When the Eastern Bloc crumbled in 1989, not everyone exited the stage with the same choreography. Some regimes, like Hungary’s, preferred the slow dance of controlled liberalization—careful steps, some feigned grace, plenty of backstage whispers. Others, however, were dragged off by the scruff of the neck. Romania, ever the overachiever in grim finales, earned top honors for the fastest and most violent disposal of its former rulers. Ceaușescu went from dictator to bullet-riddled corpse faster than most Western bureaucracies can issue a parking ticket.
Why? Because Romania clung the longest. While others cautiously opened a window or two, Romania kept the iron shutters bolted tight. And when the dam finally burst, it wasn’t a polite trickle; it was a flood with pitchforks.
The climate circus is following the same script. Across the Atlantic, the United States has already begun dismantling the edifice of climate hysteria—quietly, pragmatically, with the usual self-interest disguised as principle. Meanwhile, Europe stands there like late-stage Romania: grim-faced, ideologically rigid, refusing to read the room.
Voters are watching the Americans backpedal and wondering how much longer they’ll be expected to bankroll this green fever dream. The cash is drying up, and the printing press has lost its magic—after a few rounds of inflation therapy, even the most credulous citizens have figured out what happens when governments conjure money from thin air.History doesn’t repeat, but it does love a good parody.