Opportunity and threat behind the Iron Curtain: The failed diffusion of human rights activism in Romania

Introduction

Social movement scholars widely recognize the importance of diffusion processes for the emergence and spread of collective action, yet we know surprisingly little about instances when movements fail to diffuse despite similar political and economic conditions. Factors contributing to diffusion failure are particularly important in non-democratic settings, where contentious action can occur in waves and quickly spread across a region (Beissinger, 2007; Koesel and Bunce, 2013). Prior research shows that political opportunity can help facilitate diffusion (Andrews and Bigg, 2006), but the relationship between opportunity, threat, and contention under repressive conditions is complex (Almeida, 2003; Goldstone and Tilly, 2001). In this study, we examine the diffusion of human rights activism in an authoritarian setting to understand how proximate episodes of contention may alter domestic configurations of opportunity and threat. Specifically, we look at how the interplay of external opportunity and repressive threat can lead to failed movement diffusion.

To address these issues, we analyze human rights activism in communist Romania. In the mid-1970s, several Eastern bloc countries, including Romania and Czechoslovakia, signed international human rights covenants to improve international relations. In response to these developments, a human rights movement emerged in Czechoslovakia known as Charter 77 that quickly inspired others in the region, particularly in Romania. The Romanian campaign, however, ultimately failed to develop into a fully formed movement and would dissolve in under a year. Our research analyzes this failed campaign for human rights in Romania, focused on the interplay between diffusion, political opportunity, and threat.

This study draws on data from several sources, including state archival records, domestic and international media coverage, and published materials from Romanian human rights activists. We supplement these primary data with historical analyses and secondary interviews with activists. Analysis reveals that limited structural opportunity in Romania, including strong elite unity and popular consent for single-party rule, inhibited movement development. Although many citizens voiced their support for the human rights campaign despite structural disadvantages, their participation was largely driven by personal rather than collective goals. The state’s flexible use of both soft and hard forms of repression helped demobilize activism and succeeded in part because of how political configurations shaped perceived opportunities.

Diffusion, opportunity, and threat in authoritarian settings

A large body of literature shows that social movements tend to inspire and facilitate other movements (della Porta and Mattoni, 2014; Soule and Roggeband, 2019). The term diffusion refers to instances when ‘prior actions affect the future probability of similar actions, including the spread of ideas and language,’ highlighting the spatial and temporal interdependencies of collective action (Oliver and Myers, 2003: 1). Cultural ideas and tactics can move cross-nationally through both direct relational and nonrelational channels (McAdam, 1995). Direct channels include the movement of activists between settings and ties between actors. Nonrelational mechanisms of diffusion involve indirect linkages between movements, such as the media and other cultural institutions (Strang and Meyer, 1993).

A variety of factors influence the diffusion of movements, including geographic proximity and similarities of political and economic context (Bunce and Wolchik, 2006). However, movement diffusion is not an automatic or straightforward process but involves active adaptation and translation by the receiving party (Scalmer, 2002). Beyond structural conditions, cultural affinity and perception also facilitate diffusion. Multiple scholars stress the importance of the ‘attribution of similarity’ for successful diffusion. Particularly in the absence of direct social ties, recipients must perceive their circumstances as similar in essential ways (McAdam and Rucht, 1993; Strang and Meyer, 1993). Perceived political similarities, for example, played an important role in the spread of the 2011 Arab Spring uprisings, when the unexpected fall of Tunisia’s authoritarian regime motivated mass resistance in other Middle Eastern and North African countries (Weyland, 2012).

Past studies have greatly advanced our understanding of when and how diffusion succeeds, yet we know comparatively little about failed diffusion (della Porta and Mattoni, 2014; Scalmer, 2002; Soule and Roggeband, 2019: for exceptions see Zamponi, 2012). Failed diffusion refers to instances where innovations or movements did not successfully travel from one setting to another, despite ‘attempts . . . by innovators, brokers or activists interested in adopting’ (Soule and Roggeband, 2019: 246). This oversight is significant because successful adoption of innovations may be relatively rare compared to failed attempts. Weyland (2010), for example, finds that the 1848 wave of European contention ignited by the French Revolution resulted in zero cases of successful replication. More common was abortive emulation (7 cases), preemptive reform (2 cases), or blockage (3 cases). Abortive emulation refers to instances where mass contention wins some initial but short-lived concessions, followed by repression to halt the further spread of resistance. Regimes may also prevent nascent challenges from developing into full-blown movements through repression (blockage) or institute preemptive reforms to thwart protest diffusion. This variety of possible state responses and outcomes raises questions about how political configurations, at both the local and international levels, may contribute to failed movement diffusion.

Political opportunity – or the political arrangements that signal favorable conditions for activists to mobilize resources for collective challenge (McAdam, 1982; Tarrow, 1996) – increases the likelihood of movement diffusion (Andrews and Biggs, 2006). Analysts have outlined several dimensions of political opportunity structure: (1) receptiveness of the formal political structures, (2) existence and stability of elite alliances, (3) presence of elite allies, and (4) repressive nature of the state (Meyer, 2004). Early studies highlighted characteristics of closed opportunity structures, such as state repression, that contributed to failed mobilization (McAdam, 1982). However, the relationship between opportunity, threat, and mobilization is complex, particularly in non-democratic settings. Political threat, rather than simply the inverse of opportunity, can also act as a mobilizing force, showing that political closure does not necessarily lead to movement failure (Almeida, 2003, 2008; Goldstone and Tilly, 2001; Maher, 2010).

Almeida (2019) identifies four distinct components of political threat that can facilitate mobilization: (1) economic problems in the state, (2) public health/environmental decline, (3) the erosion of basic rights, and (4) state repression (see also Goldstone and Tilly, 2001). Two of these – the erosion of basic rights and state repression – are particularly important for analyzing dissident activism in authoritarian settings. The removal of human rights can incite protest when citizens living in highly repressive settings experience even brief periods of freedom or perceive such opportunities to exist. Increases in state repression, although frequently a demobilizing force, can also encourage insurgency in highly repressive settings by sparking ‘moral outrage’ (Almeida, 2005: 69). State repression can backfire if perceived as illegitimate or excessive, helping to spur support for activists (Schock, 2005). These findings highlight the importance of the ‘broader configuration of opportunities’ and threat within which contentious politics and movement diffusion take place in non-democratic settings (Schock, 2005: 117).

Opportunity and threat are also ‘subject to attribution’ and must be both visible and perceived to mobilize or immobilize action (McAdam et al., 2001: 43). That is, perception rather than objective structures often determines patterns of protest and resistance (Einwohner, 2003; Kurzman, 1996; Maher, 2010). Kurzman (1996) found that perceived opportunities and a strong sense of efficacy triggered the 1979 Iranian Revolution despite the repressive political environment and the lack of objective political opportunities. Thus, optimistic perceptions of revolution proved more important than structural conditions.

Combined, scholarship on social movement diffusion and political opportunity structure suggests that external contention – episodes occurring in socially or spatially distant places – may interact in important ways with local configurations of opportunity and threat. First, the possibility of diffusion can alter internal structures. Authoritarian regimes may preemptively repress or reform to prevent the spread of collective challenges (Weyland, 2010). Significantly, repressive measures and other social control mechanisms can also diffuse (Koesel and Bunce, 2013). Authoritarian rulers take cues from each other on when and how to repress challengers and the population. Foreign contention may also help to facilitate new networks or attract greater attention, which may strengthen challengers’ position vis-a-vis the state. Second, external contention may alter perceptions of opportunity and threat. The unexpected success of a nearby insurgency can influence actors’ ideas of what is possible. The diffusion of frames can also provide a new framework of meaning that changes how domestic actors perceive opportunity and threat. External examples of successful contention can thus signal opportunity even in the absence of structural advantage (Beissinger, 2007).

This study extends scholarship on social movement diffusion by asking how diffused opportunity interacts with local configurations of opportunity and threat – particularly repressive threat – in authoritarian settings. Waves of protest, such as the early 2000s ‘color revolutions’ and the 2010 Arab Spring, show that episodes of contention in non-democratic states can spark similar movements across the region. Yet we know little about the conditions under which geographically proximate movements fail to diffuse. Examining the factors contributing to failed movement diffusion offers insight into how and when movements spread in non-democracies.

Data and analytic strategy

We use the brief 1977 campaign for human rights in communist Romania to examine the complex relationship between movement diffusion, opportunity, and threat in a non-democratic setting. The data analyzed for the case come from archival documents and secondary historical accounts, published interviews, memoires written by activists, and domestic and international news coverage. We collected archival materials from the Romanian National Council for the Study of Security Archives and Memorial of Victims of Communism and Resistance [Consiliul Național pentru Studierea Arhivelor Securității and Memorialul Victimelor Comunismului şi al Rezistenţei]. We also collected materials from Radio Free Europe from the Open Society Archives, as well as coverage in the Romanian language periodical Limite (published in Paris, France), which published several articles and interviews related to the campaign. ¹ Secondary source materials on state repression and persecution from various historical accounts in both Romanian and English languages provided important context for our analysis.

Domestic and international news coverage of the human rights campaign was collected through the Foreign Broadcast Information Services (FBIS) Daily Reports on Romania. FBIS, an intelligence component of the US Central Intelligence Agency, monitored and distributed foreign news content. News coverage of the campaign came from both domestic news sources (e.g., Bucharest Domestic Service), as well as international news outlets, including: Sueddeutsche Zeitung (German), Der Speigel (German), Hamburg DPA (German), Dagens Nyhheter (Sweden), and the Daily Telegraph (British), among others. The FBIS dataset contained news stories on the Romanian human rights campaign, including interviews with activists, details on signatures and letters written by dissidents supporting the campaign, and reports of repression. Published memoires and essays by activists provided additional data on the regime’s campaign of persecution.

Data analysis took place in several waves. We began by developing a coding strategy that allowed us to address the central theoretical questions of the study. The initial phase of open coding focused on identifying key actors and broad trends in the data, allowing us to construct a timeline of important events for the human rights campaign. During successive waves of axial coding (Corbin and Strauss, 2014), the data were condensed into relevant themes, including perceptions of political opportunities, movement emergence and recruitment, cross-national interactions between dissidents, movement tactical choices, legal repression, and extralegal persecution of activists. The coding of published interview data and memoires written by leading human rights activists allowed us to reconstruct the campaign and the state’s response. Excerpts were drawn from the materials to capture the context and experiences of the human rights activists in Romania. Our analysis aims to provide critical insight into the case of Romanian human rights activism specifically, as well as to inform the understanding of complex relationships between opportunities, threats, and social movement diffusion more broadly.

The emergence and diffusion of human rights activism in the Eastern bloc

The mid-1970s Helsinki Accords ushered in a new era of anti-communist dissent in the Soviet bloc. Thirty-five communist and non-communist states in Europe and North America signed the Helsinki Accords in 1975 to increase international security, as well as improve social and economic conditions in participating countries. Eastern European signatories included Czechoslovakia, Romania, Hungary, Poland, Bulgaria, and the German Democratic Republic. The agreement aimed to ease tensions and improve cooperation between communists and the West, yet had the unintended consequence of spurring new forms of dissident activity behind the Iron Curtain (Thomas, 1999). The human rights provisions of the Helsinki Accords committed member states to protecting a diverse array of political, civil, economic, and social rights, including the ‘freedom of thought, conscience, religion or belief for all without distinction as to race, sex, language or religion.’ Although non-binding, the declaration introduced a common language of human rights, helping facilitate greater dialogue and understanding between Eastern European dissidents and Western audiences. The international agreement also provided a legitimate source for Western politicians to hold communist states accountable. In the post-Helsinki era, anti-communist dissidents translated their grievances into the imported language of human rights and called on communist states to uphold their formal commitment to protect citizens’ basic freedoms.

One of the largest and most influential human rights movements to emerge following Helsinki was the Czechoslovakian group known as Charter 77. In December 1976, a group of banned writers, cultural figures, former party officials, and religious leaders drafted a declaration on human rights (Charter 77), which quickly gained over 200 signatures (Kusin, 1978). The Charter 77 dissidents strategically framed the movement within the bounds of Czechoslovakian law and linked their efforts to the regime’s stated support for international human rights. In early January 1977, signatories attempted to deliver the Declaration to the Czechoslovakian government but were detained by state security forces who confiscated the document (Skilling, 1981). The Declaration was subsequently released through underground (samizdat) channels and published by Western media outlets. In response, the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia (Komunistická strana Československa [KSČ]) launched a repressive campaign against the dissident movement. Within the state media, the regime vilified the signatories as anti-state and reactionary agents of imperialism determined to terrorize the country (Shriver et al., 2020; Skilling, 1981). Charter 77 also faced extensive legal and extrajudicial harassment from the regime, including frequent interrogations and arrests. However, state repression backfired, and activists received widespread international support from the media, writers and playwrights, and politicians. The group continued its campaign for human rights throughout the communist era (Skilling, 1981) and, following the 1989 Velvet Revolution, writer and Charter 77 signatory Vaclav Havel became the country’s first democratically elected president.

Anti-communist dissent in Romania, by contrast, is notable primarily for its absence. Unlike other Eastern European countries, a dissident movement failed to emerge among Romanian intellectuals and cultural figures. The ‘quasi non-existence of dissident groups’ (C Petrescu, 2013: 13) in Romania prior to 1989 is perhaps best illustrated by the short-lived attempt of writer Paul Goma to establish a Romanian human rights movement modeled on Charter 77. Despite lasting only three short months (February–April 1977), Goma’s human rights campaign proved to be the ‘most important dissident action of the communist period’ (D Petrescu, 2014a: 133). The embryonic movement ended when its initiator emigrated, following professional marginalization and persistent harassment from the party. No other significant act of collective dissent would emerge in the country until 1989. A saying circulating in the early 1980s captures the exceptional nature of this attempted human rights movement: ‘Romanian dissent lives in Paris and his name is Goma’ (Shafir, 1985: 168).

The ‘Goma Movement’ represents a case of failed social movement diffusion, specifically an instance of blockage, where state repression prevented the campaign from fully developing into a movement (Weyland, 2010). However, state repression cannot fully explain the failure of Goma’s campaign. Its model, Charter 77, persisted despite similar, and in many instances harsher, forms of repression. We argue that in Romania, both structures and perceptions of political opportunity and threat differed from Czechoslovakia in important ways that created barriers to successful movement diffusion. To explain the failed diffusion of the human rights movement in Romania, we begin by analyzing the political and economic conditions in communist Romania, focusing on transformations in state repression and legitimacy. We then examine how Goma sought to leverage opportunities at the national and international levels to initiate a human rights movement. The response of both the state and citizens within this context contributed to the ultimate demise of the movement.

Repression and consent in communist Romania

State repression in Romania took on its most brutal and severe form between 1945 and 1964. In 1947, a Soviet-backed coup d’état brought Romania under communist control. With little support from within the country, the Romanian Communist Party (Partidul Comunist Român [PCR]) had little choice but to emulate the Stalinist model to stay in power. The PCR immediately began consolidating power by outlawing other political parties and adopting a new constitution modeled on the Soviet Union (Deletant, 1995). Following other Eastern bloc nations, the economy was nationalized across all sectors (Deletant, 1995). Private property was confiscated, destroying the economic basis for those stigmatized as ‘class enemies’ (Deletant, 1995). Peasants were evicted en masse and their lands transformed into state-run collective farms.

Under the first leader of the PCR, Teohari Georgescu-Dej, the state unleashed a repressive campaign to eliminate opposition within both the general population and state, including mass purges of the party itself (Deletant, 1995). The regime staged a series of trials to prosecute communists seen as a threat to Georgescu-Dej’s political power. The PCR also targeted former politicians, intellectuals, religious figures, teachers, and anyone associated with the bourgeois class (Beck, 1991; Courtois et al., 1999; Deletant, 1995). The infamous Department of State Security (Departamentul Securității Statului [Securitate]) was among the largest and most brutal secret police forces in the Eastern bloc (Smith, 2006). ‘Enemies’ of the regime were sent to political prisons and labor camps, including Sighet, Gherla, and Aiud (Deletant, 1995; Verdery, 1996). Conditions were particularly barbaric at the political prison Pitesti, where the PCR experimented with elaborate and grotesque forms of ‘reeducation’ that combined mental and physical abuse, with the ultimate goal of convincing prisoners to torture one another. Estimates place the total number of direct victims of communist repression – including individuals imprisoned, deported, placed under house arrest, or interned at labor camps for political crimes – at approximately 2 million people (D Petrescu, 2014a: 128).

The regime’s indiscriminate and violent terror achieved its goal of near total domination by the early 1960s, allowing for the transition to ‘softer’ forms of control based on surveillance and prevention (C Petrescu, 2013; D Petrescu, 2014a). Gheorghiu-Dej began opening the prisons in 1962 and by 1964 had released nearly all political prisoners (Deletant, 2001). Increased standards of living also helped secure limited consent of the populous. Across the 1960s and 1970s, economic growth delivered improved supply and quality of housing, greater access to consumer goods, and leisure and entertainment, including Western cultural products (Cătănuş, 2011). Finally, the PCR was able to gain some legitimacy by asserting its independence from Moscow and charting a nationalist path to socialism. In April 1964, the party made this position official, declaring that ‘There is no “parent” party and “offspring” party, “superiors” and “subordinated” parties, but there is the large family of communist and workers parties having equal rights.’

In 1965, Nicolae Ceauşescu ascended to political power following the death of Gheorghiu-Dej and immediately distanced himself from his predecessor. Ceauşescu openly criticized the former regime’s abuses of power and reign of terror, ‘rehabilitated’ victims of the early Communist Party purges, and relaxed press censorship (Rothschild, 1993; Tismăneanu, 2003). In foreign policy, the new leader continued to pursue greater autonomy from the Soviet Union and signaled more openness to the West, both politically and culturally (Rothschild, 1993). Although much of the populous remained fearful of the Securitate, Ceauşescu also gained a substantial amount of support, helping to legitimize single-party rule in Romania (D Petrescu, 2009).

Ceauşescu’s foreign policy and anti-Soviet stance, combined with more subtle forms of repression, signaled the possibility of a reformist agenda, aiding his popularity in the country. The possibility of reform was particularly strong when Ceauşescu publicly supported Czechoslovakia’s 1968 reformist movement, known as the ‘Prague Spring’ (January–August 1968). In January 1968, a group of reformists within the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia (Komunistická strana Československa [KSČ]) gained control and initiated a series of reforms that loosened restrictions on the media and free speech, partially decentralized the economy, removed travel restrictions, and introduced democratic processes (Leff, 1997). From the beginning, Ceauşescu backed this liberalization and offered his personal support for reformist Czechoslovakian leader Alexander Dubček (Skilling, 1981). The Prague Spring, however, was short-lived. On 20 August 1968 Soviet forces invaded Czechoslovakia to reinstitute authoritarian rule in the country.

Ceauşescu immediately condemned the Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia and endorsed a declaration describing the invasion as ‘a flagrant violation of the national sovereignty of a fraternal, socialist, free and independent state’ (cited in Skilling, 1981: 747). He doubled down on his condemnation the next day, giving a spirited speech to a mass rally of 100,000 in Bucharest where he denounced the invasion as a ‘grave error [that] constituted a serious danger to peace in Europe and for the prospects of world socialism’ (Betea, 2012: n.p.). Ceauşescu’s speech resonated widely and represented the height of his popularity (Courtois et al., 1999; Rothschild, 1993). His willingness to defy the Soviets and his promotion of nationalism helped generate at least partial consent for communist rule (D Petrescu, 2009).

The famous ‘balcony speech’ where Ceauşescu proclaimed his support for the Czechslovak Prague Spring did not prefigure reform in Romania. Following a brief period of ideological relaxation, Ceauşescu presented new guidelines for the political and ideological education of working people. The Theses of July 1971 reasserted party control over art and literature and sought to eliminate Western influence on cultural production (C Petrescu, 2013). The new cultural policy also further restricted the movement of people and information across borders. These developments had a profound impact on Paul Goma’s writing career, as well as dissident activities.

The ‘Goma Movement’ for human rights

Paul Goma, a former political prisoner under Georgescu-Dej, had decades of grievances against the PCR. His problems started in 1952 when, as a high school student, he was detained by the Securitate for discussing anti-communist activities in Romania (Cătănuş, 2011). In 1956, he attempted to start a student movement in solidarity with the Hungarian Revolution (Goma, 2005). Later in 1956, Goma was arrested and imprisoned for two years after a public reading from one of his fictional stories that criticized the Soviet Union’s repression of the Hungarian Revolution (Cătănuş, 2011; Goma, 2005). After serving out his prison term, Goma was placed under house arrest for an additional three years (1960–1963). Despite these experiences, Ceauşescu’s 1968 condemnation of the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia inspired Goma to join the Romanian Communist Party. However, later the same year, the party banned publication of Goma’s novel, Ostinato, a fictionalized account of his experience with the Securitate. When Goma published the book in West Germany, he was expelled from the Communist Party and banned from further publishing in Romania (Deletant, 1995; Goma, 2005).

When word of Charter 77 reached Goma through international media channels, he penned a letter of support to Charter 77 signatory Pavel Kohout in January 1977 (Goma, 2005). Goma’s letter expressed solidarity with Charter 77 and emphasized the similarities between Czechoslovakia and Romania: ‘Your situation is also my situation; the situation of Czechoslovakia is – without fundamental differences – that of Romania. We live, we survive in the same concentration camp’ (Goma, 1977b: 9). Goma continued, drawing parallels between the Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia and his country’s own internal occupation by the Romanian regime, ‘we, the Romanians, are under Romanian occupation. . . . The same lack of elementary rights, the same mockery of man, the same shameless lie – everywhere. Everywhere: poverty, economic chaos, demagogy, insecurity, terror’ (Goma, 1977b: 9). A few days later, frustrated at his inability to convince any friends or fellow writers to join his efforts, Goma appealed directly to the regime (Goma, 2005). In February 1977, he wrote to Ceauşescu, urging him to support Charter 77. He emphasized that fear of state retribution was making it difficult to recruit signatories for his letter:

The situation would be completely different if you would send a similar letter, a declaration of support for Charter 77. I am firmly convinced that millions of Romanians will follow you, and will show solidarity with the Czechs and the Slovaks. By doing this, you will show that you are consistent with your declarations of 1968, you will show that you are fighting for Socialism, democracy and mankind. (cited in Deletant, 1995: 237–238)

Ceauşescu did not respond and Goma continued his efforts to persuade others to join his campaign.

The human rights campaign transformed into a collective endeavor when eight initial supporters, including Goma and his wife, sent an open letter to the 35 participating nations of the Helsinki Accords that were scheduled for a follow-up meeting in Belgrade that summer (Cătănuş, 2011; Sueddeutsche Zeitung, 1977). Although Goma drafted a version, painter Sergiu Manoliu wrote the final document (C Petrescu, 2013). Departing from the witty and impassioned style of Goma’s writing, the collective letter, dated 8 February 1977, detailed the human rights abuses under Ceauşescu:

In contemporary dictatorships, the essential forms of individual and social expression (art, culture, science, political and religious beliefs, national conscience) become empty words in the service of the ideological propaganda of the respective dictatorships. On the other hand, the rights guaranteed by internal laws and international conventions, though ratified by the governments of totalitarian states, are not respected. (Goma, 1977b: 9)

The letter goes on to list the rights formally guaranteed within the Romanian constitution, but routinely violated. Goma used his contacts to smuggle a copy of the letter out of the country, where it reached the desk of Radio Free Europe and was broadcast back to Romania and across the world.

The open letter represented the first publicly disseminated criticism of the regime under communist rule and attracted widespread attention (Deletant, 2006). Coming just a month after Charter 77, the sudden appearance of Romanian dissent suggested that human rights activism was spreading behind the Iron Curtain. The ‘Goma Movement’ imitated Charter 77 in both tactics and content. Dissidents framed the campaign around human rights, drawing on international agreements and legally codified rights to advance their claims. In an interview with the newspaper Der Spiegel, Goma explained: ‘We are not thinking about a revolt. What we want is to see the rights granted in our constitution and also in Helsinki, observed. . . . What irks us is that the letter of the law remains dead and is often actually turned around’ (Der Spiegel, 1977: H13–14). This legal framing seemed to resonate widely, and the campaign quickly gained momentum. By the end of March, nearly 200 additional supporters had signed the open letter to the Helsinki signatories, despite the regime’s efforts to suppress the growing movement. Western media closely monitored and reported on the events, and Romanian emigrants, as well as internationally renowned intellectuals, expressed their support for the dissidents. Yet this early momentum soon fizzled under the weight of state repression.

Flexible repression and the demise of Romanian dissent

As Goma’s human rights campaign amassed followers and international attention, it presented an increasing threat to Ceauşescu’s regime. Ceauşescu was particularly concerned with maintaining his international reputation and the country’s Most Favored Nation status in its trading relationship with the US. In response, the regime deployed a flexible repression strategy that sought to (1) harass, isolate, and ostracize Goma and other committed dissidents, and (2) persuade followers to retract their support (C Petrescu, 2013). Although the regime remained willing to employ violence if necessary, softer forms of repression proved highly effective in destroying the movement. These methods succeeded in part because, unlike Charter 77, the ‘Goma Movement’ lacked the commitment of the intellectual community and public personalities who could help sustain it. Rather, the campaign remained an amalgamation of individual interests that could be easily appeased and relied heavily on Goma’s leadership and international contacts. As such, the campaign quickly dispersed when its leader was arrested and subsequently fled the country.

The PCR historically relied on a strategy of media silence to contain protests. By ‘sanitizing the news,’ the party prevented information about resistance from spreading and minimized belief that collective action could effectively challenge the regime (Deletant, 2006: 82). ² In contrast to the extensive media attention to Charter 77 in Czechoslovakia, state media in Romania provided little coverage of Goma’s human rights campaign. Ceauşescu did deliver a speech on 17 February 1977 to address the issue but refrained from explicitly acknowledging Goma by name. The president began by affirming the country’s support of human rights, asserting that ‘We attach great importance to implementing the Helsinki documents on security and cooperation in Europe’ (Bucharest Domestic Service, 1977: H10). He went on to vilify human rights campaigners as ‘neofascists’ and traitors ‘who refuse to observe the norms of social coexistence and strive to live without working’ (Bucharest Domestic Service, 1977: H10). Ceauşescu argued that the dissidents were acting to ‘sow animosity among people and disturb the international political climate’ (Bucharest Domestic Service, 1977: H11). However, most action to suppress the movement took place more quietly.

According to archival records, the Securitate was monitoring 430 people who supported the open letter or had attempted to contact Goma (C Petrescu, 2013). The secret police amassed detailed data on these individuals to ascertain their motives for joining anti-regime actions and ‘neutralize’ the threat. Many supporters were particularly interested in the right to emigrate, but primarily for themselves. Six of the original eight signatories of the Helsinki open letter had previously been refused exist visas. After the letter, the state granted all six signatories emigration passports. Hearing of this success, many others began expressing support in order to obtain their own ‘Goma passport.’ Securitate reports show approved passports for 184 of the 430 individuals under surveillance, with 170 of those subsequently retracting their support for Goma’s activities (C Petrescu, 2013: 136). Similarly, the secret police were able to persuade others to cease dissident activities by addressing their individual grievances against the state.

The Securitate applied harsher tactics against more committed dissidents. In April, literary critic Ion Negoiţescu, one of the few intellectuals to join the movement, was pressed into retracting his support after the Securitate charged him with ‘homosexual practices’ (Negoiţescu, 1977: 18). Because he was a gay man living in a society where homosexuality was criminalized, Negoiţescu risked a public trial and marginalization if he refused to comply. Another dissident, psychiatrist Ion Vianu, the only other intellectual to publicly support Goma, refused to retract his support, leading to the loss of his university and hospital positions (Deletant, 1995). Also in April, two other signatories, Ion Ladea and Gheorghe Sandu, were violently beaten by the Securitate. Eight additional signatories were forced to sign ‘voluntary work pledges’ and consigned to labor camps (Dagens Nyhheter, 1977: H7).

The secret police applied a combination of persuasion and violence against Goma. In one early effort to silence the campaign, Goma was invited to meet with Corneliu Burtică, a top PCR official in charge of ideology and propaganda. Burtică offered to allow Goma to publish his written work in Romania again (Austin American-Statesman, 1977). Goma rejected the offer, noting ‘I was given a bone for myself, nothing for the others’ (quoted in Cătănuş, 2011: 203), and continued his aggressive recruiting campaign. The Securitate also fueled rumors among Goma’s colleagues in their effort to discredit the writer (Tănăsoiu, 2011). The media and Writers’ Union publications printed condemnations of Goma and the human rights campaign. For example, in a broadcast over Radio Bucharest on 7 April, the writer Eugen Barbu attacked Goma, whom he called a ‘client of propaganda hostile to our country’ (cited in Radio Free Europe, 1977a: 4). At a general assembly of the party organization of the Writers’ Union in April 1977, state-approved writers accused Goma and other writers who supported the human rights campaign of treason (Radio Free Europe, 1977b). On 13 April, the Writers’ Union voted Goma out of the organization.

In mid-February, the day after Ceauşescu’s speech condemning the human rights activists, the regime also set up a blockade around Goma’s home, preventing anyone from either entering or leaving the building (Deletant, 1995). Goma and his family received repeated death threats, beginning immediately after he sent letters of support to Charter 77. He explained in an interview, ‘The telephone kept ringing, people uttered all sorts of threats. I was even threatened with death, not only for myself but also for my 15-month-old son’ (Der Spiegel, 1977: H13). The state’s repressive measures escalated in March and April. On 1 March, Goma’s phone was disabled, making it impossible for him to contact the outside world or conduct further interviews with the foreign media (Ierunca and Petra, 1977; Radio Free Europe, 1977b).

On 12 March, the regime brought Goma back for a second visit with Burtică, the PCR official in charge of ideology and propaganda, who again offered him the opportunity to start publishing again in Romania. The offer came with the promise from Ceauşescu that Goma would no longer be physically assaulted or harmed (Deletant, 1995). Sensing a trap, Goma declined the offer, noting that he would still have to contend with constant surveillance from the Securitate (Cătănuş, 2011). Goma’s refusal to agree to the regime’s terms sparked another more violent wave of repression. The first attack occurred around 20 March, when former boxer turned henchman, Horst Stumpf, broke into Goma’s apartment and beat him up. This was repeated on two more occasions before the end of the month. Goma was trapped in his apartment and defenseless against the assaults (Deletant, 1995).

In early April 1977, Goma was finally arrested (Daily Telegraph, 1977). Romanian exiles in Paris responded by organizing a series of demonstrations in front of the Romanian Embassy to demand Goma’s release (C Petrescu, 2013). This was the first collective action of the Committee for the Defense of Human Rights in Romania, a group established in February to defend signatories of the collective letter. The group gathered over 600 signatures in support of its demand for Goma’s release. International celebrities, including Arthur Miller and Jean-Paul Sartre, also made public appeals for his release (Deletant, 1995). These efforts succeeded and on 6 May 1977, Goma was released from jail, but the campaign to reform Goma into a model citizen continued over the next several months. The state offered him a job at the Central State Library, as well as a larger apartment. However, he was also confined to house arrest, with the secret police monitoring and disrupting his social interactions (Goma, 1977a). Finally, in the fall of 1977, Goma received an exit visa and emigrated with his family to France, officially ending the Romanian campaign for human rights (Cătănuş, 2011).

Discussion and conclusion

This study analyzes the factors contributing to the failed diffusion of a human rights movement within Romania, focused specifically on how proximate contention interacts with local configurations of opportunity and threat. We make several contributions to the social movement literature. First, we argue that repression must be considered alongside the state’s other strategies for maintaining political order, including legitimation and co-optation (Gerschewski, 2013), to understand instances of failed diffusion in non-democracies. The Ceauşescu regime was able to achieve ‘limited legitimation through consent’ (Beetham, 1991: 117; D Petrescu, 2009) as a result of its anti-Soviet nationalism and support for the Prague Spring reforms, as well as improved material conditions within the country. This legitimation likely attenuated the impact of ongoing human rights violations, reducing their mobilizing potential. The regime also made widespread use of patronage to prevent challenges from emerging, a strategy that promoted passivity within the cultural and intellectual communities. Despite increased ideological control over their work beginning in 1971, most writers tacitly agreed not to openly oppose the regime in exchange for professional advancement and publishing opportunities (D Petrescu, 2014b). The state’s successful legitimation and co-optation thus shaped the societal response to Goma’s efforts to initiate a human rights movement.

Second, domestic political configurations strongly shaped how actors perceived the opportunity presented by the proximate movement. Although Romania and Czechoslovakia exhibited similar political and economic structures, Romania lacked a ‘Prague Spring’ or similar event to signal the existence of elite allies or widespread support for reform within the populace. By 1977 the visible divisions within the KSČ had vanished, but Czechoslovak intellectual dissidents found willing allies in vanquished political reformers and other former party officials. The cult of personality surrounding Ceauşescu, by contrast, offered few cracks for activists to exploit. The strong party unity and elite cohesion would not be broken until 1989 when former communist officials in Romania openly criticized Ceauşescu for the first time (C Petrescu, 2005).

Despite few structural opportunities at the domestic level, the rapid growth of the ‘Goma Movement’ following the collective letter to the Helsinki signatories suggests that many Romanians did perceive an opportunity for action in 1977. However, superficial similarities between Goma’s human rights campaign and Charter 77 conceal deeper differences in how actors perceived the political opportunity. Most supporters in Romania saw the human rights campaign as a personal opportunity to exit the country rather than a collective opportunity to implement social change (C Petrescu, 2013). Few participants believed the movement could effectively challenge the regime. Ultimately, the campaign represented an expression of individualized grievances and resistance, without a common collective goal or vision. The limited consent to single-party rule and lack of prior (visible) collective challenges to the state likely bolstered this perception.

Third, the form of state repression played an important role in preventing acts of dissent from developing into a full movement. In the case of Goma, state repression proved highly effective at demobilizing challengers because of the flexibility in methods. The Securitate sought first to persuade followers to retract their support by offering concessions, most frequently in the form of passports. This approach succeeded because of the personal motives of many supporters, who subsequently exited both the movement and the country. When softer methods failed on more committed dissidents, the state resorted to violence and coercion. This strategy differed significantly from that seen in Czechoslovakia. As Cristina Petrescu (2013: 138) points out, ‘the signatories of Charter 77 were immediately arrested, interrogated and harassed by the secret police with such vigor that the well-known philosopher Jan Patoka died. While all these happened in Czechoslovakia, Goma was negotiating with the Romanian deputy prime minister Burtică.’

Finally, the strong structural opportunities at the international level were not matched by adequate networks and organizational resources at the domestic level needed to take advantage of them. This problem was particularly evident in the area of communication. In Czechoslovakia, dissident writing circulated widely through underground channels known as samizdat. No similar communication infrastructure or culture existed in Romania, leaving the Goma campaign dependent on international media to spread word of the movement domestically, as well as globally. Goma’s reputation and contacts abroad facilitated the needed international attention until his arrest and eventual emigration cut off this critical connection. Without support from other public figures who could step in to fill this vacant role, the campaign dissolved. Charter 77 by contrast implemented a system of three rotating spokespersons. When a spokesperson was arrested, a new political, cultural, or intellectual elite would immediately step in to fill the position.

Future research can build upon our findings to analyze how other unique domestic and international configurations of political opportunities and threats affect movement diffusion, particularly in high-risk settings where resistance is limited by state repression. Moreover, such analyses should explore how state legitimation and co-optation influence patterns of movement diffusion in diverse political environments. Finally, scholars should pay particular attention to the diffusion of contemporary episodes of human rights activism, especially in regions of the world experiencing extreme abuses of human rights.