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Trial by firing squad

“This was revolution in the usual style, with barricades and bloodshed.” Paul Davies recalls the Chr

In the days leading up to Christmas 1989, the unrest that had begun in the Romanian city of Timisoara, when crowds poured on to the streets in protest at the threatened deportation of a dissident Hungarian pastor, spread to the capital, Bucharest. On 21 December, President Nicolae Ceausescu addressed a gathering of more than 100,000 people from the balcony of the Central Committee building. His pleas for order went unheeded, however, as the crowd booed and shouted him down. It was clear that Ceausescu’s 24-year reign as supreme leader of the Romanian state was near its end.

I spent that Christmas with a team from ITN, sleeping on the floor of a building under siege in central Bucharest. We were surrounded by young people who had risen against the dictator and were now prepared to stand up to his tanks and his sinister secret police, the Securitate. This was revolution in the usual style, with barricades and bloodshed on the streets.

The first indication that Ceausescu’s overthrow would be altogether more violent and bloody than the “velvet” revolutions elsewhere in the eastern bloc had come on our flight out. As we approached the city’s Otopeni airport, the pilot warned that landing was being delayed by fierce fighting close to the runway. There was confusion on the ground. In the darkness, people appeared to be shooting at each other from the woods around the airport and bullets were hitting the terminal building.

When we finally made it into the city, our first objective was to find Bucharest Television Centre, the only place from where we would be able to send pictures and news reports back to London. As we made our way there, we ran into a large group of students, several hundred strong, who told us that Romanian TV was now the voice of the revolution.

The leaders of the uprising were inside the building. Fearing brutal retribution from the Securitate, they had broadcast an appeal for help. Large numbers of students had responded to the call and were now making Molotov cocktails and building barricades across the roads leading to the Television Centre.

The shooting started as we were being guided through the growing crowd outside. It was impossible to work out where the gunfire was coming from. All we knew was that it was aimed at the TV building and the mostly unarmed masses who had gathered to defend it. A man in military uniform screamed at us to take cover under an armoured vehicle, and that is where the cameraman Sam Gracey, the sound recordist Paul Douglas and I spent the next three hours.

We could hear the rounds striking the vehicle above us and see that several students had been wounded. Though it was difficult to make sense of the chaos, it soon became clear that dozens of men in army uniforms had joined the revolution and were now returning fire. The siege of Bucha­rest Television Centre had begun.

During a lull in the fighting in the early hours of the morning, we finally made it into the building. Once inside, we met the local broadcasters, who were desperate for us to get our footage to the outside world. Then the shooting began again, but this time with greater intensity. A window from which we had been filming shattered. Our new friends told us there were rumours that the Securitate was preparing to storm the building. In the darkness, it was impossible to know what was happening.

By dawn on 23 December, we could see that Television Centre was still in the hands of the revolutionaries. Those elements of the security forces still loyal to Ceausescu appeared to have taken up position in surrounding houses and woodland. Other members of the military were defending the building.

The newscasters holed up inside had become the face and voice of the revolution, and were broadcasting regular bulletins on the progress of the uprising. Meanwhile, leading figures from the government and military arrived to inform the nation that the ageing dictator – he was 71 now – had taken flight with his loathed and feared wife, Elena. Later, we saw an anxious young woman being marched towards the studios. She was drawing deeply on a cigarette. This was Ceausescu’s daughter, Zoia, who was being displayed to the Romanian people as proof that her father’s time was up.

By Christmas Eve, the gunfire outside Television Centre had mostly subsided. The revolution now had the support of a significant proportion of Romania’s armed forces. When we had arrived, a couple of days earlier, there had been just a handful of young soldiers and a small number of armoured personnel carriers protecting the building. Now there were tanks and troops under the command of senior army officers.

The siege was lifted on Christmas morning, and with that, the first phase of the revolution was brought to a close. The fugitive president and his wife had been arrested after they were betrayed by those they trusted to take them to safety. Later that same day, Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu faced a swift and peremptory trial, and then the firing squad.

Footage of the execution arrived at Television Centre shortly afterwards, and meetings were held to decide what to do with it. The remaining members of the station hierarchy insisted that the material should not be broadcast, while others argued that it was the only way to convince those still loyal to the old regime that their cause was lost.

In the event, a special broadcast was aired, in which a presenter described the footage and the debate over whether to show it. He asked viewers to stay tuned while a decision was made. It took the intervention of a young army officer, who had wearied of all the wrangling, for the brief but conclusive images of the Ceausescus’ dead bodies to be shown to the watching millions.

In the years that followed, I returned regularly to report on the new Romania. It rapidly became clear that, for all the post-revolutionary euphoria and the first democratic elections in decades, the dreams of those who had thronged University Square in December 1989 had come to nothing. Holdouts from the old regime quietly returned to government, and when students came back out on to the streets in protest at broken promises, miners were bussed in from the provinces to beat up the demonstrators. Not quite the bright new world my comrades at Television Centre had envisaged when they manned the barricades in Bucharest that fraught Christmas.

Paul Davies is a senior correspondent for ITV News. He wrote this piece in memory of Paul Douglas, who was killed while filming in Iraq in 2006. In 1990, Davies was named the Royal Television Society TV Journalist of the Year for his reporting of the Romanian Revolution

Share your memories of the year of the crowd with us by emailing: 1989@newstatesman.com. A selection will appear on our website

This article first appeared in the 16 March 2009 issue of the New Statesman, The year of the crowd

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The New Times: Brexit, globalisation, the crisis in Labour and the future of the left

With essays by David Miliband, Paul Mason, John Harris, Lisa Nandy, Vince Cable and more.

Once again the “new times” are associated with the ascendancy of the right. The financial crash of 2007-2008 – and the Great Recession and sovereign debt crises that were a consequence of it – were meant to have marked the end of an era of runaway “turbocapitalism”. It never came close to happening. The crash was a crisis of capitalism but not the crisis of capitalism. As Lenin observed, there is “no such thing as an absolutely hopeless situation” for capitalism, and so we discovered again. Instead, the greatest burden of the period of fiscal retrenchment that followed the crash was carried by the poorest in society, those most directly affected by austerity, and this in turn has contributed to a deepening distrust of elites and a wider crisis of governance.

Where are we now and in which direction are we heading?

Some of the contributors to this special issue believe that we have reached the end of the “neoliberal” era. I am more sceptical. In any event, the end of neoliberalism, however you define it, will not lead to a social-democratic revival: it looks as if, in many Western countries, we are entering an age in which centre-left parties cannot form ruling majorities, having leaked support to nationalists, populists and more radical alternatives.

Certainly the British Labour Party, riven by a war between its parliamentary representatives and much of its membership, is in a critical condition. At the same time, Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership has inspired a remarkable re-engagement with left-wing politics, even as his party slumps in the polls. His own views may seem frozen in time, but hundreds of thousands of people, many of them young graduates, have responded to his anti-austerity rhetoric, his candour and his shambolic, unspun style.

The EU referendum, in which as much as one-third of Labour supporters voted for Brexit, exposed another chasm in Labour – this time between educated metropolitan liberals and the more socially conservative white working class on whose loyalty the party has long depended. This no longer looks like a viable election-winning coalition, especially after the collapse of Labour in Scotland and the concomitant rise of nationalism in England.

In Marxism Today’s “New Times” issue of October 1988, Stuart Hall wrote: “The left seems not just displaced by Thatcherism, but disabled, flattened, becalmed by the very prospect of change; afraid of rooting itself in ‘the new’ and unable to make the leap of imagination required to engage the future.” Something similar could be said of the left today as it confronts Brexit, the disunities within the United Kingdom, and, in Theresa May, a prime minister who has indicated that she might be prepared to break with the orthodoxies of the past three decades.

The Labour leadership contest between Corbyn and Owen Smith was largely an exercise in nostalgia, both candidates seeking to revive policies that defined an era of mass production and working-class solidarity when Labour was strong. On matters such as immigration, digital disruption, the new gig economy or the power of networks, they had little to say. They proposed a politics of opposition – against austerity, against grammar schools. But what were they for? Neither man seemed capable of embracing the “leading edge of change” or of making the imaginative leap necessary to engage the future.

So is there a politics of the left that will allow us to ride with the currents of these turbulent “new times” and thus shape rather than be flattened by them? Over the next 34 pages 18 writers, offering many perspectives, attempt to answer this and related questions as they analyse the forces shaping a world in which power is shifting to the East, wars rage unchecked in the Middle East, refugees drown en masse in the Mediterranean, technology is outstripping our capacity to understand it, and globalisation begins to fragment.

— Jason Cowley, Editor 

Tom Kibasi on what the left fails to see

Philip Collins on why it's time for Labour to end its crisis

John Harris on why Labour is losing its heartland

Lisa Nandy on how Labour has been halted and hollowed out

David Runciman on networks and the digital revolution

John Gray on why the right, not the left, has grasped the new times

Mariana Mazzucato on why it's time for progressives to rethink capitalism

Robert Ford on why the left must reckon with the anger of those left behind

Ros Wynne-Jones on the people who need a Labour government most

Gary Gerstle on Corbyn, Sanders and the populist surge

Nick Pearce on why the left is haunted by the ghosts of the 1930s

Paul Mason on why the left must be ready to cause a commotion

Neal Lawson on what the new, 21st-century left needs now

Charles Leadbeater explains why we are all existentialists now

John Bew mourns the lost left

Marc Stears on why democracy is a long, hard, slow business

Vince Cable on how a financial crisis empowered the right

David Miliband on why the left needs to move forward, not back

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times