International Institute for Middle East and Balkan Studies (IFIMES)[1] from Ljubljana, Slovenia, regularly analyses developments in the Middle East, the Balkans, and around the world. In the comprehensive analysis “From formal freedom to inner conformity: The anatomy of an imperfect democracy - Romania” Dr. Cătălin Balog, an analyst and trainer with extensive expertise in intelligence, information security, and strategic communication, explores the tensions between democratic forms and inherited authoritarian reflexes in Romania.
Romania is in a moment of moral and institutional transition, in which freedom has been acquired as a form, but it is not yet experienced as an inner exercise of responsibility. Obedience and conformity, born of a long history of adaptation, have become subtle mechanisms of balance that preserve order but prevent profound transformation. The paper explores how this culture of inner conformity generates an apparent stability – a "toxic stability" – maintained through prudence, loyalty and risk avoidance. In contrast, the figure of the honest citizen represents the only resource of moral authenticity, capable of re-establishing the link between freedom and dignity. The study is part of the series "Anatomy of an Imperfect Democracy – Romania" and proposes a lucid reflection on the relationship between truth, responsibility and democratic culture in post-authoritarian societies.
Post-communist Romania has undergone, in recent decades, a broad transition that has redefined the relationship between the state and the citizen. The regime changes of 1989 paved the way for a democratic order, but its profound transformation depended less on institutional architecture and more on how people learned to relate to freedom. Although the rules were rewritten, social reflexes continued to follow patterns formed in a long history of survival through adaptation.
Democracy has been built through slow accumulation, compromise, and a mixture of mistrust and hope. The institutions have started to function, but not always with the trust of those they represent. In the public space, participation was perceived as a procedural obligation rather than an act of persuasion, and the critical spirit gradually turned into a calculated prudence, born of the experience of uncertainty.
Within this fragile balance, a zone of functional neutrality has formed, a corridor of survival in which truth retains its presence, but not always its transformative force. Ideas circulate, values assert themselves, but they rarely produce profound changes in behaviour. Instead of a real confrontation of ideas, society preferred the tranquillity of consensus and the comfort of stability.
The aim of this paper is to examine the mechanisms by which a seemingly consolidated democracy can become dependent on its own conservation reflexes. The analysis does not aim at individual failures, but at the persistence of a culture of rationalized submission, which manifests itself through institutional obedience and social conformism. This culture ensures stability, but inhibits change; maintains balance, but reduces the capacity for renewal.
The understanding of these processes does not start from the question of whether Romanian democracy survives, but from the way in which it transforms when freedom is no longer lived as an ideal, but administered as a routine.
The long history of adaptation has made obedience a form of practical intelligence. In the absence of trust, submission has become a strategy of protection, and silence – a form of balance. Over time, these behaviours have become deeply embedded in the social fabric, turning into a culture of risk avoidance. It was not a deliberate choice, but a consequence of centuries in which personal safety depended on discretion and compliance.
In societies where freedom has been acquired through continuous struggle, civic courage has become a public virtue. In Romania, freedom was rather a concession of history, a window suddenly opened, in a world that had not yet learned to breathe the air of responsibility. Thus, the reflex to avoid exposure turned into a form of collective reason: to know when to be silent, to understand who to align with, not to disturb the apparent balance of order.
Social psychology has shown that obedience is not an exception, but a human constant. Stanley Milgram's experiments have shown that, in a strong institutional context, individuals tend to yield to authority even against their own conscience. The tests of social conformity led by Solomon Asch confirmed that group pressure can reshape perception to the point of falsifying obvious reality. Philip Zimbardo, in his study of behaviour in conditions of power, showed how quickly roles can become stronger than principles.
These mechanisms are not theoretical in the abstract sense; they accurately describe the day-to-day functioning of a society that teaches its citizens that survival depends on conformity. In Romanian public life, obedience is not expressed through coercion, but through a silent alliance between fear and prudence. People are not forced to agree, but learn that disagreement costs. This logic of "strategic temperance" means that the absence of courage is perceived not as a defect, but as a proof of wisdom.
Obedience works today mostly through institutional rituals. Each field has its own forms of compliance: politics through loyalty, administration through procedural conformism, the professional environment through service silence. The result is a society that is orderly in appearance, but static in depth, where initiative is suspect and conformism is the sure reward.
In such an environment, freedom does not disappear, but it turns into a setting of simulated responsibility. Participation becomes formal, courage moves inwards, and dignity is confused with adaptation. The reflexes of obedience are no longer external, but intimate; They act through the need for security, through the reflex to avoid conflict, through the acceptance that silence can take the place of justice.
The real problem is not the existence of these reflexes, but our ability to become aware of them. A mature democracy does not eliminate obedience, but transforms it into civic discipline; it does not reject conformity, but places it under the control of moral reason. Our collective evolution depends on this conversion: from fear of authority to respect for rules, from the silence of self-protection to responsible dialogue.
Without this transformation, freedom remains a civic ritual without substance, and the citizen – a disciplined actor in a play that plays out by itself.
In any political system, there is a constant tension between the ideal of representation and the instinct to preserve power. In Romania, this balance has stabilized in the form of a politocracy: a class of administrators of democracy who no longer serve it, but manage it as their own patrimony. Politocracy is neither an ideology nor a conspiracy, but the natural result of a selection mechanism that favours loyalty over competence and prudence over initiative.
Over time, the political system has learned to protect itself through a double filter. The first is bureaucratic, based on regulations, commissions and forms that validate the procedure, but rarely the performance. The second is psychological, supported by the network of personal addictions that ensures stability through gratitude and silence. Together, these two filters produce a conservative democracy that is more concerned with its own balance than with real change.
Politocracy works effectively precisely because it does not need authoritarianism. It does not prohibit debate, but dilutes it; It does not block the initiative, but redirects it to harmless channels. Power is not imposed by coercion, but by managing routine and domesticating expectations. In such a framework, individual competence becomes a risk, and lucidity – a form of isolation.
Captive democracy is not recognized by the absence of freedom, but by the absence of consequences. Any deed, no matter how serious, is absorbed by the system of mutual justifications. Responsibility fragments to the point of extinction, and collective guilt becomes a form of solidarity. The institutions protect each other, while the citizen adapts to this permanent balancing act, convinced that change would be a disturbance of order.
This kind of stability is toxic by its nature: not because it destroys, but because it neutralizes. Politocracy does not produce crises, but absorbs them; He is not afraid of scandal, but turns it into a controlled show. Power is reproduced through small gestures, through silent complicities, through the careful distribution of favours and convenient silences. What on the surface looks like a calm democracy is, at its core, a sophisticated network of balance between interests and fears.
In such a system, the citizen is no longer a participant, but a conditional beneficiary of stability. He enjoys formal freedoms, but avoids using them fully, so as not to disturb the general harmony. Beyond voting, civic involvement becomes an image gesture, and criticism – an exercise in periodic frustration. Politocracy tolerates contestation, but neutralizes it through integration: it turns dissidence into office, revolt into a talk show, and indignation into routine.
This subtle mechanism explains why Romania can remain a democracy without democrats. The laws are respected, but not applied uniformly; institutions function, but rarely take the risk of the decision; People vote, but their votes dissolve into a system that never changes in depth. Politocracy does not live from conflict, but from continuity.
Paradoxically, it is precisely the lack of catastrophe that ensures the longevity of this model. Nothing is serious enough to produce a rupture, but neither is it good enough to generate trust. The system survives through permanent equilibrium, an equilibrium that does not rest, but numbs.
Understanding politocracy does not imply condemning politicians, but recognizing a culture of functional mediocrity that extends to all areas of public life. The real capture is not an institutional one, but a mental one: the reflex to avoid exigency, to confuse loyalty with competence and balance with resignation.
Stability is one of the most sought-after forms of collective security, but also one of the most fragile. In young democracies, it often becomes an end in itself, not a consequence of performance. In Romania, stability has gradually turned into a mechanism of self-protection of the political and administrative system. It does not serve the citizen, but functions as a system for the preservation of its own order.
This stability is "toxic" not because it is imposed, but because it is mimicked. It produces the illusion of institutional coherence, but hides a structural dependence on improvisation. Behind every crisis are the same safety nets, the same reflexes of balance between groups, the same ability to absorb conflict without resolving it. The system does not change, but continuously adjusts to maintain its functional appearance.
This capacity for self-balancing is doubled by a culture of apparent competence. In a society where merit is not the fundamental criterion, competence turns into a language of legitimation. Expertise is invoked, but predictability is selected; There is talk of professionalism, but conformist safety is promoted. Over time, the values are reversed: it is not those who perform well that are rewarded, but those who are compatible with the system.
This illusion of competence is one of the most effective forms of symbolic control. It allows the system to justify its inertia through the discourse of stability: "it's not perfect, but it works", "it's not ideal, but it's balanced". In reality, balance is not the result of maturity, but of collective fatigue. People are no longer asking for change, but for minimal coherence; They are no longer looking for leaders, but for guarantees of predictability.
The mechanism of toxic stability is reproduced through an alliance between incompetence and prudence. The weak are not excluded, because they do not pose a threat; The brave are not co-opted, because they can destabilize the order. Instead of competition, a form of permanent cohabitation is installed, in which each level of the system protects its own comfort zone.
This results in an inverse meritocracy, in which success is defined not by results, but by survival. Real competence is perceived as unpredictable, and innovation as risk. In such a context, performance becomes suspect, and stagnation – a sign of balance. Society adapts to this logic and comes to consider stability a virtue in itself, even when it does not produce progress.
This dynamic is most clearly observed in the administration, in the economy and in culture. In administration, promotions do not reflect merit, but loyalty; In economics, success does not always follow innovation, but belonging; In culture, value is more often validated by belonging to circles of influence than by authentic public recognition. All these areas converge in a system of negative selection, in which mediocrity becomes the norm and a guarantee of stability.
Politocracy is based on this mechanism: a balance between dependence and comfort, in which no one has a real interest in disturbing the apparent tranquillity. Power is no longer confronted, but maintained. Criticism no longer produces consequences, but only discourse. Thus, the system remains permanently in a state of "controlled movement"—enough to give the impression of life, but never enough for transformation.
Understanding toxic stability does not mean rejecting order, but recognizing that a balance based on fear and resignation cannot sustain development. True stability does not come from silence, but from trust in a predictable and fair framework. Without this step, society remains stuck in a circle of self-justifications, where each level of the system defends its own comfort in the name of the common good.
Any political system, no matter how complex, ultimately relies on people's willingness to believe that justice is possible. When this belief weakens, democracy does not collapse immediately, but gradually empties itself of content. The laws remain, the procedures work, but the moral meaning of participation is diluted. In such moments, the honest citizen becomes not only an ethical figure, but a condition of inner balance for the entire community.
To be honest in a system dominated by politocracy is not to be a hero, but to refuse to participate in the lie of convenience. Honesty is not loud; it acts through consistency and by refusing to give up lucidity. This type of behaviour does not immediately change the world, but it maintains the possibility of change. Without it, any form of public accountability turns into an empty ritual.
In a society where adaptation has become a virtue, the honest citizen represents a paradox. He participates in the system, but he is not to be confused with it. He accepts the rules, but does not let them replace his conscience. By its mere existence, it introduces a beneficial tension between legality and morality, between what is permissible and what is right. This tension is the sign of a living democracy; Its absence heralds the beginning of degradation.
Honesty is not an act of resistance, but a way of remaining whole in a fragmented reality. It does not ask for spectacle, but for continuity; it does not feed on indignation, but on clarity. In a world of appearances, moral lucidity becomes a form of public hygiene—that willingness to see things as they are, without confusing them with their justifications.
There is a subtle difference between guilty silence and wise silence. The first hides fear, the second protects discernment. The honest citizen does not have the obligation to shout all the time, but he has the duty not to consent. He understands that freedom does not mean the absence of limits, but the ability to internalize them without losing your dignity.
In Romania, this moral figure is not an abstract ideal, but a discreet, constant presence. It is found in professionals who do their job without compromise, in teachers who continue to believe in the purpose of education, in officials who respect the law even when they are asked to do otherwise. These people do not change the system through spectacular gestures, but through a silent continuity of decency.
The moral boundary of a democracy is not drawn by laws, but by behaviours. It is not imposed from the outside, but is cultivated from within. When the honest citizen becomes the silent norm, the system begins to heal quietly. When it is marginalized, power becomes meaningless and turns into a game without rules.
Democracy is not measured by the number of institutions, but by the quality of relations between people. Honesty, in this sense, is not a private virtue, but a form of public order. It does not oppose the individual to the state, but obliges him to participate lucidly in his own destiny.
In a world tired of noise and simulacra, the silence of honesty becomes one of the last forms of authentic resistance. It is a silence that does not mean resignation, but the refusal to turn the truth into a spectacle. From this discretion can perhaps be born a new form of public dignity — one that does not require applause, but trust.
Democracies do not collapse because of a lack of laws, but because of a lack of trust. When trust turns into suspicion, and the truth becomes negotiable, institutions continue to function, but they lose the moral direction that gives them meaning. Romania has been living for too long in this fragile balance, between hope and fatigue, between lucidity and adaptation.
In the decades since 1989, we have learned to confuse freedom with procedure and responsibility with obedience. We have replaced conviction with reflex, criticism with irony and solidarity with suspicion. In this slow process of sedimentation, democracy has become a functional but breathless mechanism. Truth no longer guides, but only justifies; it does not disappear, but is diluted in conveniences.
Yet, in the depths of this collective fatigue, a discreet resource is preserved— individual dignity. It cannot be decreed or imposed by moral campaigns. It manifests itself through small gestures, by refusing comfortable lies, by sticking to principles even when they no longer bring any immediate benefit. Dignity is not a form of heroism, but a method of remaining human in a reality that constantly invites you to give in.
Truth, in its profound sense, does not impose itself; it is lived. It is maintained by the consistency of those who do not use it as a weapon, but as an inner orientation. The societies that manage to rebuild themselves are not those that proclaim the truth louder, but those that live it more peacefully. In this sense, the silence of the honest has a greater power than the noise of the demagogue.
Democracy is not a definitive form of organization, but a state of collective lucidity. It does not belong to the institutions, but to the people who decide, every day, not to abdicate reason and decency. A community becomes truly free not when it has perfect laws, but when it produces people who don't need fear to be fair.
In the face of this simple evidence, Romania has one more chance: that of transforming fatigue into discernment, scepticism into exigency and silence into reflection. There is no need for political miracles, but for a reconnection to the sense of proportion, to the idea that dignity is a form of order.
The truth cannot be imposed from above, but it can be relearned by example. This is where the maturation of an imperfect democracy begins: from the gestures of those who choose not to lie and not to be afraid.
About the author:
Col. (ret.) Dr. Cătălin Balog is an analyst and trainer with experience in intelligence, information security and strategic communication. Doctor of Military Sciences, with a thesis dedicated to the management of security risks in cyberspace, he worked for over two decades in structures of the Ministry of National Defense. Currently, he is an associate professor at the University of Bucharest, where he teaches courses on information management. In particular, he is concerned with the analysis of contemporary social and political mechanisms, with a focus on the relationship between ideology, technology and the simulation of democracy.
The article presents the stance of the author and does not necessarily reflect the stance of IFIMES.
Ljubljana/ Bucharest, 17 November 2025
[1] IFIMES – International Institute for Middle East and Balkan Studies, based in Ljubljana, Slovenia, has Special Consultative status at ECOSOC/UN, New York, since 2018 and it’s publisher of the international scientific journal “European Perspectives”.
