Meet Justice

DAY 64 – Romania

Rev-o-lu-tion (n) : a dramatic change in ideas and practice.

Revolution. 16 years ago- 1989- was the year it came. Elsewhere in the world, the story was the fall of the Wall. Germany reunited. In Romania, revolution came in the streets- in the square- in the churches. The dictator fell. Tyranny was ended. This was to be the end of the nightmare- and the beginning of the new.

Revolution. This was the melting point; the cold, hardened giant of Communism oppression giving way to the expression of individuality again. The expression of pride in country; the expression of political opinion. The expression of religious practice, the hope for economic prosperity. December 1989- the spring signs of a world of open possibility began to bloom here; a world promising freedom.

Revolution. 16 years later, the word for us is common- place. In the States, we see it on billboards for the latest marketing spin on investment services. We see it on t-shirts advertising the new summer camp for Baptist youth groups. We hear about it in the world of news, information technology and the Internet nearly everyday. Revolution is everywhere it seems.

As we climb the steps of this crumbling old concrete building this afternoon, the revolution looks starkly different. The stench of feces and urine is almost overbearing. The handrail is covered in mold from the constant dripping of water from the ceiling. It is dark- the lights haven’t worked for years. But out of the shadow- in the first doorway we come to- we make out the outline of an elderly woman.

She nods our way. She rattles off a little Romanian. She invites us in. It is our first introduction to the inhabitants of this old, decrepit Communist block. Our friends here in Romania had first showed us“Commi Condos” a few days ago. Built as regulated housing for the masses during the height of Communist rule, the buildings are striking for one main thing- their stark sense of cold uniform concrete design. There is no sign of any architectural considerations. No living enhancements. No color. This is as basic, as utilitarian, and as primitively functional as you can get this side of building a prison.

Then we go inside. Warm, wet air instantly wraps around us in an almost suffocating blanket as soon as the door is closed. Our eyes adjust to the two bare incandescent light bulbs and we begin to take in the apartment around us. It is one room- small- perhaps 10 x 20 feet. There is one double bed in the corner. One old couch rests against the far wall. An ancient stovetop leans precariously in the corner. Random shelves with trinkets stare at us by the door. The little remaining floor space is covered in worn carpets and frayed bedding linens. There is no toilet. No sink. No shower.

Our friends begin to translate. This is the grandmother. These are four of her grandchildren. They have lived here for many years. They live here with various parts of the rest of their family. There are two grown males in the house- one has a job. They just got the electricity turned back on a few months ago when someone ran a line from the building next door.

The room is so humid because the ceiling leaks constantly. It runs down the walls and soaks the carpets on the floor. In the winter, it is all ice because there’s no central heat. The only heat is from the two little gas cooking burners in the corner. There is no hot water. The bathrooms and pipes leak, thus the putrid smell of sewage in the halls outside.

The grandmother lives here with these grandchildren. And some of her own children. And some of their cousins. And some of their children. We start counting. We ask again. We can’t believe it. There are a total of 18 people living in this one- room apartment.

Why? On the surface, it is simple. One job to support 17 people. No government welfare. No church assistance. No Habitat for Humanity. No Salvation Army. This family has been- for the most part- completely on their own.

And they are not alone. This floor of this building has another 7 apartments. There are three more floors above and below. Five more buildings around us. And a country-side full of old Communist compounds just like this one.

Revolution. The date may have passed 16 years ago, but the grandmother of this apartment family is still waiting. While an ever-expanding European community develops around them, Romania continues its’ struggle to rise from the rubble of oppression and plunder to become a land of hope and opportunity for a people desperately waiting for change. A change that will be more than talk; a change that will bring justice and a real chance for something new.

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