TE20 Migrant Mosaics

Fleeing Father

III

I wasn’t even sixteen when it all began.

I already had the pioneering days behind me and a terminated career as chairperson of the Uniunea Tineretului Comunist , the Communist youth organization in my class at the time. The war was over. The revolution had won. Communism had prevailed. And nevertheless, as I said at assemblies, young Communists must be vigilant. Organize themselves properly. Take a critical stance. Participate in society to the best of their ability. Not only pay their monthly dues. That wouldn’t have been so bad under the circumstances at the time. After all, the Party called for criticism. Especially self- criticism. And to a certain degree even called for action. Theword action excited us. It ruled out the suffocating monotony. It was connected with heroism and revolution. With violence. A form of violence that we were not aware of at the time. At the time the revolution was thought to be over. Only much later did Ceauşescu say that Communists were professional revolutionaries. Revolutionari de profesie , he called it. The revolution continues. It is never complete. The class struggle never ends. Everything that Father and Mother had taught me I wanted to put into practice. I felt obligated to include others. I myself would have liked to have changed some things in the organization. The option was taken from me. I was released from my duties. 241