The victory of the right-wing candidate George Simion in the first round of Romania’s rerun presidential election has been celebrated by some on the right as a populist victory. By this account, the EU- and NATO-aligned forces that overturned the country’s previous election in November have failed to turn back the growing backlash against the establishment. But a deeper analysis suggests a more complex and troubling picture.
Simion’s rise comes in the wake of a series of events that have undermined Romania’s democratic credibility. Last November, the independent euroskeptic candidate Călin Georgescu won the first round of the presidential election in a surprise result. Before the runoff could take place, however, Romania’s constitutional court annulled the outcome, citing alleged but unproven Russian interference. In March, in an even more extraordinary move, the electoral commission disqualified Georgescu from running altogether. Though a lower appeals court temporarily reversed the decision, the High Court of Cassation and Justice ultimately upheld it. At that point, Georgescu’s political fate was sealed.
Elites, these developments suggest, no longer limit themselves to influencing electoral outcomes through media manipulation, censorship, and economic pressure. They now are willing to abandon even the veneer of democratic procedure—by barring potential candidates or even openly discarding electoral outcomes when they fail to produce the “correct” result. The potential legal disqualification of Marine Le Pen from future elections in France and the designation of Germany’s AfD as an “extremist organization” by the country’s security services can be seen as further examples of this new counteroffensive.
But events in Romania also point to another tactic being deployed in the war against the populist menace. Simion is the leader of the nationalist Alliance for the Unity of Romanians (AUR), which had previously backed Georgescu and pledged not to run against him. He launched his campaign after Georgescu was barred, portraying himself as a defender of democracy and national sovereignty and even suggesting he would appoint Georgescu as prime minister if given the opportunity. But the conclusion that Simion’s likely victory in the final round will be a defeat for the establishment may be premature.
Unlike Georgescu, Simion was allowed to run. Why? The answer may lie in the type of populism he represents. On the one hand, Simion holds much more radical positions than Georgescu on cultural and identity issues. He is known for his inflammatory anti-Hungarian rhetoric and for advocating policies that could jeopardize the rights of Romania’s ethnic Hungarian minority, including the abolition of Hungarian-language schools and the use of Hungarian in public institutions. He has also made irredentist statements about restoring Romania’s 1940 borders, which would include territories now in Moldova and Ukraine. In other words, Simion is a genuine ethno-nationalist whose positions arguably warrant the “far-right” label—unlike Georgescu, whose campaign focused primarily on economic policy and Romania’s geopolitical orientation.
On the other hand, Simion is significantly more aligned with establishment interests on crucial issues such as NATO, European integration, and the war in Ukraine. While he is critical of the European Union, his rhetoric stays within the boundaries of conventional conservative euroskepticism, focusing on reform rather than withdrawal. He has expressed disapproval of aspects of the handling of the Ukraine war, but remains openly supportive of NATO and the United States, and has repeatedly condemned Russia. His party, AUR, is part of the European Conservatives and Reformists (ECR) group in the European Parliament, which is known for its Atlanticist stance and full-throated support of Ukraine.
“Simion represents a new and increasingly common type of political actor.”
In this light, Simion represents a new and increasingly common type of political actor: the faux-populist who combines strident cultural nationalism with loyalty to the economic and geopolitical status quo. This dual identity makes him acceptable to the establishment, despite the “far-right” label often attached to him. The real red line, it seems, is not cultural rhetoric, but opposition to globalist economic policies and military alliances such as NATO.
The events in Romania, then, illustrate the establishment’s evolving strategy for neutralizing the populist threat: a dual approach of repression and co-optation. Candidates like Georgescu, who combine economic nationalism with foreign-policy positions at odds with Washington and Brussels, are met with institutional repression. Meanwhile, figures like Simion, who mimic the populist style but uphold key systemic pillars, are promoted or at least tolerated.
This tactic is not unique to Romania. Across Europe, we have seen similar developments. These moves are framed as defenses of democracy but are clearly aimed at eliminating—or domesticating—challengers who deviate from the consensus. The paradox is that faux-populists often espouse more radical cultural views than their more genuinely anti-establishment counterparts, as is the case with Simion and Georgescu. This inversion is no accident. The establishment is willing to accommodate cultural radicalism as long as it does not challenge the economic and geopolitical status quo.
This pattern echoes a historical precedent. In the early 20th century, liberal elites across Europe made tactical alliances with authoritarian and even fascist movements to contain the threat of socialism. Business leaders and centrist politicians often viewed fascists as useful tools to suppress labour unrest and revolutionary sentiment. British elites in the 1930s didn’t appease Hitler in a misguided attempt to avoid another global conflict with Germany, but because in many respects they viewed the Nazis as Western allies against a common enemy: the Soviet Union.
In this sense, fascism was not the antithesis of liberalism, but a distorted outgrowth of it—an extreme measure to defend the oligarchic order against systemic threats. Today, the threat is no longer revolutionary socialism but anti-globalist and anti-imperialist populism. The battleground is no longer class struggle, but sovereignty, foreign policy, and the legitimacy of supranational institutions.
Unlike historical fascism, today’s establishment-backed cultural nationalists don’t advocate for mass mobilization or corporatist economics. Instead, they promote culture wars while leaving intact the neoliberal economic structures that define the European Union. This suits Brussels just fine. Shifting political conflict onto the terrain of identity and morality offers a means of preserving the status quo.
This shift is already visible in the evolution of Europe’s right-wing parties. Groups like Italy’s Lega and France’s National Rally have gradually abandoned their once-radical critiques of European integration and the euro (although the barring of Le Pen suggests that the party’s old guard might still be considered too much of a risk). Their rhetoric now focuses less on monetary sovereignty or economic reform and more on issues like immigration, national culture, and the defense of traditional values. The European Union has played a key role in orchestrating this transition. By excluding all economic alternatives to neoliberal governance, Brussels ensures that dissent remains confined to the cultural realm. The populist right has adapted accordingly, trading demands for structural change for complaints about “wokeness” and cultural decline.
A parallel development is taking place in the United States. There, corporate and oligarchic elites first co-opted left-wing activism through wokeness and diversity politics. Now, they are doing the same with the right by embracing anti-woke narratives and nationalist branding. Beginning with Elon Musk’s 2022 takeover of Twitter, the oligarchy has rebranded itself as the victim of middle-manager wokeism, absorbing opposition to maintain control.
“The success of this strategy reveals the right’s conceptual limitations.”
The success of this strategy reveals the right’s conceptual limitations. Many conservatives view the struggle against the establishment primarily in cultural terms, rather than as a battle over class power or structural inequality. This makes them especially vulnerable to co-optation by elite forces that offer symbolic victories while leaving the underlying system untouched.
It remains to be seen how Simion, if elected, will respond to the popular discontent that propelled him to prominence. While unforeseen events could push him toward adopting more genuinely populist policies, it is far more likely that he will serve as a textbook example of managed dissent. Ultimately, Romania’s recent electoral history illustrates the establishment’s two-tiered approach: suppress those who pose a real challenge, and elevate those who only pretend to. In doing so, it preserves its hold on power while adapting to an increasingly restive electorate. The question is whether voters will continue to fall for the illusion—or begin to see through it.