<http://www.archis.org/plain/object.php?object=932&year=&num> http://www.archis.org/plain/object.php?object=932&year=&num= Ceausescu's Disneyland Renata Saleci [... <http://www.archis.org/plain/object.php?object=932&year=&num=> ] The well-known Communist joke begins by asking: 'What is the difference between an optimist and a pessimist in Soviet Union?' 'A pessimist thinks that everything is so bad that it can't get worse, while an optimist thinks that it can.' Nowadays, many Russians and other East Europeans still hold such an 'optimistic' view, since they are confronted with the economic chaos of early capitalism, which makes their lives even more difficult than it was under the communist regime. So there are those who feel deep despair and daydream about the lost times of less freedom but more social security. [...]
The people's nostalgia for the past poses a variety of theoretical questions: how is the identity of the subject related to the symbolic order and which memory of the past does the subject invoke? Since this past never existed in the way it is now remembered, what is the logic of this memory? In the case of nostalgia for communism, questions also arise about how the new regime should deal with the visible monuments of the previous regime (communist statues, architecture), and what it means to remove them or to integrate them into the post-socialist ideological universe. But, in order to answer this last question, it is necessary to understand why these monuments were built in the first place. In the case of Ceausescu, for example, the question is: what was the nature of his passionate attachment to the communist ideals that required the destruction of the country? The state as a work of art In the late seventies, Ceausescu began his project of rebuilding the centre of Bucharest so that architectural reality would properly reflect the greatness of Romanian communism. Bucharest, which used to be called the 'Little Paris' of the Balkans, suddenly became a huge building site. Ceausescu demanded the demolition of almost a quarter of the old town centre with its picturesque streets, old churches, monasteries, hospitals, schools, etc. In its place, a new socialist administrative centre began to emerge, comprising a grandiose palace and a broad avenue with neo-baroque fountains surrounded by neoclassic apartment blocks. The construction proceeded very rapidly: tens of thousands of labourers and hundreds of architects and engineers worked day and night on the project. This rebuilding demanded enormous financial sacrifice and significantly increased the economic hardship of the Romanian people. At the time of the collapse of Ceausescu's regime, the project had reached its final stage. The question became: what should be done with this massive architectural venture? As political debates about the project became heated, the main dispute centred on the fate of the palace. Some people insisted that it had to be demolished; others proposed that it become a museum of communist terror; still others suggested that it be transformed into a big casino. The new regime decided to complete the project and to establish the palace as the site of the new parliament and as an international congress centre. The palace, however, remains one of the most traumatic remnants of the communist regime. It has a sublime quality - it is beautiful and horrible at the same time, provoking both admiration and disgust. But before analysing today's perception of the palace, let us try to explain what led Ceausescu to create it. It is common knowledge that Ceausescu, who once enjoyed the support of the people, in the last years of his rule fell into some kind of psychotic delirium, into an obsession with his own grandeur. He became a megalomaniac: a king who believed that he was a king. And his architectural project tried to materialize this megalomania. One explanation for Ceausescu's obsession with changing the architecture of Bucharest is that, once when traveling abroad, he came to realize that he liked neither traditional Western architectural style, nor socialist architecture. He had found something close to his ideal in North Korea, where his friend Kim Il Sung began constructing a new political and architectural centre in Phenian. Romanians and Koreans soon started competing to see who would build the more prestigious and grandiose city. But the main difference between the Romanian and Korean administrative centres is that the latter was constructed on empty ground, while Romanians had to sacrifice a large part of old Bucharest. What was the purpose of this sacrifice? Why was it necessary to demolish old historic buildings, churches, hospitals and schools? The idea behind this demolition, certainly, was not only to find space for Ceausescu's architectural exercises. Had Ceausescu simply wanted to find a place for his 'artistic' creations, he could have easily chosen some vacant land outside of the city as the site of his dream town. The demolition should be understood as an essential part of his project. It could even be said that the destruction of buildings, the erasure of historical memory was more important than the construction of the new centre. The 'wound' Ceausescu made in the 'living flesh of the city', as Romanian's tend to characterize the project, has a special symbolic meaning. It could be said that Ceausescu's intention was to erase history, but in this effort he produced the trauma that now invokes the memory of the lost past. Thus people today recall the 'happy' past, the social security of socialism, in order to escape the memory of the trauma. This trauma includes not only Ceausescu's violence and destruction, it also touches on the passivity that allowed this annihilation to happen. Here again we encounter the 'crime' of people being too afraid to oppose the regime and the unconscious feeling of guilt that accompanies this non-action. Ceausescu's creationism tried to undo the old signifying chain in order to establish a totally new symbolic organization. By razing the historical monuments, Ceausescu aimed to wipe out Romanian national identity, the fantasy structure of the nation that is forged around historic old buildings and churches, and then to establish his own version of this identity. How does the present Romanian regime perceive the palace? In a brochure written for visitors, the palace is first described as 'a 'giant' built during the 'golden age' of the dictatorial regime and born in the mind of a man for whom the nation of 'reasonable sizes' did not exist'. The palace is presented as the second-largest building in the world (after the Pentagon), but the most prominent because it is the most disputed. This controversy almost resulted in its annihilation, but: 'Realizing its enormous value, in fact a Romanian inheritance in danger to be destroyed and robbed, people began to look the building with less hostility and named it the 'People's House'.' The rest of the text reads like Ceausescu's promotion material, with its descriptions of the glory of the palace and what the people sacrificed for its completion. Thus, we are reminded that this is 'not a palace from Aladdin's stories, but a real one, showing the true wealth of Romania: stone, marble and wood from the Romanian mountains and forests. ... Today, the monumental building stands for the most precious symbol of democracy in Romania, that is the Parliament, serving the high and noble aim we have all aspired for: equal and complete representation of the Romanian people.' By presenting the palace as a national symbol, the current political elite has specifically incorporated this traumatic palace into its political discourse. The symbolic power of the building, supposedly made only from Romanian materials, is strenghtened by the fact that it was produced through the enormous hardships of the Romanian people. However, it is essential to appreciate how the palace has become an actual realization of Ceausescu's original intention. As a parliament, the People's House is made to stand for the 'complete representation of the Romanian people.' This all-encompasing construction could be understood as a final stage of Ceausescu's vision, which tried to give form to an ideal total society. Thus, when today's regime claims that it completely represents the people, Ceausescu's dream of totality is, in some way, realized. However, Ceausescu is not the only megalomaniac who tried to change reality to fit his ideal. Surprisingly, many past and present architects tried to do the same, but were limited in their endeavour by lack of power and resources. Even in the most admired American contemporary architectural inventions - the shopping malls and Disneyland - one can find points of comparison with Ceausescu's project. [... <http://www.archis.org/plain/object.php?object=932&year=&num=> ] http://www.archis.org/ ---------------------------- Vali "Noble blood is an accident of fortune; noble actions are the chief mark of greatness." (Carlo Goldoni) "When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace." (Jimi Hendrix)
