
Gallimard, Paris, 2006; Raţiunea naţiunilor. Reflecţii asupra democraţiei în Europa, trad. şi
postfaţă de Cristian PREDA, Nemira, Bucureşti, 2007.
5
Pierre MANENT, Raţiunea naţiunilor…cit. p. 9.
6
Ibidem, p. 76.

care acoperă divizări religioase“1. Există astfel un conflict între Occidentul creştin şi
Islam, însă Manent atrage atenţia că acest conflict nu este unul între civilizaţii. În
concepţia lui Manent nu pot exista conflicte între civilizaţii, ci doar între corpurile
politice. Problema fundamentală a Islamului este că „nu şi-a găsit forma politică“2.
Religia musulmană a avut o formă de organizare politică ce i-a corespuns, Impe-
riul. Din moment ce din 1924 nu mai există Imperiul Otoman, ultima formă de Im-
periu a Islamului, acesta a devenit „un imperiu fără împărat“3 şi se află în căutarea
unei forme politice care să îl reprezinte. Manent afirma în Istoria intelectuală a libera-
lismului că Imperiul este forma politică cea mai apropiată de idealurile Bisericii.
Prin Raţiunea naţiunilor. Reflecţii asupra democraţiei în Europa Imperiul este asimilat
cu forma politică ce corespunde nu numai religiei creştine dar şi celei musulmane.
În Istoria intelectuală a liberalismului Manent vorbea despre impactul redus al
conceptului de naţiune în Europa după eşecul ideologiilor care puneau în centrul
lor acest concept, iar în O filozofie politică pentru cetăţean trata tema inadecvării legii
franceze a laicităţii la contextual actual. În Raţiunea naţiunilor. Reflecţii asupra demo-
craţiei în Europa cele două comentarii sunt însumate, astfel încât Manent afirmă că
din momentul în care înţelegerea conceptului de naţiune s-a schimbat, laicitatea ca
politică de stat nu îşi mai găseşte raţiunea. Cu alte cuvinte, „statul laic nu poate su-
pravieţui statului-naţiune“4. Dacă anterior Manent punea în discuţie doar dificultă-
ţile de integrare ale comunităţii musulmane într-un stat laic precum Franţa, de
această dată analiza sa se extinde – în premieră în cadrul operei lui Manent – şi
asupra religiei iudaice. Manent porneşte de la exemplul lui Marc Bloch care consi-
dera în 1941 că de fapt calitatea sa de evreu nu este un obstacol în calea identificării
sale cu naţiunea franceză; astăzi paradigma de raportare la sentimentul naţional
este schimbată, din moment ce crearea statului Israel a indus o nouă formă de ra-
portare a evreilor la stat şi naţiune5.
Manent abordează tangenţial în această carte şi problema originilor creştine
ale Europei care a generat în ultima vreme numeroase controverse politice. Pentru
Manent, a afirma că „Europa este creştină“ nu este acelaşi lucru cu a spune că „eu-
ropenii sunt creştini“; numai cea din urmă constatare nu are o corespondenţă în
realitate. Europa este creştină, iar această realitate poate fi înţeleasă şi acceptată şi
de către cei care nu aparţin religiei creştine6.
Raţiunea naţiunilor. Reflecţii asupra democraţiei în Europa mai instituie o premieră
în gândirea lui Manent, anume comentariul care vizează explicit Biserica Catolică.
Am văzut că în multe ocazii (însă nu în toate cazurile) prin „Biserică“ Manent de-
semnează Biserica Catolică. În ultima sa carte regăsim o referinţă explicită la adresa
Bisericii Catolice. Manent porneşte de la constatarea că noua doctrină a Bisericii
Catolice se declară împotriva aplicării pedepsei cu moartea de către state7. În tre-
cut, Biserica Catolică se pronunţa doar pentru respectarea comandamentului biblic
„să nu ucizi“, fără a contesta statului acest privilegiu. Această schimbare de abor-
dare este considerată de Manent drept un semn al faptului că Biserica Catolică în-
cearcă să erodeze, în alte forme decât în trecut, autoritatea statelor. Cu alte cuvinte,
1
Ibidem, p. 77.
2
Ibidem, p. 80.
3
Ibidem, p. 84.
4
Ibidem, p. 87.
5
Ibidem, p. 88 şi urm.
6
7
Ibidem, p. 38.

454 RADU CARP
„prin aceste noi învăţături, Biserica Romei nu face decât să continue, în condiţii
noi, lupta dintre sacerdoţiu şi Imperiu“1.
În concluzie, felul în care Manent abordează relaţia religie-politică poate fi re-
zumat în câteva teze cum ar fi:
– relaţia între Biserică şi diferitele forme de organizare politică din istoria Eu-
ropei: Cetate, Imperiu, monarhie;
– singurul concept relevant pentru organizarea politică este religia creştină,
datorită eşecului doctrinelor totalitare care au făcut inoperabile concepte precum
revoluţie sau naţiune şi indirect conceptul de istorie;
– secularizarea nu este un proces ireversibil în Europa;
– relaţia porunci-sfaturi, prezentă în gândirea politică clasică, traduce relaţia
religie-politică;
– trăim în „vârsta separărilor“; una dintre aceste separări este cea dintre Bise-
rică şi stat;
– separaţia Biserică-stat nu a fost rezolvată satisfăcător în Franţa; astfel se ex-
plică refuzul integrării în societate, practicat de musulmani;
– ne aflăm în plin proces de transformare a religiei; proiectul republican şi-a
pierdut sensul datorită transformării adversarului său – religia;
– consecinţa acestui proces de transformare a religiei este aceea că statul laic
nu poate supravieţui statului-naţiune;
– politica şi religia nu sunt complet separate;
– Islamul nu şi-a găsit forma politică adecvată, după dispariţia Imperiului ca
formă de organizare statală a musulmanilor;
– relaţia între religia iudaică, stat şi naţiune;
– chestiunea identităţii creştine a Europei;
– Biserica Catolică doreşte în prezent să erodeze autoritatea statului cu alte
mijloace decât în trecut.
Prin temele pe care le abordează pentru a scoate în evidenţă relaţia religie-po-

litică şi prin felul în care interpretează, de multe ori în corelaţie cu această relaţie,
temele clasice ale liberalismului pentru a le încadra în perspectiva modernităţii,
Pierre Manent se înscrie în descendenţa directă a unor autori precum Benjamin
Constant, François Guizot sau Edouard Laboulaye.
1
Ibidem, p. 40.

RECENSIONES 455
RECENSIONES

456 RECENSIONES

RECENSIONES 457
TEODOR PAVEL (coord.)

Opţiuni politice la popoarele central-est europene în secolul al XIX-lea.
Studii/Political Options of the Central-Eastern European Peoples
in the 19th Century. Studies
Editura Argonaut, seria „Documente. Istorie. Mărturii“,
Cluj-Napoca, 2006, 320 pp.
TEODOR PAVEL (coord.)

Gândire politic˙ şi imaginar social la popoarele central-est europene:
secolul al XIX-lea. Antologie de texte
Ediţie realizată de Teodor Pavel, Sorin Mitu, Miodrag Milin, Nagy Róbert,
Radu Mârza
Editura Argonaut, seria „Documente. Istorie. Mărturii“, Cluj-Napoca,
2005, 400 pp.
Scurtul „Cuvânt înainte“ al coordonato- descoperirea unor disonanţe cognitive, dincolo

rului, Teodor Pavel, rezumă un întreg pro- de trăsăturile şi experienţele comune (eventual
gram de cercetare care a dus la publicarea prin reconsiderarea principiului „nu putem
volumului Opţiuni politice la popoarele cen- compara decât ceea ce este comparabil“) .
tral-est europene în secolul al XIX-lea. Studii, Originalitatea volumului este dată, aşa-
rezultat al investigaţiilor interdiciplinare ale dar, mai puţin de obiectul său sau de decu-
unui grup internaţional de istorici, sociologi pajul temporal, cât de abordarea şi tematica
şi politologi, cercetători ai secolul al XIX-lea propuse. După cum scrie T. Pavel în acelaşi
în Europa Centrală şi de Est. Trei criterii par „Cuvânt înainte“, istoriografia mai mult sau
să justifice selecţia contribuţiilor şi permit mai puţin recentă a examinat coabitarea celor
definirea obiectului volumului, şi anume 10 popoare din cadrul Imperiului Habsburgic
popoarele central-est europene, precizează şi, ulterior, Austro-Ungar din perspectiva
T. Pavel: acelaşi cadru statal (habsburgic şi, negativă a confruntărilor şi divergenţelor
ulterior, austro-ungar); diversitatea etnică, naţionale şi naţionaliste, a contradicţiei in-
culturală, lingvistică şi religioasă a celor 10 tereselor, a tensiunilor inevitabile dintre
popoare ale imperiului; şi preponderenţa „centru“ şi „periferie“ şi a rivalităţilor poli-
unor guvernări centralizate şi conservatoare tico-militare externe. Fără să conteste rele-
în acest spaţiu, cu corolarele lor, modernita- vanţa acestor feţe negative ale coabitării,
tea întârziată şi dezvoltarea lentă a capitalis- contribuţiile din volum caută să pună în va-
mului (p. 7). Cele trei criterii propun, chiar loare latura sa pozitivă paşnică, în opinia
dacă indirect, şi o circumscriere relativ ac- coordonatorului, cu influenţe reciproce crea-
ceptată a ceea ce îndeobşte se numeşte Eu- toare, în spirit de toleranţă şi respect pentru
ropa Centrală şi de Est. diversitate şi alteritate (pp. 7-8).
Desigur, aceste trei criterii, deopotrivă Miza explicit europeană a volumului este
spaţiale şi temporale, de definire a zonei po- nu numai revalorificarea tradiţiei liberale şi
litico-geografice şi a celor 10 popoare ar me- paşnice a Europei Centrale şi de Est în contex-
rita să fie dezbătute mai pe larg. La fel de in- tul actual al Europei unite, ci şi „spulberarea
teresantă ar fi identificarea unor decupaje în unor clişee automăgulitoare din percepţia
interiorul acestei arii geografico-politice, de- multor istorici şi sociologi occidentali care
finită de cele trei criterii propuse de Teodor privesc adesea spaţiul central-răsăritean al
Pavel şi de contributori. Şi anume, formula- continentului ca pe o arie lipsită de tradiţiile
rea unor variabile deschise comparaţiei în constituţionalismului, liberalismului şi de-
această arie politică şi administrativă, prin- mocraţiei moderne“ (pp. 7-8). Contribuţiile
tr-o abordare contrastivă ce ar putea duce la pun în evidenţă o serie de idei, opţiuni şi

458 RECENSIONES
proiecte de factură liberală, constituţională Breier, un publicist modest, precizează Pavel,

şi democratică, părţi componente ale tradi- şi care nu se număra printre doctrinarii re-
ţiei comune şi pozitive din istoria popoare- prezentativi ai liberalismului clasic din Eu-
lor din zonă. După cum scrie coordonatorul, ropa vremii, a avut totuşi un succes foarte
autorii lor încearcă să renunţe la paradigmele mare, a fost difuzată şi citită şi a contribuit
şi stereotipurile vechii istoriografii „spre a re- astfel în mod semnificativ la familiarizarea
constitui şi explicita fragmente de gândire şi claselor de mijloc cu vocabularul, concep-
mentalitate ce ieşeau din tiparele imaginaru- tele, valorile şi normele de conduită liberale,
lui politic identitar şi ale discursului naţiona- până la începutul secolului al XX-lea, şi mai
list al secolului al XIX-lea“ (p. 8). Şi ceva mai puţin la influenţarea metodelor de guver-
departe: „Chiar dacă liberalismul în impe- nare de la Viena sau Budapesta (pp. 47-49).
riul Habsburgilor n-a excelat printr-o înde- Alţi contributori dezvoltă aspecte extrem
lungată practică a guvernării, nici prin afir- de relevante ale circulaţiei ideilor liberale şi
marea unor piscuri ale reflecţiei filosofice în constituţionale şi ale tradiţiei liberale la po-
jurul ideii de libertate, totuşi o tradiţie libe- poarele imperiului. Ian Reifowitz, în „An
rală în acest spaţiu nu poate fi contestată Alternative to Ethnic Nationalism: Austrian
pentru nici unul dintre popoarele zonei“. State Patriotism in the Writings of Joseph
Este o tradiţie ce combină, continuă Pavel, Samuel Bloch, 1882-1918“ („O alternativă la
în proporţii variabile, ideile iluministe şi ale naţionalismul etnic: patriotismul de stat
reformismului iozefin din anii 1815-1848, re- austriac în scrierile lui Joseph Samuel Bloch,
formismul nobiliar ulterior acestei perioade 1882-1918“), examinează viziunea unui pu-
şi ideile liberale ale burgheziei şi intelectua- blicist austriac evreu, Joseph Samuel Bloch,
lităţii, pe care le adecvează realităţilor soci- asupra identităţii austriece compusă în
ale şi naţionale într-o variantă aparte de li- egală măsură din elemente etno-culturale şi
beralism naţional (p. 43). civice. Ian Reifowitz defineşte construcţia
Motivate fiind de aceste consideraţii de- lui Bloch ca un răspuns la forţa centrifugă a
opotrivă metodologice şi axiologice, cele 12 naţionalismului etnic ce punea în pericol în-
contribuţii (redactate în română sau în en- treaga Monarhie, dar şi ca un produs al cir-
gleză) abordează teme variate. Contribuţia cumstanţelor specifice evreilor habsburgi,
coordonatorul volumului, T. Pavel, „Libera- antisemitismul ameninţând drepturile lor,
lism şi cultură politică în spaţiul central-eu- precum şi securitatea lor fizică (pp. 58-59).
ropean în secolul al XIX-lea: un «catehism Joseph Samuel Bloch participa astfel la efor-
constituţional pentru popor» din 1868“, ilus- tul mai larg al tuturor evreilor din secolul al
trează în modul cel mai clar circulaţia şi suc- XIX-lea din statele europene de a găsi o defi-
cesul unui anumit liberalism civic, cu încli- niţie a comunităţii naţionale care să îi includă
naţii radicale şi democratice (în opoziţie cu şi pe ei, iar Austria, prin eterogenitatea ei, ofe-
liberalismul moderat al aristocraţilor şi al rea multe posibilităţi în acest sens. Reifowitz
cercurilor înalt burgheze), prin examinarea subliniază că Bloch credea cu adevărat în
cărţii scriitorului şi publicistului Eduard Austria, a respins sionismul, dar şi statul na-
Breier, Konstitutioneller Katechismus für’s Volk, ţional ca formă ideală de guvernare, Austria
apărută la Viena în 1868, mult citită şi co- multietnică fiind singura sa opţiune (p. 91).
mentată în mediile populare din epocă. În termeni mai recenţi, loialitatea lui Bloch
Analiza amănunţită a catehismului pune în faţă de Austria se centra pe un patriotism
evidenţă pledoaria lui Breier pentru con- constituţional (în termenii lui Bloch, „patrio-
stituţionalism, separaţia puterilor, suverani- tismul de stat austriac“) (p. 59).
tatea poporului, limitarea prerogativelor Christopher Blackburn, în „Poland and
monarhului, drepturile şi libertăţile funda- France: Enlightened Constitutionaism in
mentale, federalism în cadrul imperiului etc. the Dutchy of Warsaw“ („Polonia şi Franţa:
După cum scrie T. Pavel, viziunea contrac- «constituţionalism luminat» în Ducatul
tualistă a lui Eduard Breier încorporează Varşoviei“), arată felul în care scurtul expe-
elemente ale spiritului luminist-raţionalist, riment constituţional liberal al Ducatului
ale teoriei dreptului natural german şi ale Varşoviei (1807-1815), hrănit iniţial de atitu-
doctrinei revoluţionare americane şi fran- dinea pro-poloneză a lui Napoleon şi de
ceze (p. 19). Scierea de popularizare a lui ideile lui Jean-Jacques Rousseau, s-a lovit de

RECENSIONES 459
considerentele pragmatice ale nobililor polo- nistă iozefină şi în prelungirea efortului de

nezi care s-au împotrivit abolirii privilegiilor control, de raţionalizare şi de uniformizare
feudale. Miodrag Milin, în „Între unitarism şi promovat de Viena încă de la începutul se-
federalizare. Dileme sârbeşti din veacul al colului al XVIII-lea (p. 239). Centralismul bi-
XIX-lea“, Ioan Semeniuc, în „Ideea libertăţii rocratic promovat în acest fel a dislocat defi-
naţionale şi statale în cultura ucraineană în a nitiv sistemul feudal al privilegiilor şi, în ge-
doua jumătate a sec. al XIX-lea“, şi Rok neral, structurile vechiului regim în Transil-
Stergar, în „A Slovene Programme from 1869: vania, explică Balogh, creându-se astfel pre-
Its Authors and Inception“ („Un Program slo- misele necesare pentru dezvoltarea unui
ven din 1869: autorii şi crearea lui“), exami- nou tip de structuri sociale şi de practici
nează proiecte de construcţie naţională şi sta- economice – spre deosebire de regiunile ves-
tală la sârbi, croaţi, ucraineni şi sloveni, în tice ale imperiului unde avansul noilor
baza principiilor de suveranitate naţională şi a structuri era deja la 1850 o realitate în desfă-
dreptului la autodeterminare naţională. şurare şi unde reformele fiscale liberale nu
Câteva contribuţii examinează rolul au făcut decât să le consfinţească (p. 240).
unor instituţii-cheie în definirea agendelor Nagy Róbert trece în revistă diferitele
naţionale în cadrul monarhiei: Alexandru orientări ale familiei liberale maghiare (în-
Simon, „Biserica şi Şcoala în «ariile germane» trupată sociologic în nobilime) din secolul al
ale Imperiului Habsburgic (1848-1918). Re- XIX-lea şi subliniază principala sa dificul-
pere identitare şi formule structurale“; Ha- tate: liberalii maghiari au trebuit să îşi for-
lena Miculaiciuc, „Rolul Asociaţiei Ştiinţi- muleze calea doctrinară şi politică prin sin-
fice «Şevcenko» din Lviv în dezvoltarea na- teza între tendinţele de adaptare la condiţi-
ţional-culturală a Ucrainei“; Valer Rus, ile din imperiu şi aderarea la normele bur-
„Presa – vector de imagine a românilor în gheze europene (p. 246). Conservatorismul
cultura maghiară. Cazul periodicelor clujene nobililor maghiari s-a schimbat în mod deci-
între 1860-1865“; Florin Ştefan, „Spirit critic siv odată cu apariţia partidei ce a avut drept
şi «democraţie» în gândirea socială şi poli- slogan „Patrie şi modernizare“, ce a putut să
tică românească (1840-1890)“. se manifeste din plin în anii 1848-1849. Eri-
Două contribuţii bine documentate, „Po- jându-se în promotoarea modernizării şi a
litica fiscală a Vienei în Transilvania la mij- reformelor, nobilimea maghiară lupta de
locul secolului al XIX-lea: între centralism fapt pentru propria ei supravieţuire ca grup
birocratic şi modernizare regională“ de Iosif social de frunte în societate şi pentru păstra-
Marin Balogh şi „Liberalism şi modernizare rea prestigiului său şi a poziţiilor sale în po-
economică la maghiari în secolul al XIX-lea“ litică şi în administraţie, subliniază Nagy.
de Nagy Róbert, pun în evidenţă consecinţele Figuri marcante ale acestui grup de promo-
instituţionale şi politice ale unor reforme eco- tori ai politicilor economice liberale au fost
nomice de sorginte liberală, în cadrul mai Szécsenyi István, influenţat de modelul en-
larg al modernizării în Transilvania şi în zona glez, dar şi Kossuth Lajos. Scopul acestor
maghiară a imperiului. Bazându-se pe nume- economişti şi oameni politici liberali maghi-
roase şi variate surse şi documente primare, ari a fost transformarea agriculturii arhaice a
I.M. Balogh analizează consecinţele econo- Ungariei într-o agricultură capitalistă, secon-
mice şi sociale în Transilvania ale patentei dată de industrie. Perioada neoabsolutistă
urbariale din 1854 şi ale reorganizării pro- (postrevoluţionară) a însemnat reculul libera-
vinciei din punctul de vedere fiscal (în spe- lismului maghiar, arată Nagy, Viena prelu-
cial consecinţele impozitării tuturor catego- ând procesul de modernizare sub conduce-
riilor de proprietate) în perioada denumită rea unei birocraţii de sorginte austro-cehă.
de istorici drept deceniul neoabsolutist În aceste condiţii, vechea clasă politică a li-
(1849-1860). Balogh arată felul în care, înce- beralilor nobili maghiari şi-a salvat doar po-
pând cu 1850, în contextul promovării libe- ziţiile politice şi sociale, puterea economică a
ralismului economic de către un regim auto- ajuns în mâinile unei clase politice noi, bur-
ritar şi conservator, reformele fiscale au dus ghezia de provenienţă străină, iar statul s-a
la creşterea şi la modernizarea administra- implicat masiv în economie (pp. 253-261).
ţiei şi a birocraţiei în Transilvania, printr-un Concluzia lui Nagy este că politica econo-
proces „de sus“, după vechea tradiţie ilumi- mică de după 1867, cu toate contradicţiile şi

460 RECENSIONES
anacronismele sale, nu mai poate fi numită astfel de texte, şi o justifică prin criteriul re-
liberală, ci liberal-conservatoare, cu tendinţe levanţei documentului pentru starea de spi-
intervenţioniste, însă ea a reuşit să ridice o rit şi pentru stadiul reflecţiei politice la po-
ţară agrară la un nivel economic capitalist, poarele zonei, în dinamica singulară şi a in-
cu o agricultură integrată sistemului capita- terferenţelor culturale.
list şi cu o industrie în plină dezvoltare. Similitudinile, influenţele reciproce şi
particularităţile ariei central-est europene se
Se poate spune că volumul Gândire poli- regăsesc în varietatea textelor-surse incluse
tică şi imaginar social la popoarele central-est în volum: articole de gazetă, articole progra-
europene: secolul al XIX-lea. Antologie de texte matice şi broşuri, discursuri şi programe po-
pregăteşte Opţiuni politice la popoarele cen- litice, declaraţii şi petiţii, proiecte de consti-
tral-est europene în secolul al XIX-lea. Studii şi tuţii şi rezoluţii – cu indicarea exactă a pro-
îl devansează cu un an. Însă antologia de venienţei textelor sau a fragmentelor de text
texte este totodată şi un instrument ce com- şi a traducătorului din limba originală. An-
pletează volumul de contribuţii Opţiuni poli- tologia include şi o serie de note explicative
tice.... În nota asupra ediţiei, coordonatorul, ale editorului fiecărei secţiuni, pentru fie-
acelaşi T. Pavel, subliniază că antologia care text în parte. Gruparea textelor a fost
oferă pentru prima dată cititorului român o făcută pe popoare şi, în cadrul secţiunii de-
selecţie de texte reprezentative pentru gân- dicate unui popor, în ordine cronologică şi
direa politică şi imaginarul social din seco- pe curente de idei. Secţiunea dedicată Aus-
lul al XIX-lea în spaţiul Europei Centrale şi triei este semnată de T. Pavel şi este divizată
de Est. Selecţia textelor din antologie se re- în patru subsecţiuni (Liberalism şi Constitu-
vendică de la aceeaşi perspectivă care a gru- ţie; Social-democraţia austriacă; Naţionalis-
pat contribuţiile din volumul Opţiuni poli- mul german austriac; Mişcarea social-creş-
tice...: prezenţa unei certe tradiţii istorice de tină din Austria). Textele din secţiunea „Ce-
factură democratică la popoarele zonei în hii şi slovacii“ au fost selecţionate şi expli-
ceea ce priveşte opţiunile şi proiectele lor cate de R. Mârza; textele din secţiunea „Ma-
sociale şi politice, scrie T. Pavel. Autorii edi- ghiarii“ de Nagy Róbert; textele din secţiu-
ţiei, Teodor Pavel, Sorin Mitu, Miodrag nea „Polonezii“ de S. Mitu (divizate în patru
Milin, Nagy Róbert şi Radu Mârza, au optat subsecţiuni: Insurgenţi şi imigranţi; Bazele
în selecţia lor pentru punerea în valoare a istoriste ale naţionalismului polonez; Criti-
abordărilor pragmatice şi a analizelor apli- cism social; Naţionalism şi liberalism); tex-
cate realităţilor concret istorice, proprii fiecă- tele din secţiunea „Românii“ de T. Pavel;
rui popor din zonă, din perspectiva marilor textele din secţiunea „Sârbii şi croaţii“ de
curente de idei, liberalismul, naţionalismul, M. Milin; textele din secţiunea „Ucrainenii“
social-democraţia şi creştin-democraţia. Au- de I. Semeniuc.
torii ediţiei îşi asumă subiectivitatea selec-
ţiei, dată fiind cantitatea impresionantă de SILVIA MARTON
PIPPA NORRIS, RONALD INGLEHART

Sacred and Secular: Religion and Politics Worldwide
Cambridge University Press, New York, 2004, 348 pp.
Importanţa religiei pentru lumea în care lumea continuă să fie religioasă, în unele
trăim a fost întotdeauna subestimată, aceasta părţi mai mult decât în altele. Asta înseamnă
ar putea fi esenţa discuţiilor din ultimii ani că marii gânditori ai secolelor XIX şi XX s-au
despre relaţia dintre politică şi religie. Dacă înşelat în totalitate? Putem respinge ipoteza
moartea credinţei era emfatic anunţată de secularizării treptate pe care aceştia o susţi-
sociologii secolului XIX, de la Comte şi neau? Studiul întreprins de cei doi autori
Durkheim la Marx şi Weber, secolul XX pă- păstrează dezbaterea deschisă şi face un
rea că le dă dreptate. Constatăm însă azi că efort major de a depăşi studiile protestante

RECENSIONES 461
şi catolice pentru a oferi o imagine globală a la o scădere bruscă a fertilităţii, ceea ce pla-
vitalităţii religioase în catedrale, biserici, sează societăţile la un nivel negativ al spo-
moschei, sinagogi şi temple. Desigur, stu- rului natural, spre deosebire de societăţile
diul este un şi prilej pentru continuarea unei mai tradiţionale ce se bucură de sporuri natu-
dezbateri încă nestructurate despre seculari- rale pozitive. În consecinţă, există azi două
zarea din România şi efectele sale sociale, teorii rivale privind secularizarea. Sporirea
relaţia ambiguă dintre stat şi Biserică, func- cunoaşterii raţionale se află într-un joc de
ţia politică a preoţilor şi a moralei creştine în sumă zero cu religia, religia fiind cea care va
instituţii publice, precum şcolile. pierde treptat confruntarea prin erodarea
Studiul de faţă utilizează datele colectate fundamentelor sale metafizice, iraţionale. În
în cele patru valuri ale cunoscutei anchete la consecinţă, liderii religioşi vor dispărea odată
nivel global World Values Survey, anchetă pe cu puterea credinţei. A doua teorie ia în cal-
care autorii au valorificat-o şi înalte ocazii1. cul şi funcţiile acestor lideri, anume efortul
Avantajele World Values Survey ţin de perio- lor energic de a menţine congregaţiile, pe
dicitatea sa şi de acoperirea geografică pe principiul că dacă vei construi o biserică oa-
care o realizează: aproape optzeci de naţiuni menii se vor aduna la slujbă. Demonstraţia
supuse cercetării şi toate credinţele majore de autorilor indică că prima teorie este mult mai
pe glob incluse în studiu. Astfel, WVS face un plauzibilă, în ciuda unor date contradictorii.
pas important înainte în compararea proble- Lumea noastră, spun raţionaliştii, a sufe-
melor legate de religie, depăşind şi comple- rit schimbări majore care se datorează avan-
tând studiile regionale, aproape exclusiv oc- sului ştiinţei. Dincolo de tot confortul zilnic
cidentale, precum Eurobarometrul. furnizat de diverse aparate şi sisteme teh-
Întreaga cercetare are în centru definirea, nice, de capitalismul bazat pe inovaţie teh-
măsurarea şi compararea la nivel global a se- nologică, progresul biologiei, chimiei, fizicii
cularizării. Imediat ce tendinţele, asemănările şi matematicii fac să pălească misterul lumii.
şi diferenţele au fost evidenţiate, autorii pro- Forţele supranaturale, misterioase, magice şi
divine dispar la lumina raţiunii. Controlul
cedează la o analiză mai fină a diferitelor con-
naturii de către omul raţional a făcut din
texte sociale: Europa occidentală şi America
credinţă un lucru inutil şi ridicol. În conti-
de Nord, societăţile postcomuniste, lumea is- nuarea lui Durkheim2, funcţionaliştii au in-
lamică. După o scurtă trecere în revistă a ca- sistat asupra funcţiilor jucate de ritualurile
pitolelor cărţii, vom reveni asupra dezbate- religioase în menţinerea coeziunii sociale.
rii româneşti privind secularizarea. Odată ce statul bunăstării a preluat funcţiile
Problema secularizării nu este încă defi- sociale ale Bisericii, cele de educaţie şi de
nitiv închisă. În ciuda pretenţiilor iluminişti- asistenţă socială, practica religioasă s-a pră-
lor şi pozitiviştilor, raţionalizarea crescândă buşit în lipsa unei funcţii adecvate, pierde-
a lumii nu a dus la dispariţie sentimentelor rea utilităţii Bisericii adăugându-se pierderii
religioase. Chiar dacă societăţile occidentale treptate a credinţei. Cele două teorii ale se-
au traversat o perioadă de profundă secula- cularizării sunt azi puternic combătute, dar
rizare, lumea de azi, în ansamblu, este mai nici o altă teorie nu a câştigat suficientă sus-
puternic dominată de valori tradiţionale şi ţinere pentru a le înlocui. Teoria competiţiei
religioase. Cum remarcă autorii, aceasta dintre confesiunile religioase, care face un
pare să fie o contradicţie doar la o primă ve- efort de contestare a teoriei secularizării,
dere. Pentru că secularizarea conduce direct compară afirmarea religiei prin activitatea
susţinută a Bisericilor cu competiţia firmelor
în atragerea clienţilor. Propoziţia de bază a
1
Ronald INGLEHART, Modernization and teoriei este că concurenţa acerbă dintre con-
Postmodernization. Cultural, Economic and Poli- fesiuni ajută la întărirea practicilor reli-
tical Change in 43 Societies, Princeton University gioase3. Fără să mai ţină seama de partea de
Press, Princeton, 1997; Pippa NORRIS, Demo-
cratic Phoenix. Political Activism Worldwide,
2
Cambridge University Press, New York, 2002; Émile DURKHEIM, Formele elementare ale
Ronald INGLEHART, Pippa NORRIS, Rising vieţii religioase, trad. M. Jeanrenaud şi S. Lupescu,
Tide. Gender Equality and Cultural Change Around Polirom, Iaşi, 1995.
3
the World, Cambridge University Press, New Roger FINKE, Rodney STARK, Acts of
York, 2003. Faith. Explaining the Human Side of Religion,

462 RECENSIONES
cerere, teoria competiţiei Bisericilor se axează insolvabile. Mai mult, aceştia trăiesc în ţări
pe oferta religioasă în creştere. Exemplul lor cu sisteme politice dominate de corupţie,
preferat constă în vitalitatea excepţională a ineficienţă şi instabilitate. Ei sunt astfel mai
credinţei şi practicii religioase în SUA, unde expuşi efectelor invaziilor străine, loviturilor
pluralismul dezvoltat şi competiţia strânsă de stat şi chiar dizolvării statului. Industriali-
dintre comunităţile religioase ar produce zarea şi dezvoltarea umană rezolvă mare
efecte distincte de restul lumii occidentale. parte din aceste neajunsuri. Chiar şi aşa,
Din contră, comunităţile ce se bucură de do- există încă arii de sărăcie în cadrul naţiunilor
minaţia unei singure confesiuni, eventual pu- în curs de dezvoltare, ce supravieţuiesc ală-
ternic sprijinite prin subsidii publice, nu pro- turi de o burghezie tot mai prosperă. Autorii
duc decât o preoţime plictisită, suficientă şi consideră că dezvoltarea umană şi egalitatea
ineficientă, la fel cum produc ineficienţă in- economică sunt cauze ale securităţii, dar re-
dustriile controlate de stat, cartelurile de afa-
laţia este una probabilistică, nu una determi-
ceri şi monopolurile. Acesta ar fi cazul ţărilor
nistă. Oamenii tind, e adevărat, să resimtă o
din nordul Europei, dominate de o „religie
mai mare siguranţă în procesul de moderni-
socializată“, în termenii lui Finke şi Stark.
Ipoteza autorilor a primit unele confirmări4, zare. Relaţia nu este deterministă pentru că
dar există încă numeroase date factuale care sentimente de insecuritate pot fi generate de
o contrazic, precum consistenţa credinţei şi factori imprevizibili, precum atacurile tero-
practicii religioase din Europa de Sud în con- riste din SUA sau criza economică profundă
diţiile monopolului catolic evident. din Argentina din 2001.
Ipoteza propusă de Inglehart şi Norris În al doilea rând, tradiţiile religioase au
pentru a explica variaţiile în declinul credin- modelat culturile aşa cum le vedem noi as-
ţei religioase în lume se bazează pe două tăzi, aceste valori fiind încă transmise cetăţe-
axiome: cea a siguranţei şi cea a tradiţiilor nilor, indiferent dacă frecventează sa nu bi-
religioase. În primul rând, diferenţele dintre serica, moscheea sau templul. Exemplul au-
ţările bogate şi sărace ale lumii sunt exprimate torilor este Suedia: chiar dacă mai puţin de
de niveluri diferite de dezvoltare umană şi 5% dintre suedezi merg la biserică, ei rămân
inegalitate socio-economică, dar şi în condi- impregnaţi de un sistem de valori protes-
ţiile de bază ale vieţii, siguranţă şi expunere tant, comun cetăţenilor altor naţiuni pro-
la risc. Ideea de securitate umană (human testante, precum Norvegia, Danemarca, Fin-
security) poate fi exprimată simplu, spun au- landa, Germania sau Ţările de Jos. Astăzi va-
torii, prin libertatea individului faţă de dife- lorile nu mai sunt transmise de către Biserică,
rite pericole şi riscuri, de la degradarea me- ci de către sistemul educaţional şi mass-me-
diului înconjurător până la dezastre provo- dia. Acest lucru este sesizabil în opoziţia
cate de oameni (alunecări de teren, inunda- dintre diferenţele existente între protestanţii
ţii, cutremure, secetă, până la epidemii, vio- din ţările nord-europene şi catolicii din cele
larea drepturilor omului, crize umanitare şi sud-europene şi asemănările dintre protes-
sărăcie). Cetăţenii ţărilor sărace sunt mult tanţii şi catolicii din Ţările de Jos, ultimii fi-
mai expuşi unor astfel de riscuri, fiind une- ind mai asemănători protestanţilor din ţara
ori lipsiţi de mijloacele elementare ale unei lor decât catolicilor din Franţa, Spania sau
vieţi decente, apă necontaminată şi ali- Italia. Chiar şi în societăţi secularizate, cred
mente, acces la servicii sanitare şi educaţie. autorii, tradiţiile îşi spun încă cuvântul în
De cele mai multe ori ei suferă din cauza probleme precum etica muncii, liberalizarea
efectelor poluării, dar şi din cauza inegalită- sexuală şi democraţia.
ţii între sexe şi a numeroase conflicte etnice Ipotezele care derivă din cele două axi-
ome ar putea fi astfel formulate. Experienţa
socializării în contexte de insecuritate ridi-
The University of California Press, Berkeley, cată duce la creşterea importanţei valorilor
2000; IDEM, The Churching of America. Winners religioase. Tradiţiile culturale dominante în
and Loosers in our Religious Economy, Rutgers
orice societate tind să se imprime în credin-
University Press, New Brunswick, New
Jersey, 1992.
ţele morale şi atitudinile sociale ale cetăţeni-
4
Alasdair CROCKETT, „Rural-Urban Church- lor actuali. Declinul importanţei valorilor
going in Victorian England“, Rural History, religioase în societăţile postindustriale duce
vol. 16, no. 1, 2005, pp. 53-82. la erodarea practicilor religioase, precum

RECENSIONES 463
participarea la slujbe sau practicarea regu- miei sunt semnificative. Societăţile agrare sunt
lată a meditaţiei şi rugăciunii. În acelaşi mai religioase decât cele industriale, care sunt
timp, participarea religioasă regulată duce însă mai religiose decât cele postindustriale,
la o creştere a activismului politic şi social, indiferent de măsura religiozităţii folosite.
precum şi la un sprijin important pentru Participarea religioasă este dublă în naţiu-
partidele religioase. O consecinţă este evolu- nile sărace ale lumii în comparaţie cu cele
ţia demografică: în timp ce în ţările bogate bogate. Diferenţele sunt şi mai mari când se
sporul natural devine negativ, ţările sărace ia în calcul importanţa religiei: două treimi
rămân mai religioase şi îşi păstrează ratele consideră religia foarte importantă în econo-
de fertilitate. Asta pentru că cele două tipuri miile agrare, faţă de doar o treime în cele in-
de cultură sunt diferite. Importanţa indivi- dustriale şi doar o cincime în cele postindus-
dului şi investiţiile în acesta sunt mai mari triale! Datele sondajului World Values Survey
în ţările bogate, devenite societăţi ale cu- nu sunt deloc singulare. Cercetarea Pew
noaşterii cu niveluri ridicate ale tehnologiei, Global Attitudes Project din 2002 demon-
speranţei de viaţă şi educaţiei. Rata fertilită- strează că importanţa personală a religiei
ţii este mai mare în ţările sărace, unde per- este mai mare în naţiunile sărace, lucru con-
spectiva morţii copiilor, din cauze diverse, firmat şi de Gallup International Millenium
este o tragedie dar nu o catastrofă. Compa- Survey5. Deşi analiza confirmă tendinţa so-
raţia ratelor de creştere a populaţiei din cele cietăţilor sărace de a fi mai religioase, există
două tipuri de societăţi ar putea explica de şi excepţii, printre societăţile cele mai reli-
ce numărul mondial al credincioşilor creşte gioase precum Nigeria, Uganda, Tanzania,
puternic, în ciuda secularizării progresive Zimbabwe, Indonezia, Filipine sau Bangladeş
din ţările industrializate. În fine, pluralismul aflându-se şi Salvador, Mexic şi Polonia, ţări
religios şi competiţia dintre confesiuni sunt net mai dezvoltate. Dar cea mai mare excep-
mai puţin importante pentru participarea ţie o constituie SUA. Spre deosebire de soci-
religioasă decât experienţele individuale le- etăţile agrare, unele dintre cele mai sărace
gate de contextul de securitate. din lume, societăţile postindustriale se do-
Teoria secularizării dezvoltată de cei doi vedesc cel mai puţin religioase. Danemarca,
autori cuprinde două stadii esenţiale: tranziţia Islanda, Finlanda, Norvegia şi Suedia se află
de la societatea agrară la cea industrială şi în această categorie, alături de Japonia.
tranziţia de la cea industrială la cea postin- Relaţia dintre dezvoltarea umană şi se-
dustrială. Transformările credinţei religioase cularizare este pusă în evidenţă folosind di-
nu pot fi rupte de transformările economice, verşi indicatori, de la venit, alfabetizare,
politice şi culturale. În mare, ceea ce con- educaţie, speranţă de viaţă, până la indica-
tează este reducerea sentimentului insecuri- tori specifici ai dezvoltării economice, rata
tăţii, iar factorul cel mai important este dez- urbanizării şi egalitatea distribuţiei venituri-
voltarea umană, mai mult chiar decât sim- lor într-o societate. Relaţiile dintre indicatori
pla dezvoltare economică. Nu contează doar şi incidenţa practicilor religioase sunt toate
nivelul general de dezvoltare al unei ţări, ci semnificative şi relativ puternice. Asta în-
accesul echitabil al unor largi categorii soci- seamnă că nu trebuie să ştim prea multe
ale la alfabetizare şi educaţie, îngrijire medi- despre situaţia specifică a unei ţări, anume
cală de bază, alimentaţie suficientă şi apro- despre activitatea diverselor confesiuni şi
vizionare cu apă potabilă. În ciuda acestui organizaţii religioase. Contrar aşteptărilor
factor general, factori specifici pot influenţa generate de teoria competiţiei confesiunilor
traiectoriile modernizării unei ţări date: religioase, simpla informaţie privitoare la
dezastre naturale sau provocate de activita- nivelul de dezvoltare al unei ţări, la caracte-
tea umană, credinţele specifice unei religii risticile care o fac să fie o societate dominată
ce impregnează puternic cultura locală. de vulnerabilitate, este suficientă pentru a
Pentru a evidenţia tendinţa globală a re- prezice popularitatea şi intensitatea credin-
ligiozităţii, autorii măsoară atât frecvenţa ţei religioase într-o societate dată.
participării la slujbele religioase, cât şi ten- În afară de analiza transversală ce de-
dinţa indivizilor de a se ruga şi de a medita monstrează că societăţile agrare tind să fie
în afara serviciului religios. Diferenţele aş-
teptate între state în funcţie de tipul econo- 5
V., www.gallup-international.com.

464 RECENSIONES
mai religioase decât cele industriale şi postin- celelalte. Ruptura nu se datorează faptului
dustriale, autorii realizează şi o analiză longi- că societăţile agrare ar deveni tot mai reli-
tudinală pentru a scoate în evidenţă tendin- gioase, ci faptului că cele industriale şi
ţele secularizării. Datele Eurobarometrului postindustriale devin tot mai seculare.
indică o scădere constantă a religiozităţii în Din perspectiva secularizării progresive a
toate ţările Uniunii, mai puţin Italia. Ţările societăţii occidentale, cum putem interpreta
predominant catolice au suferit cele mai oare reîntoarcerea la religie în Europa post-
mari scăderi ale religiozităţii, mai ales Bel- comunistă după decenii de ateism oficial?
gia, Luxemburg şi Spania, dar aceste ţări Desigur, amintesc autorii, nu avem date fia-
porneau în anii ’70 cu cele mai ridicate rate bile pentru practica religioasă anterioară că-
europene. O explicaţie pentru acest declin derii comunismului, dar putem folosi datele
mai târziu al religiozităţii în sudul Europei, de după 1989 plecând de la ideea că sociali-
predominant catolic, faţă de nordul conti- zarea joacă un rol în internalizarea şi conso-
nentului, predominant protestant, este fur- lidarea valorilor. Ceea ce remarcăm repede
nizată de Emmanuel Todd6. Una din condi- din comparaţia religiozităţii este o poziţie
ţiile pierderii credinţei este creşterea alfabe- dominantă a României în clasamentul din
tizării de masă, fenomen mult întârziat în regiune, faţă de ţări mult mai seculare, pre-
sudul faţă de nordul continentului. În ţările cum Estonia şi Rusia. De unde provine
protestante nu se constată o scădere impor- această diferenţă între două ţări care au fă-
tantă a religiozităţii, dar poate fi cazul unui cut fiecare parte din blocul socialist? Teoriile
„efect de platou“, o stagnare a fenomenului clasice se contrazic, teoria „cererii de religie“
la valori oricum foarte scăzute. Participarea (demand-side) opunându-se celei a „ofertei de
nu creşte decât în trei cazuri, anume SUA, religie“ (supply-side market). Prima teorie in-
Italia şi Africa de Sud. Dar tendinţa generală sistă asupra modernizării comuniste, asupra
este una de scădere a participării în societă- funcţiilor pe care statul şi le-a asumat în do-
ţile postindustriale. La nivel individual însă, meniul asistenţei sociale, al pieţei muncii,
chiar şi în aceste societăţi, există diferenţe educaţiei şi sănătăţii. Trecerea la o tranziţie
între generaţii. Cele care au copilărit între economică de succes ar fi continuat efectul
cele două războaie mondiale au cunoscut modernizării socialiste în Polonia, Ungaria
nesiguranţa inflaţiei, a penuriei alimentare, şi Cehia, anume o tendinţă marcată de secu-
a războiului. Din contră, generaţiile de după larizare. Din contră, religiozitatea ar trebui
cel de-al Doilea Război Mondial au cunoscut să fie mare şi nediferenţiată în funcţie de
o epocă de pace, stabilitate socială şi mai vârstă în societăţile încă agrare şi sărace,
ales de prosperitate materială nemaiîntâl- precum Republica Moldova, Albania, Azer-
nită. Fără cercetări panel este greu de spus baidjan. Cea de-a doua teorie insistă asupra
dacă diferenţele sunt efecte generaţionale rolului organizaţiilor religioase ce au renăs-
sau efecte ale ciclurilor de viaţă, dar autorii cut după căderea comunismului. Odată re-
înclină mai curând către cele dintâi. Mai cu presiunea comunistă a religiei suprimată, o
seamă în societăţile postindustriale, se ob- relaţie nouă s-a stabilit între stat şi Biserică.
servă o scădere pronunţată a religiozităţii de Însă nu doar Biserica privilegiată, ci o multi-
la generaţiile în vârstă la cele mai tinere. tudine de culte au început o activitate febrilă
Scăderea este mai puţin pronunţată în socie- de atragere a credincioşilor. Aşteptarea este
tăţile industriale şi aproape imperceptibilă ca relaţia dintre vârstă şi religie să fie aici mai
în cele agrare, ceea ce confirmă caracterul curând o curbă de forma literei U, cei mai în
generaţional al scăderii religiozităţii. Oame- vârstă şi cei mai tineri fiind mai religioşi. Di-
nii nu devin mai credincioşi odată cu vârsta, verşi alţi factori sunt implicaţi în fenomenele
dovadă că în societăţile industriale tinerii religioase din regiune, ceea ce face tabloul şi
sunt la fel de religioşi ca şi cei mai în vârstă. mai disparat: venitul pe cap de locuitor, per-
Regrupând aceste modele, autorii constată o formanţa economică şi politică generală, res-
ruptură în importanţa religiei şi a practicilor pectarea drepturilor omului şi funcţionarea
religioase între societăţile postindustriale şi democraţiei, dar şi relaţiile istorice dintre stat
şi Biserică, rolul de opoziţie al Bisericii împo-
6
Emmanuel TODD, Inventarea Europei, triva totalitarismului, proporţia diferitelor
trad. B. Stanciu, Amarcord, Timişoara, 2002. confesiuni religioase în fiecare societate.

RECENSIONES 465
Testarea relaţiei dintre religiozitate şi România şi Albania, pe de altă parte. Teoria

vârstă în regiune duce la rezultate oarecum securităţii sociale apare astfel ca cea mai
surprinzătoare. Folosind un eşantion comun bine adaptată la datele colectate. Cehia şi
pentru toate ţările postcomuniste, autorii Estonia sunt caracterizate, în acelaşi timp, şi
constată că modelul liniar se încadrează mai de cea mai mare libertate faţă de constrân-
bine datelor decât cel curviliniar, cei mai în gerile statului şi de cel mai mare pluralism
vârstă fiind mai religioşi decât cei mai tineri, religios. Acesta nu poate fi un accident, cred
indiferent de măsura adoptată pentru esti- autorii. Pentru că dezvoltarea umană con-
marea religiozităţii (participare la slujbe, im- duce la răspândirea valorilor seculare, la în-
portanţa valorilor religioase, frecvenţa rugă- tărirea libertăţii religioase, la toleranţă soci-
ciunii). Panta dreptei de regresie care indică ală şi democraţie. Nu doar că religia devine
scăderea religiozităţii este mai lină pentru un aspect mai puţin important, dar liberta-
societăţile în care generaţiile în vârstă sunt tea de cult devine parte a drepturilor omu-
mai laice, faţă de cele în care cei mai în vâr- lui şi a liberalismului. Din contră, în societă-
stă sunt mai religioşi. Diferenţele dintre ge- ţile mai puţin dezvoltate religia rămâne o
neraţii sunt mai evidente în România, Repu- valoare dominantă, în timp ce state autori-
blica Moldova şi Ungaria, decât în Germa- tare limitează libertăţile religioase la fel cum
nia de Est, Lituania şi Estonia. Relaţia liniară limitează drepturile omului în alte sfere.
dintre religiozitate şi vârstă rămâne semnifi- Această perspectivă comparată este, cred,
cativă şi atunci când este controlată cu vari- insuficientă pentru a înţelege resorturile re-
abile importante pentru acest fenomen, pre- ligiozităţii din România. Dincolo de obser-
cum nivelul de dezvoltare economică al ţării vaţia comună că tot mai mulţi tineri frecven-
respective, sex, educaţie, venit şi aparte- tează bisericile, nu avem cercetări sistema-
nenţa la o religie anume, ceea ce întăreşte tice cu privire la fenomenul religios. Vorbim
concluziile autorilor. zilnic de societatea civilă şi de valorile pe
De unde provine însă diferenţa de religi- care le promovează. Studiem cu asiduitate
ozitate dintre diferitele societăţi din regi- organizaţiile secundare în căutarea efectelor
une? Să fie vorba de diferenţele de dezvol- pe care participarea voluntară le-ar putea
tare sau de gradul de pluralism şi competi- avea asupra membrilor, dar ne preocupăm
ţie religioasă specific fiecărei ţări? Ceea ce ar prea puţin de cea mai mare asociaţie volun-
putea conta ar fi, deci, gradul de pluralism tară care este Biserica. Nu ştim prea bine
religios, dar şi alţi factori: libertatea religiei care sunt valorile pe care aceasta le transmite
garantată de stat, indispensabilă competiţiei participanţilor şi nici efectele participării în
dintre confesiuni; dezvoltarea umană, mă- această organizaţie secundară asupra mem-
surată prin indexul Human Development al brilor în interacţiunile interioare şi exterioare
PNUD. Rezultatele regresiilor sunt din nou grupului. Care sunt legăturile dintre întări-
surprinzătoare: relaţia dintre gradul de li- rea credinţei, răspândirea practicii religioase
bertate religioasă şi nivelul religiozităţii este şi toleranţa socială şi democraţia din Româ-
unul negativ; pluralismul religios este legat nia? Nu cred că relaţia este lipsită de impor-
de practica religioasă mai puţin frecventă, tanţă. În noul efort de modernizare pe care
contrar aşteptărilor teoriei „ofertei religioase“! îl parcurgem după 1989 există efecte care al-
În concluzie, societăţile postcomuniste mai terează atât raporturile instituţionale, cât şi
eterogene religios se dovedesc mai seculare valorile sociale. Polemica legată de implica-
decât cele mai omogene. Indicatorii securită- rea preoţilor în politică, polemicile referi-
ţii sociale sunt însă negativ legaţi de nivelul toare la retrocedările în favoarea Bisericilor
de dezvoltare umană. „Câştigătorii“ tranzi- istorice ardelene, amplasarea noii catedrale
ţiei, cetăţenii ţărilor care au parcurs o tranzi- ortodoxe a neamului român din Bucureşti,
ţie economică mai puţin dureroasă, adică cei noua Lege a cultelor, toate sunt reacţii la
care se bucură de standarde mai ridicate de modificarea relaţiilor dintre stat şi Biserică
viaţă, educaţie şi sănătate consideră religia în noul context de modernizare accelerată.
mai puţin importantă şi sunt mai puţin re- Poate problema cea mai controversată, am-
ligioşi decât „perdanţii“ tranziţiei. Şi asta plasarea de obiecte de cult ortodox în spaţii
poate fi o explicaţie a diferenţei de religiozi- publice precum şcolile, este cea care a reve-
tate dintre Cehia şi Estonia, pe de-o parte, şi lat contradicţiile produse de modernizare.

466 RECENSIONES
În ecuaţia modernizare-import instituţional protestante prezintă cea mai slabă etică a

şi cultural-identitate naţională nu întâlnim muncii şi sunt nesemnificativ mai favorabili
doar adepţi necondiţionaţi ai modernizării, ai economiei de piaţă decât catolicii, să spunem.
schimbărilor rapide cu orice costuri. Una din Mai mult, cetăţenii din aceste societăţi nu
vocile cele mai sonore, îngrijorată de pierde- sunt nici pe departe caracterizaţi de cel mai
rile aduse de ceea ce se credea a fi un proces înalt standard de probitate şi onestitate. Dife-
irezistibil, este Horia-Roman Patapievici7. În renţa majoră constă doar în atitudinile privi-
tradiţia conservatorilor, autorul se dovedeşte toare la deciziile de viaţă şi de moarte, cetăţe-
speriat de efectele nefaste şi necalculate ale nii ţărilor protestante fiind mai dispuşi să ac-
modernizării târzii, dacă nu chiar de post- cepte avortul şi sinuciderea. Există astăzi un
modernizarea României, atât cât poate fi curent social de modificare a valorilor cultu-
vorba într-o societate pe alocuri pre-morale de bază care se îndreaptă către accep-
dernă. Cred însă că eseul controversat al lui tarea tot mai largă a valorilor liberale, sursa
Patapievici, dincolo de profunzimea unor acestui curent fiind secularizarea accentuată.
observaţii şi de exagerările uneori poetice, Mai există un motiv pentru care relaţiile
nu poate ţine loc de studiu ştiinţific. Sun- dintre stat şi Biserică anterior enunţate, rolul
tem, în România, la început de drum în dez- religiei în viaţa publică şi garantarea libertă-
baterea pe care europenii şi americanii o au ţii religioase sunt importante. Ele au afecte
de foarte multă vreme. Cum observa Camil politice evidente. Lucrul acesta este demult
Ungureanu, în ciuda unor oscilaţii şi rezis- vizibil în orientările politice ale creştin-de-
tenţe evidente, asistăm în Europa la un cu- mocraţilor germani, italieni sau austrieci. Ca
rent important de recunoaştere crescândă a urmare a secularizării accelerate, chiar şi
legitimităţii manifestării publice a pluralis- aceste partide şi-au atenuat discursul favo-
mului religios ca o contribuţie pozitivă, me- rabil Bisericii în competiţia electorală. Chiar
diată dialogic, la viaţa democratică8. Nu şi aşa, se înregistrează încă o preferinţă sem-
ştim dacă este şi cazul definitiv al României. nificativă pentru dreapta politică a celor cre-
Dacă statul este pe deplin imun la farmecele dincioşi. Este adevărat, preferinţa este în
religiei şi nu atentează la libertăţile cetăţe- scădere în toată Europa catolică şi se men-
neşti în schimbul unei loialităţi a credincio- ţine doar în Austria. În acelaşi timp însă, nu
şilor şi a organizaţiilor bisericeşti. există date suficiente pentru a declara exis-
Cât de importante sunt aceste lucruri? tenţa unui declin general al religiei în poli-
tică la nivel mondial. Este foarte plauzibil ca
Valorile etice şi morale predicate de cultele
fenomene de scădere a religiozităţii şi de de-
religioase ar putea avea efect asupra publi-
clin al rolului religiei în politică să nu se în-
cului din orice societate. Aceste efecte nu
registreze în afara lumii industriale şi
sunt vizibile doar în morală, ci pot fi detec-
postindustriale. Experienţa democratică ro-
tate, aşa cum afirma Weber, în modelele de
mânească este mult prea scurtă pentru a
dezvoltare şi creştere economică9. Deşi nu trage concluzii, dar nici nu avem prea multe
îşi propun să investigheze în profunzime re- date colectate. Observaţiile sunt însă la locul
laţia dintre capitalism şi etica protestantă, lor: participarea masivă a politicienilor la
autorii încearcă să determine care este im- slujbele religioase, donaţiile generoase fă-
pactul valorilor promovate de diferite religii cute mânăstirilor sau retrocedări de terenuri
asupra diferitelor aspecte legate de muncă şi şi păduri îndelung mediatizate, discursuri
economie, în general. Contrar tezei celebre a politice cu ocazia diferitelor canonizări sunt
spiritului capitalismului în relaţie cu etica toate semne ale importanţei religiei în logica
protestantă, cei care azi trăiesc în societăţile electorală. Şi toate acestea au loc în absenţa
unui partid creştin-democrat autentic şi în
7 prezenţa unei Biserici majoritare încă tentată
Horia-Roman PATAPIEVICI, Omul recent,
de puterea sa simbolică şi demografică. Din-
8 colo de analiza comparată, cred că în Româ-
Camil UNGUREANU, „Tradiţia demo-
craţiei constituţionale“, Idei în dialog, nr. 4 (31), nia avem nevoie urgentă de studiul valori-
aprilie 2007, pp. 35-36. lor promovate de diversele Biserici şi al im-
9
Max WEBER, Etica protestantă şi spiritul pactului lor asupra toleranţei şi democraţiei.
capitalismului, trad. I. Lemnij, Humanitas,
Bucureşti, 2003. DRAGOŞ DRAGOMAN

RECENSIONES 467
ISTVÁN RÉV
Retroactive Justice: Prehistory of Post-Communism
Stanford University Press, „Cultural Memory in the Present series“,
Stanford, 2005, 340 pp.
Problematica imaginarului social, inclu- munismului şi a postcomunismului din Eu-

siv aceea a originilor şi a formelor sale de ropa de Est (se insistă pe istoria Ungariei!),
manifestare societală, este tot mai frecvent în special, din perspectiva imaginarului so-
abordată în investigaţia transdisciplinară. cial. În ciuda eterogenităţii create, pe de o
Unul dintre cei care studiază, în această ma- parte, de multitudinea de subiecte, epoci is-
nieră, reprezentările sociale ale epocii comu- torice şi personaje, iar pe de alta, de aborda-
niste dar şi ale tranziţiei postcomuniste, este rea transdisciplinară (utilizează teorii, meto-
István Rév, profesor universitar la Central dologii şi concepte din domeniile antropolo-
European University din Budapesta (specia- giei istorice şi politice, sociologiei, psiholo-
lizarea istorie şi ştiinţe politice), director aca- giei istorice şi sociale, microistoriei), cartea lui
demic la Open Society Archives, membru al I. Rév reuşeşte să alăture într-un construct
consiliului ştiinţific al Colegiului Noua Eu- sistemic, sfere de investigaţie aparent in-
ropă. Istoricul maghiar este considerat ca fi- compatibile – imaginarul social şi istoria
ind unul dintre cei mai interesanţi analişti ai evenimenţială. Analiza istoriei recente, după
postcomunismului, cartea sa fiind conside- cum afirmă categoric sau subliminal auto-
rată „o capodoperă, o combinaţie rară de rul, impune o astfel de strategie a investiga-
erudiţie, teoretizări sofisticate şi inventivi- ţiei datorită naturii problematice a surselor
tate literară“ (Carlo Ginzburg). Înainte de a care, în multe cazuri, conţin minciuni conşti-
publica opera analizată, I. Rév a scris pe ente sau latente, erori, reproduc motive mi-
această temă mai multe studii şi articole (vezi tologice. Abordarea pare a fi dictată şi de re-
The Advantages of Being Atomized,1987; In laţia dintre imaginarul social şi istoria pozi-
Mendacio Veritas, 1991; The Archeology of tivistă, relaţie complexă, fără îndoială!; „ten-
Resurrection, 1991; „The Post-mortem Victory siunea“ dintre cele două tipuri de explicaţie
of Communism“, Daedalus, 1994; „Parallel a istoriei (chiar şi a celei recente!) este evi-
Autopsies“, Representations, nr. 49, Special dentă, în primul rând, la nivelul raportului
Issue: Identifying Histories: Eastern Europe dintre memoria colectivă a oamenilor (care
Before and After 1989, 1995, pp. 15-39) apreci- impune reprezentări selective şi mitologi-
ate pentru originalitatea abordării ştiinţi- zante despre trecut) şi încercarea istoriei fac-
fico-metodologice, pentru densitatea şi com- tologice de a reactiva şi de a reconstrui (de
plementaritatea informaţiei. După cum ne multe ori este vorba însă de a imagina şi a
informează autorul în prefaţă, structura ori- re-imagina) orice argumentaţie în jurul unor
ginară a cărţii au reprezentat-o cursurile evenimente absolutizate în calitate de cauze
predate în problematica menţionată, la uni- primare şi descrise detaliat, excesiv chiar.
versităţile: Chicago Law School, Oxford Pentru a rezolva conflictul menţionat, auto-
(Political Science Department), Columbia rul evaluează semnificaţia socială şi politică
(Anthropology Department), Princeton (His- a evenimentelor istorice, dar şi dimensiunea
tory Department Davis), Harvard, Berkley şi mitică realizată în jurul faptelor istorice consi-
bineînţeles, Stanford şi CEU (cu trimitere la derate semnificative. Cartea, la un moment
natura regimurilor totalitare, preistoria post- dat, pare un construct labirintic, în care prota-
comunismului, crizele identitare postcomu- goniştii (aceiaşi) apar şi dispar dezvoltând
niste, reprezentarea trecutului etc). Retroac- diverse roluri sociale; aceştia sunt priviţi di-
tive Justice. Prehistory of Post-Communism, ferit, actori politici şi istorici în diverse epi-
carte compusă din introducere şi şapte capi- soade istorice. În fine, deşi constructul pre-
tole („Parallel Autopsies“, „The Necronym“, supune un discurs plin de complementari-
„A Pantheon“, „Holy Days“, „A Rule of tăţi, el este coerent şi chiar fascinant (chiar şi
Law“, „Underground“, „Transition“), oferă când unele dintre personalităţile/persona-
o interpretare originală, inedită chiar, a co- jele istorice se pierd în labirint); nu acelaşi

468 RECENSIONES
lucru se poate spune despre I. Rév, adică des- în lucrare sunt analizate din perspectiva
pre cel care le re-creează. După cum mărtu- efectelor pe care le-a provocat moartea lor în
riseşte autorul în „Introducere“ (pp. 1-16), posteritatea imediată (prin această anchetă
structura cărţii este fundamentată pe un re- istorică oarecum mediată este evaluată de
gistru de fenomene şi concepte, registru fapt personalitatea şi activitatea publică a
esenţial pentru cercetarea istorică (cadavrul, personalităţilor/personajelor). Explicaţia vi-
relicva, notorietatea personalităţii, panteo- zavi de această manieră originală de analiză
nul, sărbătoarea, tribunalul, lumea de din- a istoricităţii (prin intermediul reprezentări-
colo, limbajul de lemn, tranziţia, comemora- lor sociale despre trecutul recent) este expli-
rea). Datele studiate sunt descrise şi analizate cată de autor, tot în introducere, prin para-
în detaliu prin intermediul unei serii de na- digma antropologică: „Figurile istorice au
raţiuni aproape „gotice“ (adică „curioase“, fost întotdeauna contemporane cu noi“.
sumbre, uşor parodice). Deşi nu par a exista Chiar dacă lucrarea se concentrează înde-
factori de relaţionare între secvenţele nara- osebi pe analiza revoluţiei din 1956 şi pe fi-
tive, totuşi, între povestiri sunt create cone- gura centrală a evenimentului (Imre Nagy),
xiuni puternice. Evenimentele prezentate în sunt abordate şi alte evenimente şi persona-
carte, diverse şi paradoxale de multe ori, au lităţi/personaje care au marcat istoria şi
aceiaşi protagonişti; aceştia deşi sunt priviţi identitatea modernă a Ungariei şi maghiari-
(în naraţiunile istorice) din perspective dife- lor (revoluţia din 1848-1849, republica bolşe-
rite, în diverse ipostaze, la sfârşitul cărţii fie- vică maghiară proclamată şi apoi reprimată
care personaj/personalitate are (aproape) o în 1919, căderea regimului comunist în 1989,
structură romanescă, complexă. Astfel, eroii Sándor Petöfi, János Kádár etc), analiza este,
naraţiunii sunt pe rând personaje negative şi cu prioritate, realizată pe anatomia perioa-
martiri, torţionari şi victime. Evenimentele dei postcomuniste; evenimentele acestei pe-
istoriei recente suportă acelaşi „tratament“ de rioade sunt observate în relaţie cu evenimente
analiză, de re-construcţie; acestea, în timpul similare (sau nu!) care se petrec în spaţiul Eu-
analizei antropologice, sunt „reinterpretate“, ropei de Est (Polonia, Bulgaria, Rusia). O
sunt „reactualizate“ ca densitate factologică lume ignorată este România postcomunistă,
prin confruntarea argumentelor şi contraar- deşi fantomele comunismului bântuie, în
gumentelor vizavi de finalităţile declarate şi aceeaşi manieră, atât în ţările menţionate,
efectele reale. O astfel de abordare este reali- cât şi în România!
zată pentru a se reliefa contextul şi caracte- Finalitatea demersului lui I. Rév este să
rul determinat al deciziilor care au constituit „spună aceste povestiri, venite din trecut“,
sursa evenimentelor „narate“. Deoarece I. în speranţa că ele ar realiza o altă perspec-
Rév s-a concentrat, în demersul său, pe isto- tivă, mai profundă, asupra evenimentelor,
ria Ungariei, revoluţia anticomunistă din personalităţilor/personajelor, comportamen-
1956 este evenimentul căruia autorul îi telor colective (mai ales acestea din urmă,
acordă mai mult spaţiu în economia naraţiu- conform aserţiunilor autorului, dacă ar fi
nilor istorice. Credit „istoric“ i se acordă şi scoase din context „ar părea ciudate sau evi-
fostului prim-ministru Imre Nagy, figura dente, dificil de explicat sau fireşti, complicate
centrală a revoluţiei, „erou al utopiei cu faţă sau prea simpliste pentru a fi acceptate“). Re-
umană“; personalitatea menţionată este pre- troactive Justice: Prehistory of Post-Communism
zentă în fiecare dintre capitolele cărţii. Dar, este o construcţie teoretică plină de atmos-
ca şi în cazul altor personalităţi/personaje feră, o structură narativă şi ştiinţifică bine
evocate în lucrare, ceea ce interesează, din definită, oferind modalităţi noi şi interesante
perspectiva problematicii lucrării, este moar- de analiză a perioadelor istorice studiate (a
tea lui Imre Nagy şi nu viaţa sa. evenimentelor şi personalităţilor/personaje-
Moartea este, de fapt, tema centrală a lor „implicate“ în istorie). Conexiunile reali-
cărţii lui I. Rév. De altfel, încă din introdu- zate de autor între evenimente, personali-
cere, autorul afirmă: „Cartea începe cu o au- tăţi/personaje şi reprezentări ale acestor reali-
topsie, şi după câteva capitole, după o călăto- tăţi descrise şi investigate în acelaşi timp, cre-
rie care ne poartă prin spaţiu şi timp, prin ează impresia decriptării celor mai inexplica-
locuri îndepărtate, se încheie cu o înmormân- bile fenomene şi comportamente(colective)
tare“. Personalităţile/personajele prezentate care (încă) afectează prezentul.

RECENSIONES 469
În concluzie, cartea lui I. Rév, o „călăto- dar şi o lectură provocatoare pentru consu-
rie în timpul întunecat“, realizează prin me- matorii de cultură interesaţi de evoluţiile
todologii transdisciplinare autopsia eveni- lumii postcomuniste şi de maniera în care
mentelor, motivaţiilor şi deciziilor politice anumite secvenţe istorice le afectează mo-
trecute care (încă!) marchează realităţile tivaţiile, comportamentele şi reprezentă-
postcomuniste. Astfel, originala lucrare a rile sociale.
lui I. Rév se recomandă de la sine, fiind o
investigaţie de referinţă pentru specialişti, MIHAELA GRANCEA
RANDY BARNETT
Restoring the Lost Constitution –The Presumption of Liberty
Princeton University Press, New Jersey, 2004, XV+366 pp.
”I DO not know how it has happened,

that this word has crept into our political dialect,
unless it be that mankind prefer mystery to knowledge;
and that governments love obscurity better than specification.”
John TAYLOR, Construction Construed and Constitutions Vindicated
(Shepherd& Pollard, Richmond, 1820), Section 3, ”On Sovereignty”
In 1850, more than a half-century after since the Constitution has always been per-
the adoption of the federal Constitution, the ceived, right from the very beginnings of
United States Department of Justice was lo- the Republic, as a judicially enforceable do-
cated in a rooming-house and employed a cument that delineates authoritatively the
part-time Attorney General, two clerks, and outer bounds of governmental power. As
a messenger1. Nowadays, the Justice De- one Supreme Court decision famously put
partment oversees dozens of agencies (such it: ”The United States is entirely a creature of
as, to enumerate only a few of the most no- the Constitution. Its power and authority
torious ones: the Federal Bureau of Investi- have no other source. It can only act in ac-
gation, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and cordance with all the limitations imposed by
Firearms, the Antitrust Division, and the the Constitution” (emphasis supplied)2.
Drug Enforcement Administration), runs an In his last book, Randy Barnett, Profes-
annual budget of more than 11 billion dol- sor of Legal Theory at Georgetown Univer-
lars, and has on its payroll over a hundred sity Law School, argues that the expansion
thousand employees. Yet, the constitutional of ”big government”, which he tellingly il-
mandate under which this staggering gov- lustrates by the metaphor of a transition
ernmental metamorphosis took place re- from an original sea of liberty with scattered
mains essentially the same document whose islands of governmental powers to a system
original parchment copy is housed in the in which islands of liberty are menacingly
National Archives, in Washington, D.C. surrounded by a sea of government power
In America, this, as indeed any other, in- (p. 1), has been made legally possible by the
stitutional-political transformation acquires deliberate judicial abandonment of crucial
(inevitably and perhaps idiosyncratically) a provisions in the original constitutional
preeminent legal-constitutional dimension, document. Namely, he argues that important
articles, sections, and clauses of the Constitu-
tion, intended to have operative legal mean-
1
For this information I rely on the critical ings, have been completely by-passed, dis-
commentary by Walter Dellinger during the carded or diluted by interpretation (”redacted
book forum organized at the Cato Institute, on out”) to the point of practical irrelevance. To
February 4, 2004 (the event can be downloaded
at http://www.cato.org/events/040204bf.html, last
2
visited June 30, 2007). Reid v. Covert, 354 U.S. 1, 5-6.

470 RECENSIONES
wit, in an inspired visual rendition of his In what follows, I will first provide a
thesis, the front cover of the volume dis- brief historical overview, that will serve as a
plays a depiction of the 1787 engrossed copy background for my subsequent rendition of
of the Constitution with parts of it selec- Barnett’s reasoning, and will, in closing,
tively cut out, excised from the parchment. sketch out a few possible lines of objection
Professor Barnett contends that the legiti- to his argument.
mate solution nowadays would be to restore
these redacted provisions to their rightful Whenever a legal-systemic transforma-
place, by reversing the usurpation. This tion occurs, aside from the routine reinterpre-
could only happen if the contemporary de- tation of old law in line of new values, the
fault position of modern judicial review, i.e. new jurisprudential status-quo is also en-
according federal and state legislation a trenched through the collective ritual castiga-
”presumption of constitutionality”, were re- tion of representative judicial decisions and
placed by an about-face return to the origi- legislative acts of the recently defunct, ”old
nally-intended and constitutionally proper regime”. Sometimes, the chastisement ap-
judicial review methodology, i.e. assessing pears to be anachronistically unfair, espe-
the constitutionality of legislation from the cially in the case of radically transformed so-
standpoint of a ”presumption of liberty”. cial, political, and economic contexts and
On superficial assessment, this line of ar- worldviews. It is, nonetheless, socio-profes-
gument can be perceived as a mere call to re- sionally necessary, since such condemnations
turning to the 19th century minimal state and readily ensure easier formation and recogni-
its laissez-faire economic and political liberal- tion of, and renewed pledges of loyalty to the
ism. Such foregone conclusions should be re- new ”academic socialization cohorts”4.
sisted, with much profit to the reader3. This Within contemporary North-American
book represents a legal-analytical academic legal Academe, the 1905 US Supreme Court
tour de force of admirable intellectual breadth decision in Lochner v. People of the State of
and depth. Indeed, one of the major strengths New York seems to still play the lead role in
of Barnett’s endeavor is a consistent attempt the contemporary orthodox expiatory ritual
at grounding constitutional theory in a observances. One can also surmise that, per-
legal-rational, objective, non-instrumental haps, writing a few dismissive-derisive lines
framework. In what I deem to be one of the about this judicial scapegoat pays a part of
most insightful passages in his book, the the standard Charon’s fee on the cross-over
author underscores the downsides of re- to greener, more tenured, pastures. The lu-
sult-oriented jurisprudence in the following crative nature of disparaging Lochner is also
words: ”Given the complexities of the world, evidenced by the abundant jargon devel-
no legal doctrine can capture the require- oped around the name of the plaintiff in this
ments of justice. Therefore, if a construction case (”Lochner-like”, ”to lochnerize”,
purports always to lead to ’happy endings’, ”lochnerism”, etc.)5.
then it is likely so manipulable as to pro-
vide little if any guidance in difficult cases. 4
Cf. Bernd RÜTHERS, ”Recht und Juristen
In short, to test whether a constitutional in gesellschaftlichen und politischen Wand-
construction is a genuine rule of law, we lungsprozessen” (”The Functions of Law and
must ask whether it ever leads to outcomes Lawyers in Political and Social Transformation
its proponents dislike but must live with Processes”), in Bogdan IANCU (ed.), The
nonetheless” (p. 350). Thus, it would do Law/Politics Distinction in Contemporary Public law
Professor Barnett’s work great injustice if Adjudication, Bucureşti, New Europe College
one were to approach it on terms other than (forthcoming).
5
its own. This vocabulary also serves as a ”moral
clout” with which one can more easily
”shame” adversaries and rhetorically boost
3
For an exemplification of ex-post (mis)rea- one’s own arguments. See, for instance, Cass
ding of Barnett`s work in an ideological key, SUNSTEIN, writing against “Lochner-like
see Eduardo PEÑALVER, ”Restoring the Right premises” and ”Lochner-like understandings”
Constitution?”, Yale Law Journal, vol. 116, no. 4, in ”Lochner’s Legacy”, Columbia Law Review,
January 2007, pp. 732-766. vol. 87, no. 5, June 1987, pp. 873-919. I am not

RECENSIONES 471
Lochner concerned a challenge to a state highly disputable. Professor Barnett identi-

law making provision, among others, for fies the rise of scientific empiricism, a phi-
maximum hours and minimum wages in losophical shift from individualism to utili-
New York bakeries. The law was deemed tarianism, the new and fast-paced technologi-
unconstitutional, since in excess of the con- cal advances of the turn of the century and
stitutionally-permissible police powers of the contemporaneous massive accumulations
the state (i.e., general regulation for public of wealth and capital that had begun to make
health, safety, and morals). In fact, the deci- strands of utopian meliorism look plausible
sion was in accord with the basic tenets of and feasible (p. 204). Be that as it may, what
classical constitutionalism, which forbade is crucially important for the transition from
purely redistributive legislation as an unjust classic to contemporary constitutionalism is
trespassing of the proper constitutional ju- the constitutional departure, in terms of ac-
risdiction of state governments, and, indeed, tual practices and associated justifications,
as an illegitimate spoil: ”A law that takes from the principled distinctions (between
property from A. and gives it to B”6. The im- public and private, right and privilege, social
pugned legislation could only have been and political) underlying the foundational
saved by demonstrating a link between the logic of limited government.
law and a permissible purpose (sanitary rea- A good drama needs both villains and
sons, for instance, if it could have been proven heroes (of course, as one slides down the
that long hours of work result in a less hy- scale of sophistication, the more schema-
gienically safe bread or are unusually and in- tized the characters and starker the con-
herently unhealthy). A factual disparity in trasts, the more melodramatic the end-result
bargaining power between the employer and will be). One of the principal doctrinal he-
the employee could not suffice; both were roes of contemporary American constitu-
consenting adults, formally equal in their con- tional law is a footnote. Footnote Four of the
tractual relationship. The baker could not be United States v. Carolene Products decision
legislatively made a ”ward of the state”. reads (due to its relevance, I will take the
The main reason why Lochner has been liberty of citing it at length): ”There may be
attacked so viciously at the time and ever narrower scope for operation of the pre-
since is not that it was incorrectly decided. sumption of constitutionality when legisla-
Contrariwise, the reaction revealed both the tion appears on its face to be within a specific
extent to which and the precise temporal prohibition of the Constitution, such as those of
juncture when the correct understanding of the first ten amendments, which are deemed
equally specific when held to be embraced
the classical constitutional framework could
within the Fourteenth [...] It is unnecessary
no longer accommodate and drifted behind
to consider now whether legislation which
new beliefs regarding the proper ends and
restricts those political processes which can
functions of the state. The causes of this ordinarily be expected to bring about re-
paradigm shift are multifarious and, of course, peal of undesirable legislation, is to be sub-
jected to more exacting judicial scrutiny
arguing that Lochner (or classical constitutiona- under the general prohibitions of the Four-
lism, for that matter) should or could not have teenth Amendment than are most other
been departed from or that 19th century legal types of legislation [...] Nor need we enquire
doctrines are legitimate and good solutions to whether similar considerations enter into
legal problems nowadays. My only claim is the the review of statutes directed at particular
more modest one that, to paraphrase an obser- religious [...] or national [...] or racial minori-
vation once made by Hannah Arendt, a claim ties [...]: whether prejudice against discrete
that was once true, in its own paradigm, and has and insular minorities may be a special condi-
in the meanwhile ceased to be so does not tion, which tends seriously to curtail the op-
become true by standing it on its head. Writing eration of those political processes ordinar-
”for” or ”against” rather than ”about” something ily to be relied upon to protect minorities,
contributes little to our understanding of the and which may call for a correspondingly
phenomenon at stake and, by the same token, more searching judicial inquiry” 7.
transforms a scholarly work into a policy paper.
6
Chase, J., opinion of the Court in Calder v.
7
Bull (1798). 304 U.S. 144 (1938).

472 RECENSIONES
This footnote was an early legal crystalli- Somewhat counter-intuitively, this me-
zation and enunciation of a new constitu- thodology appears to yield very inconsistent
tional status quo. During the New Deal, in a results. Its application has become notori-
well-known line of cases, the Supreme Court ously opaque and unpredictable, often to
had progressively relaxed its review stan- the point of absurdity9. The difficulties are
dards with respect to the crucial limitations compounded by the fact that, after judges
on state and federal legislative powers (most conceded legislatures vast areas of un-
notably, the Commerce Clause of Art. I and checked discretion with specific, constitu-
the Due Process Clauses of the Vth and XIVth tionally entrenched exceptions, they later
Amendments). This relaxation would trans- tried to reclaim bits and pieces of constitution-
late methodologically (in terms of due proc- ally-protected ”liberty” under the rubric of
ess and equal protection adjudication) into a ”unenumerated” fundamental rights (which
very permissible default standard of review would also justify switching the default pre-
applied to social and economic legislation, sumption of constitutionality). As was to be
save in exceptional, enumerated cases when expected, the attempt to identify such
more intrusive judicial scrutiny would be rights degenerated into a judicial method of
applied. Carolene Products announced the fu- selection that nowadays is described by
ture – and contemporary – differentiated many commentators as a blatantly ideological
standards of review, which reflect in turn (hence, political) exercise of judicial discre-
the new constitutional constellation of the tion. As Barnett points out: ”Judges now find
modern welfare state. themselves having to pick and choose among
Nowadays, the Court uses, for judicial the unenumerated liberties of the people to
review based on the Equal Protection and find those that justify switching the presump-
Due Process Clauses, three different stan- tion and those that do not. Courts are placed
dards, strict, intermediate, and rational basis in the uneasy position of making essentially
scrutiny, respectively. Rational basis (or ra- moral assessments of different exercises of
tionality) review applies to most economic liberty” (p. 233).
legislation and is the least demanding of the The most famous exercise of divining an
tests (and therefore most deferential to the unenumerated right from enumerated rights
government). Its mere announcement usually provisions is the 1965 decision in Griswold v.
predetermines the decisional outcome. In the- Connecticut10, when the Supreme Court
ory, the Court verifies both the means-ends struck down a state law that criminalized
nexus (rational relation) and the legitimate using contraceptives and giving contracep-
purpose underlying the particular legislative assistance and information (one of the
tion under review. In reality, the Court will appellants in the case was a licensed physi-
go to great lengths to hypostasize a possible le- cian who had assisted married couples by
gitimate purpose and to rationalize a plausible providing advice and information). The
connection8. Indeed, the open-ended permis- Court, in a famous majority opinion written
siveness of this review standard prompted by Justice Douglas, reasoned that enumer-
some to label it in jest ”irrationality review”. ated rights have ”emanations” which pro-
Contrariwise, strict scrutiny, a test demand- duce ”penumbras” creating a ”zone of pri-
ing a compelling governmental interest and a vacy” (for instance, the prohibition against
very narrow means-end fit, is, as the constitu- unreasonable searches and seizures in the
tional law saying goes ”strict in theory and fa- Fourth Amendment or the Third Amend-
tal in fact”. Its application will almost inevita- ment prohibition against the quartering of
bly lead in a finding of unconstitutionality. soldiers during peacetime in private houses
This means in effect that a presumption of without the ”consent of the owner”). The
constitutionality attaches to the bulk of state ”zone” yields a ”right to privacy” that in
and federal legislation, with a shift of the bur- turn can be subsumed under the liberty pro-
den of proof on the government only in enu-
merated, exceptional cases. 9
See Michael STOKES PAULSEN, ”Medium
Rare Scrutiny”, Constitutional Commentary,
8
See Williamson v. Lee Optical of Oklahoma, vol. 15, 1998, pp. 397-402.
10
348 U.S. 483 (1955). 381 U.S. 479 (1965).

RECENSIONES 473
tected by the Due Process Clause. The ”pe- effect, constructed a very sophisticated ori-
numbras” and ”emanations” language has ginalist theory. To Barnett’s credit, unlike
been exposed to much ridicule ever since, most contemporary legal theorists, he un-
due to the fact that, whether one agrees or derstands that a theory of constitutional legal-
not ideologically with the result, the judicial ity (a doctrine of interpretation) needs to be
exercise involved in attaining it resembles supported by a theory of constitutional legiti-
”mystification” much more than ”interpre- macy. The two accounts are, in the economy
tation”11. When the Supreme Court used the of the argument, fused at the hip.
newly-created right to privacy to impose on He starts, therefore, not with an exegesis
all the states a constitutionally-protected of the text and history of the Constitution,
fundamental right to abortion, in its equally but from the structural first principle that a
famous Roe v. Wade 1973 decision12, those in- legitimate system, one that produces laws
disposed to condoning such interpretive ven- binding in conscience will rest, in the ab-
tures felt that their credulity was strained to sence of actual consent, on a strict and
the utmost limit. The backlash was that, maximal protection of liberty. This argu-
once adjudication became (or came to be ment stands most consent-based objections
generally perceived as) politicized, judicial to the legitimacy of judicial review and to an
nominations to the Supreme Court became, originalist interpretation of the Constitution
in turn, a purely political battleground. on their head. Namely, it is precisely be-
Other attempts to moor fundamental liberty cause unanimous actual consent was (is) not
interests (unenumerated but constitution- possible, that more freedom is imperative.
ally protected liberty interests, whose in- More consent would, to the contrary, make
fringement would be scrutinized under a possible more stringent limitations on free-
”heightened (strict) scrutiny” standard) dom. Here, arguing that the justice of a sys-
have not fared much better. Current doc- tem derives primarily from the justness of
trine reserves constitutional protection to its procedures rather than consent, Barnett
”fundamental rights and liberties which are, is, I venture to opine, on very solid constitu-
objectively, deeply rooted in this Nation's tionalist ground. Madison himself argued,
history and tradition”13. This standard is, after all, that ”had every Athenian citizen
nonetheless, manipulable as well, depend- been a Socrates, every Athenian assembly
ing on the level of generality at which one would still have been a mob”15.
chooses to identify/define the relevant tra- The Framers of the Philadelphia Consti-
dition. For instance, is an argument that pri- tution had, in Barnett’s view, squared this
vate, consenting, adult homosexual relation- foundational circle by ”locking into” the
ships are constitutionally protected related Constitution a conception of natural rights,
to a historic right to engage in sodomy (or one that makes a reconciliation and pursuit
forbidden sexual conduct) (there is no such of innumerable potential conceptions of the
right to be found) or to a historically-pro- good life (and therefore of happiness) possi-
tected sphere of privacy and autonomy with ble within the confines of properly regu-
respect to one’s intimate conduct and rela- lated freedom, i.e., Liberty. Barnett properly
tionships14? How one frames this prelimi- draws the distinction between natural rights
nary question will lead to one’s preferred (which are, according to him, the only per-
solution to the dispute. missible pre-political foundation for a liberal
Constitution) and natural law (which is
not): ”Natural rights must be distinguished
Professor Barnett propounds to bridge
from ’natural law’ ethics (or what some re-
this gap and restore constitutional adjudica-
fer to as natural right). Natural law ethics or
tion to a position of principle; he has, to this
’natural right’ is a method of assessing the
propriety of individual conduct. This method
11
Cf. Bernd RÜTHERS, ”Recht und is used to stipulate, for instance, that persons
Juristen…cit.”. should live their lives in certain ways and not
12
410 U.S. 113 (1973). in others […] Natural rights [in contrast] do
13
Moore v. City of East Cleveland, 431 U. S.
494 (1976), at 502.
14 15
See Lawrence v. Texas, 539 U.S. 558 (2003). The Federalist, no. 55.

474 RECENSIONES
not specify what the good life is for each mere hope and constitutions would repre-
person nor how each person should act but sent purely precatory enumerations of
what moral ’space’ or ’jurisdiction’ each per- meaningless words. A legitimate interpreta-
son requires in order to pursue the good life tion of the Constitution has to preserve the
in society with others” (pp. 82-83)16. libertarian ”lock ins”. A legitimate inter-
Barnett argues that the Founders’ con- pretation (and construction, i.e., application
ception of natural rights was reflected by of the Constitution to literally unforeseen
the incorporation in the Bill of Rights of the situations or events that are, nonetheless,
Ninth and Tenth Amendments, providing within its legitimate reach) is an originalist
that ”the enumeration in the Constitution, one. Originalism means effectuating not the
of certain rights, shall not be construed to various or predominant subjective intentions
deny or disparage others retained by the of the framers of the document (Madison,
people” and, respectively, that: ”The powers Franklin, Jay, etc.) but the objective meanings
not delegated to the United States by the of words and concepts at the time when the
Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the Constitution was adopted. It is, to restate
states, are reserved to the states respec- more clearly, original meaning rather than
tively, or to the people”. Furthermore, the original intent that should concern proper
natural rights constraints on federal legisla- constitutional interpretation. Judges should
tion were, as he argues, also made applica- interpret the powers of the federal govern-
ble to the states by virtue of the Privileges ment narrowly. Proper ancillary powers are
or Immunities Clause of the Fourteenth only those necessary and proper, where
Amendment, which reads: ”No state shall ”necessity” is to be understood at a seman-
make or enforce any law which shall abridge tic level somewhere in-between ”indispen-
the privileges or immunities of citizens of sability” and ”mere convenience”. Proper
the United States”. state police powers are only equal health
The essential normative argument runs and safety regulations, i.e., prohibiting wrong-
further as follows17. The Constitution rests ful and regulating rightful conduct. Purely moral
on a natural rights foundation. To this pur- reasons for an exercise of governmental
pose, it enumerates the powers of the fed- power are illegitimate (cf. see pp. 322-334).
eral government and further constrains their The necessity and propriety of both state
exercise to only those legislative measures and federal legislation should be judicially
that are ”necessary and proper” (Necessary scrutinized under one standard only (re-
and Proper Clause) to carry the specific at- placing the existing three-tier methodology),
tributions into proper effect. In order to since, as Professor Barnett points out: ”One
limit governments, functional and Liberty reason to avoid these categories is that a
(natural rights)-related restrictions were standard that no statute can pass is as hypo-
”locked into” the Constitution. This is the critical as a standard that every statute can
very reason for writing them down in a le- pass. What is required is real or meaningful
gal document. Otherwise, the legally limited scrutiny of both the necessity and propri-
government (constitutionalism) would be a ety of restrictions on liberty. Under the cur-
rent approach, courts must distinguish ’le-
16
Also see, for an excellent account of the gitimate’ from ’important’ from ’compel-
common intellectual ancestry and essential ling’ governmental interests because they
differences between the liberal (natural rights) long ago abandoned the enumerated pow-
and the natural law traditions, John FINNIS, ers scheme that defined ’proper’, as op-
”Liberalism and Natural Law Theory”, Mercer posed to improper, federal purposes, and
Law Review, vol. 45, 1993-1994, pp. 687-704. the Lockean conception of police power that
17
Due to editorial constraints, I will have defined ’proper’ state purposes” (emphasis
to oversimplify an extremely elaborate and in original) (p. 344).
sophisticated analysis and will have to
exclude a very important part the account,
namely the doctrinal investigation of various
At this point, hoping that my rendition has
Supreme Courts’ departures from what Barnett not done (by omission) too much injustice to
argues is the proper interpretation of the this truly excellent work, the time has home to
Constitution. visit, in closing, a few possible objections.

RECENSIONES 475
Barnett has most commonly been criti- that moral justifications for prohibiting con-
cized for allegedly advocating judicial activ- duct were/are not constitutionally legiti-
ism. This is, for instance, the critique mate. This claim could be a valid one if Pro-
brought forth by Steven Calabresi. In the lat- fessor Barnett were to construct a counter-
ter’s view, advocating judicial activism is factual under a ”veil of ignorance” of sorts.
the ”major weakness of the book”18. This cri- This, nonetheless, is not the nature of his ex-
tique, in my view, misses the main point of ercise. He claims that the inclusion of moral
Barnett’s argument, although the guilt is justifications in the checklist of proper po-
perhaps discounted by fact that the vacuous lice powers purposes is not within the
and ideologically-charged nature the notion proper, original meaning of the Constitution.
”judicial activism” has acquired renders its in- Here, the sources he relies on are rather
discriminate usage inevitably unstable and sparse (he draws heavily on Christopher
epistemologically meaningless. The phrase is Tiedeman’s 1886 authoritative treatise on
nowadays usually wielded as a ”moral clout” police power and on ”the proper Lockean
to discredit decisional results one happens to understanding of police power”). Neverthe-
dislike or academic opponents one happens less, whatever John Locke’s Second Treatise
to disagree with. To put it more clearly, may caution in these matters, such intima-
unless the argument is made that judges tions with respect to the proper scope of po-
should not strike down as unconstitutional lice power would have appeared, when the
democratically-adopted legislation, the only Constitution was adopted, wildly unfamil-
operative definition of ”judicial activism” is iar. Moreover, if one is to pore into 19th cen-
”unprincipled (unconstrained) judicial deci- tury statute books, one will find numerous
sion-making”. Within this definitional para- examples (indeed, a continuous line) of mu-
digm, Barnett offers an interpretive theory nicipal regulations and state legislation pro-
and an adjudicative methodology that could hibiting various forms of morally undesir-
serve as principled guidelines for judicial re- able conduct (gambling, prostitution, etc.), be-
view and therefore would in fact constrain tween consenting adults notwithstanding,
judicial discretion. His doctrinal framework, based solely on public morality justifications.
indeed, makes equally possible, result-wise, For instance, in the field of alcohol prohibi-
decisions that are nowadays embraced by tion laws, numerous temperance statutes of
ideologically antagonistic camps, i.e., both contingent application existed, delegating to
the 1905 Lochner constitutional defense of various counties within a jurisdiction the
freedom of contract and the 2003 Lawrence v. power to determine, by local polls, the local
Texas (declaring unconstitutional a Texas application of the respective law. Here, as
law that criminalized sodomy, as applied to Calabresi pointed out (correctly, I believe), it
private homosexual sexual relations). Some- does seem like Professor Barnett has ”inad-
thing that constrains adjudication and ren- vertently replaced the Borkian inkblot of
ders it predictable and rationally consistent privileges and immunities with the complete
is the perfect adjudicatory antonym of judi- text of Mr. John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty”19.
cial activism. In his effort to ground adjudication into
Nonetheless, the major merit of this ele- uniformly applicable doctrine, Professor
gant theoretical edifice has been attained, Barnett makes other claims that depart dan-
unfortunately, by means of an artifice that gerously, as I believe, from both the classical
can bring the entire house down. Namely, in justifications of limited government and the
an understandable effort to render the meth- history of actual constitutional practices in
odology of judicial review rational, neutral, his own constitutional jurisdiction. For in-
consistent, and predictable, Professor Barnett stance, it is argued (at p. 266) that: ”When
has ”neutralized” the constitutionally proper Congress asserts that to effectuate its power
exercise of state police power, by arguing ’to raise and support Armies’, it is necessary
and proper to draft young men and women
to serve in the military, those who are sub-
18
Steven G. CALABRESI, ”The Originalist ject to this form of involuntary servitude are
and Normative Case against Judicial Activism:
A Reply to Professor Randy Barnett”, Michigan
19
Law Review, vol. 103, 2004-2005, pp. 1081-1098. Ibidem, pp. 1087-1088.

476 RECENSIONES
entitled to demand that Congress or the ex- explains that ”any Superior Officer”, even
ecutive branch demonstrate to the satisfac- though he ”dispose of one Farthing of [the]
tion of an independent tribunal of justice Soldiers Estate, or seize one jot of his
that armies cannot be raised through the Goods”, could, by the same token ”com-
use of volunteers”. This statement is more mand any thing, and hang for the least Dis-
in line with Robert Nozick’s more contem- obedience. Because such a blind Obedience
porary libertarian theory than with John is necessary to that end for which the Com-
Locke’s defense of classical constitutional- mander has his Power, viz. the preservation
ism and more germane to modern tenden- of the rest”20. The same logic can be traced
cies of judicializing politics than to Ameri- back in American constitutional and ad-
can constitutional law traditions. Locke’s ministrative practice. Standards of constitu-
classical account of limited government in- tional and administrative actions review
sists incessantly upon the fact that limiting differed starkly between internal and exter-
legislation in substance and form (promul- nal matters, for instance. It may well be that
gated, standing rules of life, liberty, and a return to the foundational distinctions of
property) has a flip-side, i.e., analytically classical constitutionalism is impossible
distinct state functions, the prerogative and nowadays. But novel proposals to accom-
the confederative ”powers”, that are intrin- modate our contemporary problems, how-
sically discretionary (just as the legislative ever insightful, should perhaps not be mis-
and the executive ”powers” are, conversely, represented as mere returns to original
non-discretionary, legal in nature, ”ministe- meanings.
rial”). As for judges deciding on the neces- These are small reservations to what is,
sity and propriety of a draft in times of war, without doubt, a pathbreaking work.
Locke gives an edifying response, in para-
graph 139 of his Second Treatise, when he BOGDAN IANCU
LUKÁCS ANTAL, RUDOLF DINU, ALIN CIUPALĂ (coord.)

Documente diplomatice române, Seria I, vol. 11, 1883
Cuvânt înainte de Mihai-R˙zvan UNGUREANU, introducere de Rudolf DINU
Ministerul Afacerilor Externe, Institutul Diplomatic Român
Editura Academiei Române, Bucureşti, 2006, CXLVII pp. + 595 pp.
Salutăm apariţia, la Editura Academiei Planificată în trei serii distincte, aşa

Române şi sub egida Institutului Diplomatic cum explică fostul ministru de externe
Român, a celui de-al unsprezecelea volum M.R. Ungureanu, cel care semnează „Cu-
din colecţia Documente diplomatice române. vântul înainte“ al acestui volum, colecţia
Dacă în alte ţări europene, tradiţia publicării documentelor diplomatice îşi propune să
arhivelor diplomatice este de foarte lungă umple o parte din golul de surse istorice cu
durată, acest tip de întreprindere a fost ini- care se confruntă cercetătorul român în do-
ţiat în România de-abia în anul 2006, odată meniul politicii externe. Astfel, prima serie a
cu publicarea volumului de faţă. Căci, deşi Documentelor diplomatice va acoperi perioada
poartă numărul 11, acest volum este de fapt dinaintea sfârşitului Primului Război Mon-
primul în ordinea publicării; el este al un- dial; cea de-a doua va fi dedicată perioadei
sprezecelea în logica internă a seriei, conce- interbelice, iar ultima serie va pune la dispo-
pută să înceapă cu documentele din anul ziţia publicului documentele de politică ex-
1873 şi să dedice câte un volum fiecărui an. ternă din timpul regimului comunist. Volu-
mul apărut în 2006 este cel de-al unspreze-
celea din prima serie, şi conţine documen-
20 tele cele mai importante produse de diplo-
John LOCKE, Second Treatise of Civil
Government (1690), § 139. maţia românească pe parcursul anului 1883.

RECENSIONES 477
Departe de a fi o simplă înşiruire de do- identificată de autorul „Introducerii“ ca

cumente disparate, cartea este structurată mergând pe două direcţii: chestiunea Dună-
astfel încât nu numai istoricul, ci şi cititorul rii şi strategia de securitate şi politică ex-
mai puţin avizat să poată plasa rapid în ternă a tânărului stat român. Prima dintre
context fiecare dintre episoadele evocate în acestea este legată, conform lui R. Dinu, de
documente. Pe lângă „Cuvântul înainte“ şi „prima acţiune diplomatică de amploare a
„Nota asupra ediţiei“, seria de documente României la nivel continental“ (p. XIII), şi
brute reproduse pe parcursul a 573 de pa- anume promovarea intereselor româneşti
gini este precedată de o „Introducere“ con- în ceea ce priveşte navigaţia pe Dunăre, în
sistentă, precum şi de o listă a documente- condiţiile în care aceste interese intrau în
lor din volum, traduse, ca şi celelalte anexe concurenţă cu cele ale Imperiului Otoman
pomenite, şi în limba engleză. Astfel, Docu- sau Austro-Ungar. În ceea ce priveşte cea
mentele Diplomatice Române devin accesibile de-a doua direcţie, documentele din volu-
şi cercetătorilor străini, cu atât mai mult cu mul de faţă scot la iveală orientarea incipi-
cât o mare parte din documentele inventari- entă a politicii externe româneşti către Im-
ate sunt scrise direct în limba franceză sau periile Centrale, orientare ce va avea conse-
germană. Este interesant de remarcat că do- cinţe asupra politicii duse de statul român
cumentele care au fost redactate în original în timpul Primului Război Mondial. Con-
în limba germană au fost traduse, în timp form lui R. Dinu, care citează mai multe do-
ce cele în franceză, nu, editorii volumului cumente ale epocii, catalizatorul acestei ori-
mizând probabil pe mai buna cunoaştere a entări a fost fobia decidenţilor români faţă
acestei limbi în România, comparativ cu de Rusia. Ea se va materializa prin semna-
limba germană. rea unui Tratat de alianţă cu Austro-Unga-
„Introducerea“ volumului, semnată de ria la 30 octombrie 1833, Tratat care mar-
R. Dinu, fixează contextul internaţional şi chează conectarea României la Tripla Ali-
intern în care trebuie plasat anul 1883, anul anţă. În afară de aceste două direcţii princi-
emiterii acestor documente. Este un mo- pale, corespondenţa diplomatică din volum
ment în care România, devenită recent inde- mai atinge chestiuni ca relaţiile bilaterale cu
pendentă şi suverană, şi după ce obţinuse ţările în care România avea reprezentanţe
recunoaşterea statelor europene, face efor- diplomatice, precum şi informări asupra
turi de a-şi dezvolta un aparat diplomatic evenimentelor interne din aceste ţări, mai
prin intermediul căruia să întreţină relaţii cu ales pentru cazurile bulgar şi sârb, unde
statele europene, în primul rând. Acest apa- anul 1883 a fost marcat de frământări mai
rat este structurat în trei ranguri ierarhice: mult decât în alte părţi ale Europei.
pe treapta cea mai înaltă se află Trimişii ex- Documentele sunt prezentate în volum
traordinari şi Miniştrii plenipotenţiari, pe în ordine cronologică, începând cu infor-
cea de-a doua, Miniştrii rezidenţi – ambasa- mările miniştrilor de la Roma şi Viena (Ion
dorii de astăzi –, iar rangul inferior este ocu- Bălăceanu şi, respectiv, Petre P. Carp) din
pat de Însărcinaţii cu Afaceri. Detaliile ofe- 1 ianuarie 1883 şi care se referă ambele
rite de R. Dinu asupra organizării Ministe- la chestiunea Dunării, şi terminând cu o
rului Afacerilor Externe în vremea respec- scrisoare a Primului Secretar al legaţiei ro-
tivă au darul de a clarifica, pentru cititorul mâne la Roma din 31 decembrie 1883, în
culegerii de documente, poziţia ocupată de care acesta relatează o recepţie oferită de
fiecare dintre emitenţi în ierarhia diplomatică Regele Italiei. Este vorba de un număr de
română. În anul 1883, reprezentanţele diplo- 510 documente, şi anume rapoarte, te-
matice ale României sunt doar în număr de legrame, telegrame cifrate, depeşe, scrisori
unsprezece, avându-şi sediile la Atena, Ber- particulare şi note (caracterul fiecărui do-
lin, Londra, Paris, Roma, Bruxelles, Viena, cument este semnalat de către editori la în-
Belgrad, Sofia, Constantinopol şi Sankt ceputul fiecărui document). Localizarea
Petersburg. Cea mai mare parte din volumul documentelor este facilitată de precizările
de faţă este, aşadar, constituită de corespon- din finalul fiecărui document, legate de
denţa dintre aceste reprezentanţe şi minister. fondul arhivistic de provenienţă şi de da-
Tematica principală acoperită de cores- tele dosarului din care fac parte. Arhivele
pondenţa diplomatică din anul 1883 este în care pot fi găsite documentele din acest

478 RECENSIONES
volum sunt Arhivele Ministerului Afaceri- Sperăm că apariţia acestui volum nu va

lor Externe, Arhivele Naţionale Istorice fi un episod izolat şi că, dimpotrivă, ea va
Centrale, Biblioteca Academiei Române pune bazele unei tradiţii care să faciliteze
(pentru corespondenţa privată a unora din accesul cercetătorilor şi al publicului larg la
miniştrii epocii) şi Biblioteca Naţională a acest tip de surse istorice, încă destul de rare
României. În final, volumul este însoţit de în România de astăzi.
un indice cu cca. 600 de intrări, atât nume
proprii cât şi comune. RUXANDRA IVAN

ABSTRACTS 479
ABSTRACTS
ALEXANDRA IONESCU, Que font et que sont les partis politiques roumains? (Romanian
Political Parties: What They Are and What They Do?)
At the very moment of the fall of Romanian communism, pluripartism was
viewed as an irrefutable sign of democracy. However, political pluralism was
not a value to be simply inserted in a sphere of political representations forged
during communism, nor parties political objects to be easily conceived and
build in a political life deserted by the Communist Party. The article explores
and synthesizes the ways those two fundamental references of a democracy –
i.e. political pluralism and political parties – were conceptualized by the Roma-
nian postcommunist politicians: what is a political party? what parties are sup-
posed to do in the emerging political regime and what kind of societal plural-
ism are they supposed to mirror? Those are questions whose answers and the
way they were answered lies in the heart of Romanian democratization and re-
gime building in the 1990 and 2000.
LAVINIA STAN, Goulash Justice for Goulash Communism? Explaining Transitional

Justice in Hungary
Since 1989 some Eastern European countries have chosen to forgive and forget
while others have opted to punish and prosecute the perpetrators of commu-
nist-era human rights abuses. Hungary is the only country that took the middle
road, effecting limited transitional justice in the key areas of lustration, public ac-
cess to secret political police archives, and court prosecution of former commu-
nist leaders and secret spies. As this article contends, the country was bound to
resist efforts at radical de-communization due to its mild communist regime, its
negotiated transition, and conciliatory, if unstable, post-communist politics. The
article presents the organization and evolution of the Hungarian secret state se-
curity structures, the key transitional justice legislation, the political bargaining
that shaped lustration and file access, and the way public scandals and uncon-
trolled release of sensitive information have rocked the Hungarian political life.
MIHAI CHIOVEANU, ”The Harvest of Anger”. Politics of Salvation and Ethnic-cleansing

in 1940s Romania: Fascist Thinkers and Authoritarian Doers
During the Second World War, between 270 000 and 320 000 Jews, 12 500 Roma
and Sinti, and thousands of Ukrainian and Russian civilians died at the hands
of the Romanian authorities. The huge number of victims is the direct result of
an intentional, state sponsored and state organized policy of ethnic-cleansing

480 ABSTRACTS
implemented from 1940 up to 1944 by an authoritarian regime with certain fas-

cist features. The present study attempts to indicate that politics of salvation
and ethnic-cleansing, which played a central role in Antonescu’s regime, repre-
sents the legacy of Romanian fascism and, consequently, to indicate that the Ro-
manians were not puppets and/or ”Hitler’s willing executioners”. Though Ro-
manian fierce anti-Semitic and unpleasantly xenophobic hyper-nationalism will
be briefly discussed, my main focus will be on Anger as a key motivation in the
politics of the revolutionary Iron Guard and the frustrated and unrestrained
dictatorship of Ion Antonescu that turned to the armed forces, police, and the
gendarmerie as professional practitioners of violence, as to enforce his ideal vi-
sion of the nation and society and implement his Politics of Salvation. Accord-
ingly, I will point out that ethnic-cleansing was triggered not only by xenopho-
bia but also by the determination and possibility of the Romanian military gov-
ernment to vent with the advent of war against USSR of ”righteous anger” on
the weak, thus adding the ”cleansing of the ground” to the magnitude of an
(uncertain) victory against the external enemy.
DAN STOENESCU, Palestinian Nationalism: From Secularism to Islam.

The objective of this essay is to critically analyze the modern developments of
Palestinian nationalism. The essay is divided into three parts. The first part ana-
lyzes the concept of nationalism and its implications for Palestinian nationalism
looking into the theoretical approaches when analyzing nationalism and their
relevance when analyzing Palestinian nationalism. The second part searches for
the reasons of the emergence of Palestinian nationalism in the Occupied Terri-
tories and in the countries that host large numbers of Palestinian refugees. The
third part looks into the relationship between Palestinian nationalism and Is-
lam. Furthermore, the third part analyses the relationship between land, nation-
alism and Islam and examines the rise of Hamas and its role in the develop-
ment of Palestinian nationalism. This essay concludes that secular Palestinian
nationalism was just a stage in the development of Palestinian national identity
and it can not succeed in the contemporary political situation of the region. The
political circumstances transformed the Palestinian nationalism into a Palestin-
ian Islamic nationalism in order to fight for the independence of Palestine.
LIGIA LIVADĂ-CADESCHI, Former le citoyen. La lecture roumaine d’un objectif

européen (Developing the Citizen. Romanian View of a European Ideal)
The first decades of the Romanian 19th century are characterized by the struggle
of some significant classes of the society that keep on trying to affirm and im-
pose their own conception of an European ideal, that should be modern and
progressive, in opposition with the barbarian and despotic ottoman oriental-
ism. The essential purpose of this approach is with no doubt a political one. But
the temptation of a political revival passes through the necessity of a new social
construction of which the main promoter is a new social subject, a citizen-sub-
ject, educated in the spirit of the European values of the time. Thus the educa-
tion, the instruction and the school itself become the most important vectors of
this renewal. The interest shown to these fields already has some very good pre-
vious antecedents. Since the middle 18th century in accordance with the Enlight-
enment European ideas, the Phanariots princes had been willing to exploit the

ABSTRACTS 481
political virtues of the public education of which levels fit closely to those of the
social hierarchy. At the beginning of the 19th century, the Enlightened Europe
become the tacit or explicit model of all those tempted by the renewal of the an-
cient structure. The social and political restructurings that were taken into ac-
count did not suffer any major changes but the reorganization of consciences.
In the Principalities, the basis of the entire elementary public education was
represented explicitly by the Christian morality. The homeland, as a mother-
land, substitutes the family in order to develop young people education, so that
its uniformity could ensure the public harmony and happiness. The security of
the government is based on raising citizens up and their enlightenment. This
ideological option can also be found at the level of public education administra-
tive rules and programs for which notions opposite either to Orthodox belief or
political authority were prohibited to be taught. The fundament of every public
institution is the moral doctrine of which purpose is to give birth to pious
Christian, faithful citizens who are useful to their homeland. In the middle of
19th century, Man had to have had a special and useful role in the society and
that was a general rule and idea. So the education must fit to social needs and
thus it must be differentiate accordingly to the social roles that are ideally as-
sumed by each individual. Together with both some certain influences which
don’t reveal their sources and some clear theoretical references to the general
European pattern, there was a practical constant concern of assuming it. In the
first decades of the 19th century, the first public scholarship beneficiaries were
sent to foreign schools (in Italy and then in France). These scholarships were
granted on one condition: beneficiaries had to return to their country and make
a teaching career so that they could do that in accordance with the occidental
European pattern in order to make a connection between the Romanian system
and the foreign one. In the middle of the same century, local authorities within
the Principalities were thinking to send as scholarship beneficiaries the most
gifted orphans raised on State expenses. The dream of a European model goes
beyond the administrative field and spreads over through private individuals.
At the end of the century, Ion Ionescu de la Brad founded an agricultural school
for orphans inspired by similar models seen in France and Switzerland. Those
schools were factually claimed by the new scientific and positivist philanthropy
which had a lot of supporters in Romanian culture especially among doctors
(hygienist movement).
ANDREEA ZAMFIRA, Élections et électeurs aux XIXe et XXe siècles. Une généalogie
de l'étude électorale en Roumanie (Elections and Voters in the 19th and 20th Century. A
Genealogy of the Electoral Study in Romania).
The paper analyses the main contributions to the development of the electoral
study in Romania between the 19th and 20th century. It should be underlined
from the very beginning that the interest in the study of the electoral system
evolved with the democratic vote. Furthermore, the consolidation of the de-
mocratic representative system in the interwar period coincided with the pub-
lishing of the first researches in the social-electoral field. After 1937, the elec-
toral system and the political regime suffered numberless modifications, culmi-
nating in the instauration of the totalitarian regime. The same period marked an
involution phase for the study of social and political phenomena. In the context
of elections without options and of formal vote, the electoral sociology has been

482 ABSTRACTS
deprived of its main subject matter. As a consequence, all writings having elec-
tions as main topic lost their scientific integrity and took the form of homage to
the electoral socialist system. This genealogy of the electoral study in Romania
pinpoints on the one hand the level of electoral know-how and analysis and on
the other hand the characteristics of electors and elections between 1831-1989.
ALEXANDRA PETRESCU, Les liens entre le Conseil National des Femmes Roumaines et
le Conseil International des Femmes, 1921-1971 (The Connections between the Roma-
nian National Council of Women and the International Council of Women, 1921-1971)
The present article focuses on the connections between the National Council of
Women (NCW) and the International Council of Women (ICW) during half a
century. The research was made in the Centre of Archives for the History of
Women from Brussels and brings to life the official correspondence between
the Romanian feminists and the personalities of ICW and other documents pre-
served in these Archives. This study stresses the importance of Romanian femi-
nism on international level, presents the contributions of Romanian feminists to
the activities of the ICW before and during the World War Two and analyzes
the essays of Romanian feminists to reconnect the National Council to the Inter-
national organization during the communism.
CAMIL ALEXANDRU PÂRVU, From Diversity to Difference. Structural Dilemmas of

Identity Politics
The main purpose of this paper is to critically assess some problems affecting
the structure of a number of arguments advocating what has been named as
identity politics or the politics of difference, and especially those formulated by
Iris Marion Young. While such accounts have claimed recognition of different
identities as ground for demanding a fundamental reform of the current per-
ceived dominant liberal framework, they have yet to solve a number of issues
that pertain to the structure itself of these arguments. Despite some valid criti-
cisms related to the way in which identity indeed plays a crucial role in the con-
temporary power and legitimacy contexts, these accounts, through their norma-
tive discourse of culture and difference, seem to reinforce the very reasons they
have identified for those problems. Furthermore, by focusing on culture and
group identity as their primary concern, instead of on individuals, such ac-
counts have replaced the modern subjects of political justification without
clearly assuming or justifying this move. The politics of difference also needs to
offer a better explanation of how the underlying common framework for plu-
ralism can be preserved. Finally, such accounts are invoking the concept of
”culture”: notoriously indeterminate, it undermines their efforts to offer formal
criteria of what cultures are, what membership consists in, and which legal
rights should correspond to different contexts.
CIPRIAN BOGDAN, Charles Taylor and the (Modern) Self

The present paper tries to capture the ideas surrounding the problem of per-
sonal identity in some of the works of Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor.
The basic assumption of this paper is the fact that Taylor attempts to solve three
major modern identity crises: the first one is originated in the reductive image,
projected by scientifical discourse, of human being as a ”disengaged self” detached

ABSTRACTS 483
from its body, culture and language; the second crisis is related mostly to a nihil-
istic rejection of the cultural background in the name of a creative, self-referen-
tial individual; finally, the third one has its source in the refusal of the individu-
als to involve themselves in public space as a symptom of the growing alien-
ation of the modern identity. Taylor offers instead, as an attempt to fight these
crises, a philosophical anthropology and also an ambitious historical project of
bringing to light those ideals that made modern identity. Finally, we try to
show that Taylor’s formula of the self, despite its hierarchical dimension based
on the need for strong values, resembles more with a rhythm that seems flexi-
ble enough to combine hierarchy with the pressure of modern changing and
fragmentation.
RADU CARP, Pierre Manent şi tradiţia gândirii europene despre religie şi politică (Pierre
Manent and the Tradition of European Political Thinking about Religion and Politics)
Pierre Manent is viewed as a French thinker that develops in modern times the
liberal tradition of political thinking. One of the most important issues of Ma-
nent’s thinking that was not enough underlined it is the relationship between re-
ligion an politics and how this evolved from the beginning of Christianity until
the main consequences of modernity. Manent view on religion and politics is the
core of this paper analysis. The main contributions of Manent, such as Naissances
de la politique moderne. Machiavel, Hobbes, Rousseau (1977), Histoire intellectuelle du
libéralisme (1987) La cité de l’homme (1994), Cours familier de philosophie politique
(2001), La raison des nations. Réflections sur la démocratie en Europe (2006) are ana-
lyzed from this perspective. Our conclusion is that in the way Manent deals with
the relationship between politics and religion there are some constants that may
be found in all his work. These are: the relationship between the Church and the
different forms of political organization in Europe (Civitas, Imperium, monarchy);
the fact that Christianity is one of the few current relevant concepts for political,
due to the failure of totalitarian ideologies; the idea that secularization in Europe
is not irreversible; we live in ”an age of separations”, and Church-State is one of
these separations; we witness the religion transformation process and the État
laïque cannot survive to État-nation; the role of Islam in modern societies and his
perpetual finding of a political form; the relationship between Judaism, state and
nation; the issue of the Christian identity of Europe

484 ABSTRACTS

AUTORES 485
AUTORES
CIPRIAN BOGDAN
MA in Cultural Anthropology, Babeş-Bolyai University, Ph.D. candidate in Phi-
losophy, Babeş-Bolyai University. Teaching seminars with the Department of
European Studies, Babeş-Bolyai University. Has published several studies
mostly on the way personal identity is reflected in modern philosophical dis-
course. (wilwulf@yahoo.com).
RADU CARP
Associate professor, Department of Political Science, University of Bucharest.
MA in European studies and international relations, Institut Européen des
Hautes Études Internationales, Nice (1996). SJD, Comparative Constitutional
Law, Faculty of Law, Babeş-Bolyai University of Cluj-Napoca (2002). Recent
publications: De la ”pravilă” la ”constituţie”. O istorie a începuturilor constituţiona-
lismului românesc, Nemira, Bucureşti, 2002 (with Laurenţiu Vlad and Ioan
Stanomir); Responsabilitatea ministerială. Studiu de drept public comparat, All-Beck,
Bucureşti, 2003; Dreptul la intimitate şi protecţia datelor cu caracter personal. De la
acquis-ul comunitar la legislaţia românească, All-Beck, Bucureşti, 2004 (with
Simona Şandru); (editor) Un suflet pentru Europa. Dimensiunea religioasă a unui
proiect politic, Editura Anastasia, Bucureşti, 2005; Reforma administraţiei publice
în contextul integrării europene/Public Administration Reform in the Perspective of
Romania’s Accession to the European Union, Institutul European din România,
Bucureşti, 2006 (with Marius Profiroiu, Tudorel Andrei, Dragoş Dincă); Proiec-
tul politic european. De la valori la acţiune comună, Editura Universităţii din
Bucureşti, Bucureşti, 2006; Principiile gândirii populare. Doctrina creştin-democrată
şi acţiunea socială, Eikon, Cluj-Napoca, 2006 (with Dacian Graţian Gal, Sorin
Mureşan, Radu Preda). Articles published in various academic publications.
(radu.carp@fspub.ro)
MIHAI CHIOVEANU
Assistant professor with the Department of Political Science, University of Bu-
charest. Ph.D. in History with the ”Al. I. Cuza” University of Iaşi, and a Ph.D.
candidate in Comparative History with CEU-Budapest. Member of the Roma-
nian delegation to the Task Force for International Cooperation on Holocaust
Education, Remembrance and Research. He authored one book: Feţele fascismu-
lui. Politică, ideologie şi scrisul istoric în secolul XX, Editura Universităţii din Bu-
cureşti, Bucureşti, 2005; and numerous articles and studies in various academic
publications. Main research interest: European fascism, genocide studies, and
Middle-East politics. (mihai.chioveanu@fspub.ro)

486 AUTORES
ALEXANDRA IONESCU
Ph.D. in Philosophy, University of Bucharest. Associate professor with the
Department of Political Science at the University of Bucharest, co-editor of
Politique et société dans la Roumanie postcommuniste, L’Harmattan, coll. ”Logiques
Politiques”, Paris, 2004. (alexandra_ionescu@yahoo.com)
LIGIA LIVADĂ-CADESCHI
Ph.D. in History. Researcher at the Institute for South East European Studies,
Romanian Academy. Senior Lecturer with the Department of Political Sciences,
University of Bucharest. Published books: De la milă la filantropie. Instituţii de
asistare a săracilor din Ţara Românească şi Moldova în secolul al XVIII-lea, Editura
Nemira, Bucureşti, 2001; Departamentul de cremenalion. Din activitatea unei in-
stanţe penale din Ţara Românească, 1794-1795, Editura Nemira, Bucureşti, 2002.
(ligia_livada@yahoo.fr)
CAMIL ALEXANDRU PÂRVU

Ph.D. in Political Science. Lecturer, University of Bucharest. Former Jean Mon-
net Fellow of the European University Institute, his works cover various topics
in normative political theory. (camil.parvu@fspub.ro)
ALEXANDRA PETRESCU
BA in Political Science at the University of Bucharest, MA in Comparative Politics
with the Political Science Department, University of Bucharest, DEA in Political
Science at the Université Libre de Bruxelles, Ph.D. candidate in Political Science at
the University of Bucharest. She has published several studies concerning the Ro-
manian feminism between the Wars. (alexapetrescu2005@yahoo.com)
LAVINIA STAN
Teaches political science at Concordia University in Montreal, Canada, and acts
as Director of the Center for Post-Communist Studies at St. Francis Xavier Uni-
versity, Canada. Author of: Leaders and Laggards: Governance, Civicness and Eth-
nicity in Romania, Columbia University Press, New York, 2003, the co-author,
with Dr. Lucian Turcescu, of Religion and Politics in Post-Communist Romania,
Oxford University Press, New York, 2007, and the editor of Romania in Transi-
tion, Dartmouth, Aldershot, 1997. She is a regular contributor to Sfera politicii
and Revista 22, and the author of over 70 articles published in peer-reviewed
North American or English academic journals. Her main research interests
currently revolve around transitional justice, and religion and politics.
(lstan@stfx.ca)
DAN STOENESCU
BA in International Studies at Austin College, Texas; MA in Globalization and
Development at Warwick University, UK; Graduate Diploma in Forced Migra-
tion and Refugee Studies at the American University in Cairo and is currently a
Ph.D. student in political science at the University of Bucharest. Main research
interests: Arab nationalism, Islamic identity, Hamas, Hezbollah and the Muslim
Brotherhood. Recent publications: International Relations and Globalization in the
Middle East, Editura Semne, Bucureşti, 2005. (dan.stoenescu@fspub.ro)

AUTORES 487
ANDREEA ZAMFIRA
BA in Political Science, MA in Comparative Politics at the University of Bucha-
rest, MA in Social Sciences at École Doctorale Francophone en Sciences Sociales
Europe Centrale et Orientale. She is currently PhD candidate in Political Science at
the University of Bucharest and Université Libre de Bruxelles. Main research inter-
ests: political parties, cleavages and voting behaviour in multiethnic countries.
(azamfira@yahoo.com)

488 AUTORES

AUTORES 489
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490 AUTORES

AUTORES 491
University of Bucharest
Department of Political Science
Institute for Political Research
The Department of Political Science at the University of Bucharest was founded in

1991 with the purpose to act as a focal point for training and research in political
science. The Department offers its over one thousand undergraduate students a full
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249 DANIEL BARBU

Romanian Political Science Review

vol. VII, no. 2

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review

Believing that ideas do matter, the Editors share a common commitment as

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review

vol. VII, no. 2

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review

International Advisory Board

Editor Daniel BARBU

© Institutul de Cercet˙ri Politice

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

LUKÁCS ANTAL, RUDOLF DINU, ALIN CIUPALĂ (coord.), Documente diplomatice

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Que font et que sont les partis

Le communisme roumain fut souvent interprété comme une expérience histo-

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

La refonte de l’espace politique déclenchée par l’effondrement du commu-

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

L’acte du CFSN témoignait déjà à l’époque de la défaillance relative des dé-

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

formations partisanes qui accéderont au Parlement, la Constitution aménageait im-

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

de l’État, la règle détaillait en effet les rapports structurels et fonctionnels entre

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

politique ayant toujours du mal à travailler sur le mode de la rationalité légale et

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Goulash Justice for Goulash Communism?

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

The Communist Secret Police

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Hungarian Communist Party (Magyar Kommunista Partja) garnered barely 17 per-

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

service. Paradoxically, the subcommittee failed to question Pallagi in detail, and

Lustration without Lustrati

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

moted limited transparency rather than punishment. Complete transparency, the

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

In response to the court’s recommendations, in July 1996 the Socialist-domi-

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

His case officer, lieutenant-colonel Lajos Toth, publicly contradicted Medgyessy,

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007

unearthed tended to be detrimental to the opposition. On 31 July the committee an-

Romanian Political Science Review • vol. VII • no. 2 • 2007