"Un cititor trăieşte o mie de vieţi înainte de a muri. Omul care nu citeşte trăieşte doar o singură viaţă." – George R.R. Martin

Quote of the Day – August 13: Exercise of sincerity – Ion Vianu

I remember talking to L., who was "kind of a friend," as he had expressed. I thought he had an experience with the West. With al, i have determined how difficult it will be – in fact, impossible – to restore a university position there, or at least to be able to have some scientific notoriety. You need, I was talking to L., at least ten years to get to know you there. But I was through forty. And society no longer cares about cincuagenari. I had actually lost the race with time. Wasn't it better to resign? I personally didn't live too bad here. Even not being in the party, I was part of the establishment. I was even able to discourage the security sirens. As for L., my confidant of the moment, he did not encourage me to leave; on the contrary, the reckoning that I'm not strong enough to give the fight. Maybe he didn't want to be accused of making disciples for dissent.

One thing seemed clear to me, however: gone or not, I could no longer lead that "mollusk" existence (an expression enshrined in our society). Something had changed in me. Perhaps in this regard played a role and the signing of the Helsinki agreements (1 August 1975), which made an explicit reference to respect for human rights. It had to be protested, even though I wasn't yet decided for an energetic action.

I think there was an air of departure, dissent or whatever. I told you about that colleague; He met me once in the alleys of the hospital. He told me, looking at me in a certain way, "You have an air of travel, Ioane, you're not here anymore." It was my sense; the negative of exile, in a way. As, later, being there, I was actually here, just as a year before I left I was already away with an important and significantly visible part of me. In this state I mentioned myself one day called on the phone by the F.S., the ex-wife of M.S., people I had attended in the family especially in the early 1960s. She wanted me to stop by, and I went one afternoon. There was also her friend P.C., an old communist who had been in prison with Gheorghiu-Dej and the company, and now he was disappointed. Like other ancient communists, P.C. was primarily ancient. Now, he and the F.S. they wanted to ask me a precise question: was Ceaușescu mentally ill? Yes or no? I understand i'm being probed. Was it possible to resist centered on declaring Ceaușescu unable to drive because he is crazy? I found such an idea unacceptable to me. First, as a psychiatrist, I found that there were no elements to make such a diagnosis. Second, wouldn't such an initiative have been exactly contrary to the way i had now been committed to, for now shyly, the fight against political psychiatry? I therefore refused the utopian project, leaving the two very disappointed.

But the idea, in the form of a fantasy, circulates. It was also said, around the time, that The Minister of Health, Theodor Burghele, had convened a kind of ad hoc Supreme Health Council and declared, "Comrades, we have a serious problem: Comrade Ceaușescu has gone mad!". Obviously, there was no shadow of truth in this history, but rumors are also expressions of collective fantasies, of outgoing desires.

Those who try to simplify things by saying that the 1970s were exclusively years of social regression, are wrong. Obviously, it was the "Song of Romania" period, of patriotardo-imbecile sheries. But events like Helsinki also encouraged certain ideas of resistance. People were no longer willing to slip completely under a Stalinist yoke. The global atmosphere was no longer working on this.

An example: I remember the meeting at the Party Cabinet of Bucharest (this scene I also told Gh. Brătescu, who reproduced it in his History of psychoanalysis in Romania). I once mentioned a phone call from the aforementioned institution. They were going to have a debate about Freud! The party offices were actually elephant cemeteries. They came there mostly to party pensioners to spend a few ideological-cultural hours in heat. Perhaps such a subject was an exception, or perhaps the meeting evolved differently than the organizers expected: we met at the Cabinet (operating in the large building of the tribunal, on Splai) Dr. Victor Săhleanu, a young Marxist publicist named Stoica (and what?) and me. In the room, elderly people, about 20-30 in number. Sahleanu, a polygraph and a popularist, with an absolutely positive role in the era, had been at the forefront of the great anti-dogmatic campaigns. As a student in recent years (or perhaps I was already a preparer), I had witnessed the University House, a debate in which, together with Professor Repciuc, Săhleanu had defended the new genetics (double helix) against an obscure smallurinist biologist. Closer to our meeting, republished, modifying it, Popescu-Sibiu's book on psychoanalysis under the title Critical Introduction to Psychoanalysis (1972), which I was quick to review on Radio. So he took the word Săhleanu, I took it, both of which came up as a psychoanalytic point of view. Then Stoica spoke. For him, psychoanalysis was reactionary, idealistic, bourgeois, etc. Freud was mostly a drug addict who had helped spread cocaine. They started to speak different people in the audience. For example, an older woman, who recalled that in them, in the Marxist circle of Botoşani, in the 1920s, Freud was regarded as a progressive author. So he wonders that Comrade Stoica says such words. Stoica tried to answer harshly, but it didn't work out for him. An even older ins interrupted him, telling him that Stalin's times had passed, now they were no longer willing to be terrorized. It was almost a little riot! Things were achieved with a victory from the reformers, the name Stoica was semi-furious and semi-confused, and the cabinet director only milk and honey with me and Săhleanu.

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