Roy Maynard: Early Returns

As the cruel Carpathian winter deepens, something dark is rising from the grave to seek the life-blood of a struggling economy.

This is Transylvania, home of the historical Dracula - Vlad Tepes. Modern-day Romania is also home to a particularly stubborn strain of bad economic policy.

Socialism just won't stay dead here.

I went to Romania in 1998 to report on that country's rocky transition from Cold War communism to free markets and democracy. I visited the grave of Vlad (called the Son of the Dragon, or Draco-la), and it seemed an appropriate metaphor for the political and economic troubles the country was facing - and now faces again.

First, a little history.

If there is one truth in the Dracula myth, it's that old despots die hard (and not for long) in these mountains. If Romania seems to lag behind other Eastern European states in adjusting to the post-Communist world, it's because the Communists haven't been gone for very long.

After the videotaped killing of dictator Nicolae Ceausescu in 1989, Communism remained as a dark, political undead.

"Make no mistake," my Romanian guide explained to me, "In 1989, there was no revolution. It was a coup. One Communist took over from another."

That's not how it was presented to the world at the time, but most observers now agree. In the late 1980s, the second-tier Communists under Ceausescu seized power and after a secret trial, executed the dictator of 25 years, along with his wife. But his successor, Ion Iliescu, was no democratic reformer. He served as Ceausescu's right-hand man in the 1970s and was in line to take over when Ceausescu stepped down.

The execution of the dictator was not insurrection; it was merely insurance.

In fact, no real elections were held until 1996. But when change did come, it seemed promising.

One of the most important reforms came in 2005, when the government ditched the "progressive" tax system for a simple flat tax of 16 percent.

"The irony is that by decreasing taxation, you increase collection," says Sorin Ionita, a researcher for the Romanian Academic Society.

This move put Romania - along with some 14 other Eastern European countries that adopted the flat tax - on the cutting edge of truly progressive economic policy.

The result has been increased foreign investments and a relatively booming economy.

"Romania's flat tax is generating results that would make French politicians delirious with joy - huge increases in tax revenue," the Cato Institute reported in February. "Income tax collections jumped 44.7 percent in 2005, the year the flat tax was introduced."

But the Social Democratic Party - Iliescu's bunch - wants to abandon the flat tax. In the November elections, the party gained a little ground, and is now taking a harder line in parliament on economic issues.

Threats of economic policy regression plague the Romanian parliament.

"Sadly, the increased (tax) revenue isn't keeping pace with Romanian government spending; as the country works to meet the various conditions for EU membership, its budget deficit is growing, which has led to complaints from Brussels," Cato reports.

And in November, Romania increased its government-paid pension payments by 43 percent - without first determining where the money ($41 billion) would come from.

Clearly, something is creaking inside the coffin of once-dead Communism.

To set the record straight, Vlad Tepes was not a vampire. That, perhaps, is one of the nicest things that can be said of the 15th-century warrior prince. It was Irish writer Bram Stoker who permanently linked Dracula's name with vampirism in his 1897 book.

My guide in Bucharest explained that Vlad was a bit "heavy-handed."

"Vlad was concerned that his people were not involved enough in manufacturing," Mr. Florea says. "So he decreed that any foreign merchant caught within the borders of (the Transylvanian province of) Wallachia with any foreign manufactured item was to be put to death."

And Vlad's nickname - Tepes the Impaler - was well-earned. A death sentence most likely meant getting skewered. His victims often took hours to die.

When the Sultan of Turkey sent envoys who failed to uncover their heads before him, Vlad had their turbans nailed to their skulls. And for good measure, he then impaled them.

The inevitable invasion of Turkish forces came within weeks. The Sultan moved across the border into Wallachia with nearly 250,000 Muslim troops. He found a scorched earth. On both sides of the road to the Wallachian capital city, Tirgoviste, crops and villages had been destroyed, and wells had been poisoned. Vlad's 12 regiments of cavalry troops donned costumes and "devil masks" and constantly harassed the flanks and rear of the Sultan's army.

The Sultan complained of "the unseen Moloch" that haunted his advance. By the time he reached Tirgoviste, his troops were demoralized, hungry, and terrified. They had seen hundreds of their comrades impaled along the road. And when they opened the deserted gates of the silent capital city, they saw a city peopled by corpses. Vlad had killed more than 20,000 Turkish prisoners and left their bodies in lifelike poses throughout the deserted city. The Sultan reportedly turned his army around and marched home.

My modern-day guide, while explaining his support for economic reforms, just couldn't help but express his admiration for Vlad.

He said the books and movies about the Romanian national hero are unfair.

"I want them to be sure to tell the story of the real Dracula, Vlad Tepes," my guide said. "I don't want everyone to continue to get the wrong idea about him."

I nodded politely, but I wondered if perhaps such attitudes help explain why socialism just won't stay dead here.



Early Returns is the political observations column of staff writer Roy Maynard, who can be reached at 903-596-6291 or at roymaynardtmt@gmail.com.

Roy Maynard
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