Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

www.politicalgeography.com

‘Facing the future’: tourism and identity-

building in post-socialist Romania
*
Duncan Light
Department of Geography, Liverpool Hope, Hope Park, Liverpool L16 9JD, UK

Abstract

Tourism is an important component of the process of identity-building, representing one

way in which a country can seek to project a particular self-image to the wider international
community. As such, tourism has considerable ideological significance for the formerly social-
ist states of Central and Eastern Europe that are seeking to project and affirm distinctly post-
socialist identities as part of the process of re-integration into the political and economic struc-
tures of Western Europe. This paper focuses on tourism and identity-building in post-socialist
Romania. In particular, it focuses on one building — the so-called ‘House of the People’ —
which is intimately linked with Romania’s totalitarian past and which is fast becoming Buch-
arest’s biggest tourist sight. The presentation of the building to tourists seeks to ‘reconfigure’
its past so that it accords better with Romania’s post-socialist identity, and particularly its
aspirations to (re)establish itself as a country of ‘mainstream’ Europe.  2001 Elsevier Science
Ltd. All rights reserved.

Keywords: Tourism; Identity-building; Post-socialism; Romania

Introduction

This paper explores the role of tourism in identity-building in post-socialist Rom-

ania. Despite the recent explosive growth of interest in the concept of identity, both
within the social sciences generally and within Geography in particular, the signifi-
cance of tourism in the construction of political identities is frequently overlooked,
as indeed is the political context in which many tourism activities take place (C.
Hall, 1994; Morgan & Pritchard, 1998). Yet, for many countries tourism is a highly

* Tel.: +44-151-291-3043; fax: +44-151-291-3172.

E-mail address: lightd@hope.ac.uk (D. Light).

0962-6298/01/$ - see front matter  2001 Elsevier Science Ltd. All rights reserved.
PII: S 0 9 6 2 - 6 2 9 8 ( 0 1 ) 0 0 0 4 4 - 0
1054 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

significant means of self-promotion to the wider international community. Through

the efforts of national tourism offices or similar quasi-governmental organisations,
tourism promotion is frequently intended to project (and legitimate) a particular
national self-image or political identity. Such issues have particular relevance for
the formerly socialist states of Central and Eastern Europe (CEE), where a key
component of political transformations over the past decade or so has been the con-
struction of new identities and the projection of these identities to the wider world.
In particular, the CEE countries are seeking to affirm that they have departed from
state socialism and are now seeking political and economic integration with Western
Europe. Tourism is one of a number of ways in which these countries can seek to
demonstrate their post-socialist identity to the international community.
In this paper I explore how the process of identity-building in Romania is
mediated, negotiated and contested with respect to one building which is fast becom-
ing the capital’s biggest tourist ‘attraction’. But this is no ordinary building! In central
Bucharest stands the vast ‘House of the People’, the world’s second largest adminis-
trative structure, built in the 1980s on the orders of Nicolae Ceauşescu. As one of
the defining symbols of totalitarianism the building is starkly dischordant with the
post-socialist face that Romania is seeking to present to the world. After considering
the background to the building I examine its significance as a contemporary tourist
‘sight’. In particular I consider the ways in which the presentation of the ‘House’
to tourists is attempting to ‘reconfigure’ the building, so as to make it accord better
with Romania’s post-socialist identity politics.

Tourism and identity-building

At first glance tourism may seem to have little to do with issues of identity, parti-
cularly given the tendency to consider tourism as an ‘industry’ and to conceptualise
it in terms of a particular set of economic activities. However, the increasing influ-
ence of sociological and cultural perspectives within tourism studies (see, for
example, Morgan & Pritchard, 1998; Rojek & Urry, 1997; Sharpley, 1994; Urry,
1990, 1995) has brought increasing recognition that tourism is strongly implicated
in the construction and reproduction of identities at a number of scales. For example,
at the individual level, personal senses of identity in postmodern societies are increas-
ingly defined and affirmed through practices of consumption (Featherstone, 1991;
Mackay, 1997). Tourism is one part of this process: the ‘right’ holiday has consider-
able symbolic value and for many people holiday-taking has become an act of con-
spicuous consumption through which they can reaffirm self-image and social status.
Moreover, for many ‘postmodern’ or ‘post-tourists’ (Urry, 1990), the choice of hol-
iday type and destination is a practice designed both to differentiate themselves from
other class fractions (particular mass tourists) and to enhance cultural capital (Munt,
1994). In recent years the huge diversification of types of tourism and destinations —
many with a strong cultural component (Craik, 1997) — is the tourism industry’s
response to the rise of such post-tourists.
At the opposite end of the scale, tourism is a component of identity-building at
 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074 1055

the national level. Such ‘national’ identities are not innate but instead are construc-
tions (Said, 1995) and as such they are fluid, situational and contested (Gruffudd,
1994; Smith, 1992). Here, however, it is necessary to distinguish between the con-
struction of national identities for ‘internal’ and ‘external’ audiences (cf. Kneafsey,
2000; Ray, 1998). The former process is that by which a particular ‘imagined com-
munity’ (Anderson, 1983) creates a collective identity of, and for, itself. Central to
such identity-building is the existence of an Other (Said, 1995), usually represented
by “groups — both internal and external to a state — with competing, and often
conflicting, beliefs, values and aspirations” (Graham, Ashworth, & Tunbridge, 2000,
p. 18). Through particular readings of history and place that emphasise its cultural
exclusivity, a nation will both define its collective identity and differentiate itself
from Others (Graham, 2000). Thus, a national past — even if largely invented
(Hobsbawm & Ranger, 1983) — and a national territory are fundamental to the
construction of national identities (Graham et al., 2000; Smith, 1991). However,
nation-building is a dynamic and recurrent process (Smith, 1986) so that dominant
narratives of history, place and identity need to be continually reproduced. One way
in which this takes place is through domestic tourism, whereby citizens travel within
their own country, particularly to sites of historical significance. Through visiting
such places domestic tourists are able to make a connection between themselves and
the nation, thereby reinforcing social cohesion and collective identities (Palmer,
1999).
However, it is in the issue of identity-building for an external audience — how
‘self’ is presented to Others (see O’Connor, 1993) — that tourism is most strongly
implicated. Many states, through the medium of national tourist offices, devote con-
siderable expenditure to promoting themselves as destinations for foreign tourists
(Britton, 1991). A key aim of such ‘officially’ sanctioned promotion, particularly in
developing countries, is to maximise the economic benefits from tourism. However,
the role of national tourist offices is not to sell holiday packages in the same way
as commercial tour operators but instead to present a high profile of the destination
country (Peleggi, 1996) and to give it a particular brand or image (cf. D. Hall, 1999).
As such, there is a significant — although often overlooked — political dimension to
such tourism promotion. In particular, since identities are constituted (and contested)
through representation (Del Casino & Hanna, 2000; S. Hall, 1996), the images
through which a country presents itself to tourists are instrumental in creating an
identity for that country (Morgan & Pritchard, 1998; Urry, 1995). Indeed, tourism
promotion is a fundamental way in which a country can project and affirm its national
identity and self-image (Lanfant, 1995, p. 32). In presenting ‘itself’ in the way that
it wants to be seen by Others, a country can make a statement to those Others of
‘who we are’ and ‘how we want you to see us’. Tourism is, in effect, a way of
reaching out to these Others.
Tourism promotion, then, is inherently ideological in character (Morgan & Pritch-
ard, 1998). Through the development of a particular ‘brand’ through which to attract
tourists, a country will seek to stress its own particular character and uniqueness and
portray itself in a way that flatters and reinforces national identity (Lanfant, 1995).
Thus, the same narratives that are used within a country to articulate particular
1056 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

hegemonic readings of history, culture and identity are also mobilised within tourism
promotional strategies designed for an external audience (Peleggi, 1996). These may
include ethnic identity (for example, Callahan, 1998); rural landscapes which are
embodiments of a particular national identity (see, for example, O’Connor, 1993 and
Johnson, 1999 in the case of Ireland); culture (see Boissevain, 1996 in the case
of Malta); and, most frequently, ‘national’ heritage and tradition (Palmer, 1999).
International tourism has therefore become a significant influence on the conditions
under which national identities are constructed and sustained (Urry, 1994).
Central and Eastern Europe presents a particularly apt illustration of the relation-
ships between ideology, national identities and tourism promotion. During the early
years of state socialism when foreigners (particularly Westerners) were regarded with
suspicion, there was little concern within the countries of this region to encourage
visits by foreign tourists (D. Hall, 1991). However, during the 1960s and 1970s there
was increasing recognition that tourism could contribute to a distinctly socialist
model of economic development (D. Hall, 1984), and during the later years of social-
ism the need for Western currencies led many CEE countries to encourage visits by
Western tourists. However, the motives for tourism development were not solely
economic. Instead, as these countries began to ‘open up’ for tourism many of them
took advantage of the opportunity to promote to Westerners their unique identity as
socialist states, and in some cases to promote the ideological superiority of socialism.
Perhaps the most extreme example was Albania, where the small number of tourists
permitted to enter the country were taken on carefully prescribed itineraries to visit
sites of significance in the construction of socialism (D. Hall, 1990). A similar situ-
ation was apparent in Romania where tourist promotional materials tended to portray
the country as a socialist utopia, presided over by the benevolent figure of President
Ceauşescu (see, for example, Anon., 1984).
Since the collapse of state socialism, most Central and Eastern European countries
have given renewed priority to tourism, again because of its potential contribution
to economic development. In particular, as an earner of foreign currency, tourism is
seen as having a role in alleviating balance of payments problems (D. Hall, 1998).
However, in the context of attempts to redefine national identities in the region, the
ideological importance of tourism remains undiminished (Morgan & Pritchard,
1998). Throughout post-socialist CEE the construction of new political identities has
been founded on a repudiation of the socialist past (Verdery, 1999). Moreover,
changing concepts of identity have been underpinned by the notion of a ‘return’ to
Europe (Hyde-Price, 1998), and a desire to renew historical ties with Western Europe
that were severed after the Second World War. Indeed, in the context of attempts
to redefine national identities, the whole concept of ‘Europe’ has a powerful symbolic
importance (Verdery, 1996). ‘Europe’ is seen as the embodiment of values that
socialism rejected, and many of the CEE countries are seeking to construct new
national identities in terms of liberal, pluralist and democratic ideals based on the
Western model. In addition, almost all of the CEE countries aspire to membership
of the European Union to demonstrate both that they have left socialism behind and
have reintegrated into the world economy (Grabbe & Hughes, 1999). As such, these
countries have embarked on strategies to ameliorate their image in Western Europe,
 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074 1057

not least because by presenting themselves as being discontinuous with socialism

they hope to convince Western governments and capital to provide the support and
investment necessary for restructuring (Verdery, 1999).
Tourism presents an obvious way for the CEE countries to project a new identity
to the international community (and particularly Western Europe) and to affirm their
status as post-socialist democracies. Promotional imagery for tourists has been used
to counter negative perceptions of the region and to redefine and reposition individual
countries as tourist destinations (Morgan & Pritchard, 1998). Thus the CEE countries
have been actively developing new brand images in order both to emphasise their
‘Europeanness’ and legitimate themselves as part of ‘mainstream’ Europe, and to
disassociate themselves from their socialist past (D. Hall, 1999). Tourism pro-
motional materials produced in the 1990s by the CEE countries have emphasised
themes of rebirth and new beginnings, and also the re-establishment of historical
and cultural links with the West which pre-date the period of socialist hegemony in
the region (Morgan & Pritchard, 1998).
Romania is a good illustration of how tourism promotion has been used in the
post-socialist period to ‘reimage’ the country in order to present a new identity to
the wider world. However, unlike other CEE countries, there was little concern with
tourism promotion in the early 1990s. While this was largely attributable to the
political and economic turmoil of this period (Rady, 1992), it also reflected a wider
debate among Romania’s leaders about the nature of the country’s post-socialist
identity. Since at least the eighteenth century there have been two, largely competing,
representations of Romanian national identity (Haddock & Caraiani, 1999; Crisen,
2000; Verdery, 1991). One — the ‘Western’ position — seeks to champion ‘Europe-
an’ influences on Romania’s development and to assert that Romania is part of the
European mainstream; the second — or ‘Eastern’ position — stresses the importance
of native or indigeneous Romanian values and is more hostile to ‘European’ influ-
ences. During the socialist period Ceauşescu had championed the ‘nativist’ rather
than the ‘European’ position (Deletant, 1991; Verdery, 1991), and this stance con-
tinued in the early 1990s. Romania’s first post-socialist administrations were domi-
nated by figures with their roots firmly in the socialist past, and although they swiftly
renounced communism it became apparent that they were reluctant to embrace polit-
ical and economic reform. Indeed, Romania’s first post-socialist president (Ion
Iliescu) questioned whether Romania should embrace ‘Western’ values (such as
democracy) or instead pursue a more indigenous or ‘nativist’ course (Gallagher,
1995; Verdery, 1996). Consequently, in the early 1990s there was little concern to
ameliorate Romania’s image in the ‘West’: conversely, the dominance of the former
nomenklatura in government, the rise of nationalism, and the muddled and laggardly
economic reforms caused a further deterioration of the country’s already battered
international image.
However, by the mid 1990s Romania’s leaders had recognised the country’s poor
standing abroad and acknowledged the need for Western political and economic
support. In addition, Romania was keen to draw closer to the West in order to dis-
tance itself from the conflict in neighbouring former Yugoslavia (Gallagher, 1997).
Iliescu dropped his hostility towards Western values and adopted a generally more
1058 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

conciliatory position towards the West. Consequently, Romania embarked on a series

of measures designed to enhance its image among the international community. This
(re)engagement with Europe culminated with high-profile bids to join the European
Union and the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) (see Phinnemore, 2001)
along with an historic rapprochement with Hungary in 1996 that did much to improve
Romania’s standing. It seems no coincidence that, around this time, the role of tour-
ism in promoting Romania to the wider world began to be taken more seriously. In
1993 the Romanian government initiated a reform programme for tourism (Roberts,
1996) and a steady flow of legislation was produced during the mid 1990s designed
to promote tourism development (Monitorul Oficial, 1998). With European Union
support tourist promotional materials produced during the mid 1990s set about con-
structing a new identity for Romania. The following quotes, taken from tourist bro-
chures published in Romania, illustrate this strategy:
In December 1989 Romania was reborn as a free nation. Now this multi-faceted
country is welcoming tourists to enjoy a wonderfully varied heritage of traditional
culture, scenic splendours and leisure opportunities.
Now that Romania has rejoined mainstream Europe it is welcoming visitors to
share and enjoy a civilised heritage, spiced with touches of Byzantine influence.
The use of tourism to portray Romania as a country ‘reborn’, ‘free’ and having
shaken off its totalitarian past is obvious. What is also significant is the concern to
portray Romania as a country of ‘mainstream Europe’ (cf Morgan & Pritchard, 1998).
The importance of presenting Romania as a ‘European’ country gained additional
momentum following the election in November 1996 of a new centre–right govern-
ment that was at pains to stress its discontinuity with the former regime, and which
sought to present itself as representing a ‘new start’ for Romania (Gallagher, 1998).
The new administration espoused a commitment to rapid reform and the building of
stronger economic, cultural and political links with Western Europe, with European
Union membership being a key aspiration (Roper, 2000). This pro-European orien-
tation has been vigorously maintained by the former communists who returned to
power in November 2000.
A further component of the ‘re-branding’ of Romania has been the development
of a new product appropriate to the country’s post-socialist self-image. This has
involved the promotion of rural tourism and the country’s unique rural heritage and
traditions (Mitrache, Manole, Stijan, Bran, & Istrate, 1996; Roberts, 1996). This
emphasis on the rural and pre-modern is by no means confined to Romania: a similar
emphasis is found in many of the CEE countries (Morgan & Pritchard, 1998). For
Romania, a focus on rural tourism allows the country to affirm its post-socialist
identity by stressing an earlier, pre-socialist past (along with rural landscapes and
lifestyles that survived socialism to continue into the present day). However, there
are also more pragmatic reasons for the promotion of rural tourism. As Roberts
(1996) argues, rural tourism allows Romania to concentrate on its strengths without
drawing attention to the considerable structural problems of the tourist industry
inherited from the socialist period.
 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074 1059

Such efforts to rebrand Romania as a tourist destination and to project a new

identity for the country are founded on tourists consuming products and experiences
which affirm and legitimate the country’s post-socialist self-image and aspirations.
However, this cannot be guaranteed and efforts to project a post-socialist identity
can be frustrated if the attention of tourists is directed towards the socialist past. Yet
in Bucharest — where an ‘extraordinary’ part of the legacy of socialism is becoming
the city’s biggest tourist attraction — this is exactly what is happening. In the follow-
ing part of this paper I introduce this building and I then consider the ways in which
it is produced and consumed as a tourist ‘sight’.

The ‘House of the People’

Architecture has long been used as an expression of political power: there is per-
haps no better illustration of this than the ‘House of the People’ (Casa Poporului)
also known as the ‘House of the Republic’ (Casa Republicii) in central Bucharest
(see Plates 1 and 2). The context of the building’s construction has become an issue
of notoriety. In 1971 Nicolae Ceauşescu visited North Korea where he developed
an admiration for both the monumental totalitarian architecture and the grandiose
personality cult he encountered there (Deletant, 1998; Leahu, 1995). A severe earth-
quake in 1977, which caused considerable damage to Bucharest, gave Ceauşescu the
opportunity to remake the city in his own image. For the president the monumental

Plate. 1. Palatul Parlamentului seen from Bulevardul Unirii.

1060 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

Plate. 2. Palatul Parlamentului seen from the South-east.

reconstruction of Bucharest had considerable appeal (Cavalcanti, 1992, 1997),

enabling him to demonstrate both a radical break with the past (cf. Salecl, 1999) and
to celebrate a new political order that expressed the ‘achievements’ of his leadership.
Ceauşescu himself said about the project, “I am looking for a symbolic representation
of the two decades of enlightenment we have just lived through” (cited in Cavalcanti,
1992). Remaking Bucharest offered the opportunity to create a truly socialist city
with an imposing architectural backdrop designed to impress foreign visitors (as such
it was another way in which Romania could present its Socialist credentials to the
wider world). Ceauşescu’s plans for making the ‘new socialist man’ through the
modernisation of Bucharest reflected a familiar theme within Modernist urban plan-
ning: that of shaping society through the shaping of space (cf. Harvey, 1987).
Thus was born the monumental Centru Civic (Civic Centre), which was brutally
superimposed on the existing urban fabric of Bucharest’s historic core. During the
1980s around 100 ha of the city — including many notable historic buildings —
were razed (Cavalcanti, 1997) and up to 40,000 people were displaced — often with
only a day’s notice — to apartments on the edge of the city (Salecl, 1999). At the
core of the Centru Civic was the 3.5 km long and 96 m wide Bulevardul Victoria
Socialismului (The Victory of Socialism Boulevard) lined with monumental apart-
ment buildings designed to house senior Communist Party officials. The boulevard
terminated at a low hill, on which a single building — the extravagant and monumen-
tal Casa Republicii — was constructed.
With a surface area of 300,000 square metres, and occupying a land area of 6.3 ha,
 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074 1061

Casa Republicii, built in an eclectic neo-classical style, is the second largest building
in the world. This was primarily a symbolic building rather than any reflection of the
city’s needs (Cavalcanti, 1997). The resources it consumed were extraordinary: around
400 architects worked on the project (România Liberă, 8-2-90), while 20,000 people
were involved in construction work. Some one million cubic metres of marble were
used along with 900,000 cubic metres of hardwood and 5 kg of gold leaf.1 The building
represents a spectacular mis-direction of resources since, during the period of its con-
struction, the Romanian population experienced unprecedented austerity (including food
rationing) following Ceauşescu’s decision to export agricultural produce and reduce
energy consumption in order to pay the country’s foreign debt ahead of schedule. Given
the sacrifices that Romanians made for the construction of Casa Republicii it is hardly
surprising that it became the most despised building in Romania.
Following Ceauşescu’s overthrow construction work abruptly ceased. In March
1990 the doors were thrown open to the Romanian public (România Liberă, 2-3-
90), although by all accounts they saw little more than a building site since only a
small part of the interior of the building had been completed. At around this time the
building gained the name of ‘The House of the People’ (Casa Poporului), possibly as
an ironic rejoinder on the language of communism but also in recognition that the
building was something for which all Romanians had endured considerable hardship.
Romania’s first post-Ceauşescu government faced a considerable problem of what
to do with such a vast and powerfully symbolic, yet unfinished, structure (Danta,
1993). Romanian public opinion was sharply divided. Many argued that the building
represented the most traumatic period in Romania’s history and should be demol-
ished. Others proposed to negate the building’s past by putting it to an entirely new
use, such as a casino or a museum of communism (Ioan, 1999; Salecl, 1999). The
problem of how to address the built legacy of socialism was by no means unique to
Romania: as Dawson (1999) notes, Poland faced a similar dilemma with the equally
monumental Palace of Culture in Warsaw.
Eventually the government decided to resume construction work with a view to
locating the country’s post-socialist parliament in the building. On one level this was
an obvious course of action: making the building the home of the parliament was
one way of negating its symbolism as a monument of totalitarianism and of
‘reclaiming’ it for a post-totalitarian, democratic parliament. However, on another
level the decision may have reflected the dominance of former high-ranking commu-
nists within Romania’s first post-socialist administration who were perhaps more
sympathetically disposed to the building and the symbolic order it represented. In
1993 the government transferred the building — by now renamed Palatul Parlamen-
tului2 (the Parliament Palace) — to the administration of the Chamber of Deputies
(the lower chamber of Romania’s post-socialist parliament).

1
These figures were supplied by a spokesman for the building.
2
The correct title of this building is itself problematic. Within Romania the building is still widely
known as Casa Poporului although architects still refer to it as Casa Republicii. Outside Romania, the
building is still most commonly known as ‘The House of the People’. Hereafter in this paper I use Palatul
Parlamentului, the name by which the building is officially known in Romania.
1062 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

Part of Palatul Parlamentului opened in 1994 when Bucharest hosted an inter-

national meeting of the Crans-Montana forum. This occasion was itself intended to
improve Romania’s tarnished international image (România Liberă, 21-4-94), dem-
onstrating again how this building is used to project a particular identity for Romania
to the wider world. In the same year, part of the building was opened as an Inter-
national Conference Centre. In the autumn of 1996 the Chamber of Deputies began
to hold sessions in the building. On completion of the building work (according to
a spokesman for the building, only 80% of the building was complete in the Spring
of 2000) the upper chamber (Senate) will also move into the building. Hence, the
entire Romanian legislature will be housed in a single complex (and the building
will be used for a purpose similar to that originally envisaged by Ceauşescu).
Public attitudes to the building have modified during the post-socialist period.
Although it is still dismissed by architects, the initial public hostility appears to have
abated. There are many in Bucharest who still despise the building, but there is an
emerging acceptance of — even pride in — it (cf. Chillingworth, 2000; Leach, 1999).
As an example of the finest Romanian craftsmanship and something for which Rom-
anians collectively endured great hardship, the building is beginning to be regarded
as a part of Romania’s inheritance. In the words of a Bucharest taxi driver: “It [the
House of the People] is ours. It belongs to us. It is like a child — whether it is good
or bad, it is yours. It is the same with that building.”

Tourism and the Palace

The Palace as a tourist sight

In the post-socialist period Palatul Parlamentului has rapidly become one of Buch-
arest’s – and Romania’s — biggest tourist sights. When tours of the building were
first introduced in 1994 they attracted 12,000 visitors (Ziua, 16-3-00). However,
visitor numbers have increased rapidly in recent years and in the first three-quarters
of 1999 the building attracted 80,000 visitors (Ziua, 16-3-00). Although comparative
data on visitor numbers are difficult to obtain, the Palace appears to be one of the
three most visited attractions in Romania, after the Village Museum (an ethnographic
museum in the northern suburbs of Bucharest) which currently attracts around
180,000 visitors annually (Adevărul, 4-3-00) and Bran Castle (promoted to Western
tourists as Dracula’s Castle) which attracted (in 1996) 160,000 visitors (România
Liberă, 8-5-97).
Rojek (1997, p. 52) defines a tourist sight as “a spatial location which is dis-
tinguished from everyday life by virtue of its natural, historical or cultural extraordin-
ariness”. Such tourist sights rely on some sort of distinction which sets them apart
from the ‘usual’. Similarly, Urry (1988, 1990) argues that tourist sites are constructed
from the opposition between the ordinary and the extraordinary. Rojek suggests that
there are some locations — which are not necessarily the same as managed tourist
‘attractions’ — that become the focus of the tourist gaze simply on account of their
extraordinary physical characteristics. Such sights would include the Grand Canyon,
 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074 1063

the Pyramids, the Eiffel Tower and even the Millennium Dome. In this context it is
not difficult to see how the Parliament Palace certainly falls into this category. Its
sheer size and physical presence would make it a tourist attraction in any city in
the world.
As an ‘extraordinary’ object for the tourist gaze, Palatul Parlamentului has an
increasingly important role in imaging Bucharest for tourism. Bucharest, unlike other
capital cities of Central and Eastern Europe with which it is competing for visitors,
is short on iconic and easily assimilated ‘sights’ through which the city can be pro-
moted. Bucharest has, for example, no visage as memorable as the view of the Chain
Bridge and Danube in Budapest, or the complex of Charles Bridge, Vltava and Castle
that ‘is’ Prague. However, the Parliament Palace fits this role perfectly. Because of
its exceptional qualities it provides a clearly memorable ‘product image’ through
which to sell Bucharest. Hence, the image of the building is widely used in foreign
travel brochures advertising holidays to Romania. Even the Romanian Ministry of
Tourism has recognised the iconic significance of the building, which now features
prominently (as the ‘Parliament Palace’) in promotional materials for Bucharest.
However, something becomes a tourist sight on the basis of more than simply its
physical properties. The relationship between the tourist and a tourist sight is cul-
turally mediated, and tourist sights are culturally constructed (Rojek, 1997). Their
significance arises from what they are contrasted with: they represent something that
is different from the everyday life experience of the tourist. Moreover, a central
requirement of many contemporary tourists is the desire to experience difference
through an encounter with the Other (Munt, 1994; Selwyn, 1996; Urry, 1990) and
anything that sufficiently represents Otherness can become a tourist sight. As Selwyn
notes, the search for Otherness is frequently focused on the “authentically social”
(p. 21), which derives from belonging to a pre-modern or pre-commoditised world
(cf. MacCannell, 1989) and which is most frequently encountered in the Developing
World (Munt, 1994).
However, Otherness can take many forms, and for some tourists it is represented
by different political or social systems. Thus, we can talk of the political Other —
of which state socialism is perhaps the best example — being the focus of the tourist
gaze. For example, Urry (1990) argues that for some tourists, experiencing everyday
life in a socialist state such as China offers the required experience. Similarly D.
Hall (1992, p. 120) suggests that Cuba’s existence as “one of the last bastions of
state socialism” might itself be an attraction for some tourists. Moreover, throughout
post-socialist CEE iconic parts of the legacy of socialism have become tourist sights
(cf. Light, 2000a) including a collection of socialist statues in Budapest which has
been turned into an open-air museum; the remains of the former Berlin Wall; or the
plans in Germany for a theme park (“Ossie Park”) based on everyday life in the
former German Democratic Republic (Ritzer & Liska, 1997).
In this context Palatul Parlamentului is more than just a very large building. For
tourists it is ‘the House of the People’, a key sign which symbolises totalitarianism
as the political Other of Western Europe. Its significance as a tourist sight is derived
from the way that it embodies the very antithesis of the values that have shaped
Western Europe since the Second World War. To gaze upon the building is to experi-
1064 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

ence something of the absurdity of what Ceauşescu’s absolute power meant for Rom-
ania. No sane government would build such an edifice. The stark contrast between
the monumental and ordered Centru Civic and the organic and chaotic nature of the
rest of central Bucharest tells the visitor that something is not ‘right’ here, that some-
thing extraordinary has happened. Rojek (1993, 1997) has proposed the concept of
the ‘Black Spot’ or ‘sensation sight’. These are places where death or disaster has
occurred and to which sightseers travel (frequently following TV coverage of an
event) out of a voyeuristic curiosity. Such sensation sights might include the site in
Dallas of President Kennedy’s assassination, the site of the Lockerbie air disaster
and even Revolution Square (Piaţa Revoluţiei) in Bucharest, the central location of
the 1989 revolution. Sensation sights are spaces for affirming identities and collectiv-
ity in the face of a situation that temporarily disrupts normal life routines (Rojek,
1997). Although not directly associated with death or disaster, Palatul Parlamentului
too can be considered as a sensation sight. For a Western tourist the encounter with
the building serves to affirm ‘who we are’ by confronting us with what we are not.
Rojek (1997) argues that central to the construction of tourist sights is the role of
myth, fantasy and distortion (cf. Selwyn, 1996). For the tourist, a sight is constructed
from an index of representations (whether visual, textual or symbolic) that interact
intertextually to frame the sight (Rojek, 1997). These might include TV programmes,
holiday brochures, travel writing, travel guides and travel itineraries. Such represen-
tations are central to what MacCannell (1989) has termed ‘sight sacralisation’. In
addition, Urry (1990) highlights the fact that tourists do not necessarily know where
to direct their gaze so that tourist sights have to be signposted in a number of ways.
Such signposting itself can also have the effect of enhancing a myth.
In the case of the Palace, the mythology which surrounds the building is consider-
able. Although the conception of the building is inextricably linked with Ceauşescu,
only a limited part of it was built before the dictator’s overthrow. The remainder is
an entirely post-Ceauşescu construction, built in the post-socialist period to house
Romania’s democratic parliament. Yet, in the eyes of Western tourists the building
has been represented in a plethora of ways as “Ceauşescu’s Palace”. Tourist bro-
chures play a key role in constructing the myth (cf. Palmer, 1995). For example, a
2001 Balkan Holidays brochure labels the building both as “Ceauşescu’s Palace”
and as the “People’s Palace” (a name by which the building has never been known
in Romania). Newspaper reports describe the building variously as “Ceauşescu’s
Folly”3 or a “dictator’s folly” (The Times, 31-5-00). Similarly, the representations
of the building in travel guides published outside Romania play a key role in framing
the sight as the legacy of totalitarianism (Light, 2000b).
As a result of such representations there can be few visitors to the Palace who
have no knowledge at all about its origins. On the contrary, there is evidence that
many visitors to the building are expecting to encounter “Ceauşescu’s Palace”,
reflecting a seemingly widely held belief that Ceauşescu had actually lived in the

3
E.g., The Independent Online, 30 December 2000, http://www.independent.co.uk/story.
jsp?story=2568, accessed 10 May 2001.
 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074 1065

building. For example, one of the building’s guides told me that one of the questions
most commonly asked by visitors was the location of Ceauşescu’s bedroom. The
brutality of Ceauşescu’s Romania is grafted on to the “palace” myth: hence, another
guide told me that visitors were fascinated to know if the dictator had kept a torture
chamber in the building’s basement. Similarly, in a study of visitors’ reactions to
the building, Chillingworth (2000) noted that guides reported foreign visitors as dis-
playing considerable interest in Ceauşescu. In the eyes of visitors this building is
inseparable from Ceauşescu.
Evidently, such a reading of the building is fundamentally at odds with the identity
politics of post-socialist Romania. The building represents a past that is firmly
excluded from the efforts to rebrand Romania as a tourist destination and which
cannot be accommodated by the current project to promote Romania’s pre-socialist
history and rural tradition to foreign tourists. The increasing popularity of the build-
ing with tourists and the way that it is framed as the product of totalitarianism directly
confront Romania’s attempts to redefine itself in the post-socialist period. This rep-
resentation — and consumption — of the building as the political Other can be
understood in the broader context of how Western Europe constructs an identity for
itself. Said’s celebrated analysis of Orientalism (1995) has highlighted the ways in
which the West defines itself by creating myths about other peoples and places which
are constructed, consciously or unconsciously, as Others. Since 1945 the project of
Western European integration was clearly founded on Central and Eastern Europe
as the Other to the West. However, in the post Cold War period Europe’s eastern
borders are now far more uncertain, so that efforts to reassert a European identity
have continued to insist on the difference between Europe and other places (Rose,
1995). Trandafoiu (1999) argues that in these circumstances, Western Europe has
continued to define its Other by keeping the concept of “Eastern” Europe alive.
Indeed, although a belief that Romania is part of the European mainstream has
long infused political discourse within the country (Verdery, 1991), Western Europe
has a long history of viewing Romania as the Other (cf. Boia, 2000). For example,
in the nineteenth century novels such as Dracula were instrumental in constructing
Romania as ‘different’. The narrator of Dracula describes what is now Romania as
“one of the wildest and least known portions of Europe…I read that every known
superstition in the world is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it
were the centre of some sort of imaginative whirlpool” (Stoker, 1997, p. 10). Simi-
larly, Romania’s location in South East Europe has led it to be considered as part
of the Balkans, a region of political instability long regarded with suspicion and
disbelief by the West. Hence, between the First and Second World Wars Romania
was regarded by the West as the “archetypal Balkan problem” (Gallagher, 1997, p.
71). More recently, the Othering of Romania has continued since 1989 through media
coverage that has tended to portray the country in terms of violent revolution, civil
unrest and political instability. In particular, when the condition of Romania’s
orphanages came to light in the early 1990s the reaction in the West was one of
initial disbelief and horror, followed by a concerted campaign to assist the Romanians
who were represented as being unable to deal with the problem themselves.
At a time when Romania seeks to affirm and legitimate itself as part of ‘Europe’ —
1066 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

to demonstrate to the West that it is the political ‘Same’ — tourism is one of a

system of representations through which Romania continues to be constructed as the
Other. For example, Romania’s biggest attractions for Western tourists — Dracula
and Ceauşescu (Boia, 2000) — both confirm the country’s Otherness. In particular,
Palatul Parlamentului — framed as ‘The House of the People’ or “Ceauşescu’s
Palace” — serves to remind Western tourists that Romania’s recent past has been
different from that of Western Europe. In the eyes of tourists the Palace is a “Roman-
ian peculiarity” (Boia, 2000, p. 280), the product of authoritarian, anti-democratic
and ultimately non-Western values. Visitors’ attention is focused on what Romania
was rather than what it is now and what it seeks to become. Through tourism, Rom-
ania is represented not as it would represent itself, but instead how the West wants
to see it (cf. Morgan & Pritchard, 1998).

Presenting the Palace

How then have Romania’s post-socialist authorities responded to the growing tour-
ist interest in the Palace? For much of the 1990s there was little attempt to allow
visitors access to the building, not least because building work was in process. Fol-
lowing the opening of the International Conference Centre in 1994 guided tours of
the building were introduced but these seem to have been a well-kept secret and
there was little attempt to promote public access to the building. Conversely, the
Palace gained a reputation as a difficult place to which to gain admittance (Ioan,
1999; Richardson & Burford, 1995), and the presence of soldiers at the gate was a
further deterrent. This in itself may have been a broader reflection of political life
at the time, since the ‘neo-communist’ administration that held power between 1990
and 1996 gained a reputation for corruption, economic mismanagement and general
unaccountability (Gallagher, 1995, 1998).
Public access to the building became easier in 1996 when the Chamber of Deputies
moved into the building, since Article 65 (1) of the 1991 constitution guarantees
public admission to parliamentary sessions. However, access to the Palace increased
notably following elections of November 1996 when a reform-minded and highly
pro-Western government took power. After all, there was no better way for the new
government to demonstrate its openness and accountability and for Romania to affirm
its democratic and post-socialist identity than to open up its most secretive and ‘com-
munist’ building to the public gaze. In 1997 an Office of Public Information of the
Chamber of Deputies was also established to disseminate information to the public
about the workings of the parliament. In the same year the guided tours were quietly
reorganised and more widely promoted. Today a team of over 80 multilingual guides
(mostly students) presents the building to visitors and these tours are now included
in many organised tourist itineraries within Bucharest.
The presentation of Palatul Parlamentului to tourists is a delicate task, not least
because of the considerable mythology (and misinformation) which surrounds the
building in the minds of many foreign visitors. The presentation of the building to
visitors attempts both to counter some of these myths and to present an alternative
narrative to visitors. However, the origins of the building cannot be completely over-
 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074 1067

looked and publicity material produced by the International Conference Centre

acknowledges the controversial and contested nature of the building. For example:

The Guiness Book of World Records lists the building on the second place accord-
ing to its 330.000 sq m surface...and on third place according to its 2,550,000
volume. Still there is a first place no other building in the world could compete
for, namely that of the most disputed one, as no other construction has, until
nowadays, been the target of such a great number of epithets, varying from “geni-
ous” to “monstrous”.4

It is massive. It is overwhelming. Anyone viewing the building for the first time
will be quick to offer an opinion. It is certainly controversial, and people tend to
despise or praise it for a plethora of reasons. Despite passions or debate, however,
this disputed building will clearly dominate the Bucharest skyline for years to
come.5

Although the part of the building which is shown to tourists is largely that which
was completed before Ceauşescu’s overthrow (and as such contains many of its
grandest features including ornate corridors, stairways and meeting rooms), the
guided tours seek not to dwell on the past but instead focus on the contemporary
significance of the building. The Palace is presented as the centre of a post-socialist
democracy and the meeting place of the Chamber of Deputies, parliamentary com-
mittees and the Constitutional Court. This narrative is reinforced by the presence of
all the apparatus (such as sound and translation facilities) of a political institution
in the various rooms shown to visitors. Each room on the tour is named after a
prominent pre-socialist Romanian politician (but not significantly after any of Rom-
ania’s monarchs). This serves to establish a degree of continuity with Romania’s
pre-socialist parliaments, the first parliament (modelled on those existing in Western
Europe at the time) having been established in 1866 (Chamber of Deputies, 1994).
Visitors are also taken to the ‘Human Rights Salon’, a name which itself affirms a
commitment to democratic values that were suppressed under Ceauşescu. These
rooms are designed and furnished in an eclectic range of styles (cf. Petru, 1999)
which are presented as drawing either on indigenous Romanian architectural forms
(Ioan, 1999), or on pre-socialist influences from Western Europe (e.g., Renaissance
architecture), again serving to emphasise Romania’s historical links with ‘Europe’.
The guided tour also highlights the uniqueness of the building. Thus visitors are
regaled with numerous superlatives concerning its size and dimensions. But in
addition, Palatul Parlamentului is presented as a uniquely Romanian building.
Guides emphasise that the materials used in its construction are almost exclusively
Romanian, and the attention of visitors is drawn repeatedly to examples of the skill

4
Undated leaflet entitled ‘International Conference Centre’.
5
Information sheet produced by the International Conference Centre. Also available at:
http://risc.ici.ro/docs/casapop.html.
1068 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

and craftsmanship of its builders (although no mention is made of the architects).

In effect, the building is presented to visitors as a showpiece of the very finest of
Romanian talent and creativity. Again, this is part of the process of image-building
for Romania. In many ways Bucharest is an unattractive capital and a visitor to the
city cannot fail to notice both the decaying public infrastructure (the result of years
of neglect) and the ugly and poorly constructed apartment blocks that seem to over-
whelm the city. Palatul Parlamentului stands apart from such mediocrity, rep-
resenting the very best that Romanians can create. The building is presented as some-
thing of which Romanians can be proud and which is worthy of admiration among
all who visit it.
In many ways what is excluded from the tour of the building is equally significant.
Those foreign tourists who are expecting to experience “Ceauşescu’s Palace” will
depart disappointed. In attempting to de-mythologise the building, there is, unsurpris-
ingly, almost no mention of the circumstances of its construction and the purpose
for which it was originally built. The tour does not, as yet, pretend to present a
balanced narrative of the building’s contested past which allows visitors to make up
their own minds: instead Ceauşescu is largely airbrushed out of the building’s history.
The guides do not draw attention to the fact that the current use of the building —
the centre of political power in Romanian — is almost the same as originally con-
ceived by Ceauşescu. The use of students as guides — among whom memories of
Ceauşescu’s rule will be increasingly hazy — also serves to deflect attention away
from the building’s past.6
In a highly original analysis of post-socialist change, Verdery (1999) notes that
political order is grounded in both time and space but she argues that such concepts
are not immutable, especially in post-socialist countries which are seeking to legit-
imate new political orders. Instead, the symbolic ‘reconfiguring’ of time and space
is a central component of post-socialist transformations. The treatment of the Parlia-
ment Palace in the post-socialist period clearly demonstrates the reconfiguration of
time, which is intended to make the building accord more closely with Romania’s
post-socialist identity. Thus the history of the building is presented as being discon-
tinuous with the period of Ceauşescu’s rule. What is presented to visitors is a post-
socialist building (most of which was constructed after 1989 by a democratic, post-
socialist Romania), but which represents political values that pre-date socialism. This
is another variant of the process of historical revisionism which Verdery has ident-
ified in post-socialist countries whereby the pre- and post- socialist periods are joined
directly in a new time line in which the socialist period is simply excised.
In a similar way, urban space around the building has been reconfigured, most
notably through the renaming of surrounding streets. Thus the Victory of Socialism
Boulevard was swiftly renamed Bulevardul Unirii (The Boulevard of Unity), while
the semi-circular plaza in front of the palace became Piaţa Constituţiei (Constitution

6
The guides will readily answer questions about Ceauşescu’s association with the building if asked,
although it is apparent that many of them have few direct memories of the significance of the building
before 1989.
 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074 1069

Square). Moreover, the government launched an international planning competition

entitled Bucureşti 2000 (Tureanu, Ianasi, Lapadat, & Ilias, 1997) intended to reshape
an urban landscape that is an unwelcome reminder of the city’s past. The winning
design proposed to build on empty land surrounding Palatul Parlamentului and in
particular seeks to ‘hide’ the Palace (thereby blunting its symbolic impact) by build-
ing high-rise business structures (little used before now in Bucharest; Ioan, 1999)
around it. Here, Romania is again showing its allegiance to Western models through
embracing the corporate capitalist architecture of Western Europe.

Domestic tourism and the Palace

The Parliament Palace is not a tourist sight exclusively for Westerners: there is
also a significant domestic tourism dimension to the building. According to a recent
report, around 50% of visitors are Romanians, and five out of every thousand Roman-
ians (meaning over 100,000 people) have visited the Palace (Ziua, 16-3-00). The
most under-represented group of visitors is residents of Bucharest.7 The price for
admission (slightly more than the cost of a newspaper) is designed to encourage
Romanians to visit the building.
Why, then, do Romanians visit the building? An immediate explanation may be
an emerging nostalgia for the ‘certainties’ of Ceauşescu’s rule among sections of
the population who are confused and disorientated by the disorder and economic
decline of the post-socialist period. Certainly, a survey in 1999 reported that 64%
of Romanians thought the standard of life was higher under totalitarianism (cited in
Barbu, 1999), and the Palace has been used since 1990 as the focal point of meetings
by nostalgic communists (see România Liberã, 3-5-97). However, such nostalgia
tends to be most apparent among the elderly and its expression is focused at other
locations in the city (such as Ceauşescu’s grave) rather than at the Palace, which
after all was little more than a building site during the socialist period.
Instead, it is more likely that Romanians — particularly those from outside the
capital among whom memories of the building are less traumatic — visit Palatul
Parlamentului out of curiosity and fascination for a building that is infamous within
Romania and about which almost all Romanians know something. A spokesman for
the Chamber of Deputies8 suggested that Romanians visit the building simply to be
able to say that they have seen it, but also to take pride in what is becoming for
Romanians “our” palace. For Romanians the presentation of the building embraces
both dominant representations — Europeanism and nativism — of national identity.
For some the building is Palatul Parlamentului, the centre of a democratic parliament
and an affirmation of the democratic and Western values to which post-socialist
Romania aspires. This narrative is reinforced by the presence of a small museum
within the Palace (with captions in Romanian only) that presents the history of
Romanian parliamentary democracy. For other Romanians, the building is Casa

7
This information was provided by a spokesman for the building, interviewed in March 2000.
8
Interviewed in March 2000.
1070 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074

Poporului — the House of the (Romanian) People — which stands as a remarkable

piece of ‘Romanian-ness’ and a celebration of the abilities and potential of the
Romanian people. Romanians can thus appropriate the building in various ways so
as to reinforce particular readings of national identity.

Conclusions

Although the economic importance of tourism in post-socialist Central and Eastern

Europe is frequently taken as axiomatic, its political significance is more often over-
looked. Yet tourism is very ideologically important for the CEE countries in general,
and Romania in particular, as one component of the process of projecting new and
distinctively post-socialist identities. Through both the language and imagery of its
tourism promotional materials Romania is seeking to demonstrate that it has broken
free from totalitarian dictatorship and is remaking itself in accordance with the polit-
ical and economic values of Western Europe.
In this context I have focused on Palatul Parlamentului to explore the relationship
between tourism and post-socialist identity-building in Romania. The building is
rapidly becoming Bucharest’s main tourist sight, partly because of its sheer size, but
also because it epitomises the political Other of Western Europe. Such a reading of
the building is at odds with the way in which Romania wants to be seen by the
wider world, and consequently an attempt has been made to reconfigure the build-
ing’s meanings and to present it in a way that is in accordance with Romania’s post-
socialist self-image. In a discussion of the symbolic and multi-layered nature of post-
socialist politics, Verdery (1999, p. 93) argues that “the macro is in the micro”: that
is, a focus on small-scale or localised change can illustrate or embody much broader
processes of political transformation. Palatul Parlamentului may not be especially
small, but as this paper has shown, what is happening at this single building mirrors
the much broader processes of identity-building in Romania and in particular the
statement that Romania is seeking to make to the wider world of ‘who we are —
and are not — now’ and ‘what we aspire to be’. The presentation of the building
as the ‘Parliament Palace’ seeks to affirm Romania’s break with its totalitarian past
and, as a contemporary building which embodies a commitment to much older Euro-
pean values, it demonstrates Romania’s aspiration to ‘return to Europe’. In addition
the Palace is presented as representing the very best of Romania — both in the
exceptional quality of its construction and as a symbol of the country’s aspirations
to a democratic pluralist future.
In the immediate future the attraction of the Palace to Western tourists is likely
to increase and in all certainty it will soon become the most visited site in Bucharest.
While the building is still constructed by tourists as “Ceauşescu’s Palace”, the pres-
entation of the building will continue to be driven by the ideological imperative of
affirming Romania’s post-socialist credentials. Indeed, as Romania’s preparations for
European Union membership gather pace over the coming decade, the importance
of tourism in legitimating Romania as a European country is likely to increase (cf.
Nita & Nita, 2000). However, in the longer term the meaning of the building to
 D. Light / Political Geography 20 (2001) 1053–1074 1071

tourists may slowly change. State socialism as the political Other of Western Europe
will fade from memory: thus tourists will see the Palace less as a symbol of totali-
tarianism and instead just as an extraordinarily large building (and, if the Bucuresti
2000 project is successfully implemented, the visual impact of the building will be
still further blunted). Thus Casa Poporului will have finally become Palatul Parla-
mentului, the symbol of a democratic parliament (cf. Leach, 1999). At this stage,
the reconfiguring of the building will have been successfully achieved. Perhaps at
this stage, if Romania is sufficiently confident that it has come to terms with its
totalitarian past, the presentation of the palace to tourists may be more ready to
acknowledge more openly the circumstances of the building’s troubled origins.

Acknowledgements

A number of people helped me in gathering information for this paper and I would
particularly like to thank Bogdan Suditu and Daniela Dumbrăveanu of the University
of Bucharest for their help. I would also like to thank Augustin Ioan of the Ion
Mincu Institute of Architecture, Bucharest for providing background information on
Palatul Parlamentului. I also wish to thank a spokesman for the Chamber of Deputies
(who wished to remain anonymous) for generously granting me interviews in 1998
and 2000 (although the views expressed in this paper are my own). Thanks are also
due to Nicola Chillingworth for permission to quote from an unpublished research
study. Finally, I would like to thank three anonymous referees for their helpful com-
ments on an earlier draft of this paper.

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