465394

2012
JUHXXX10.1177/0096144212465394Journal of Urban HistoryRauta

Article
Journal of Urban History

The State of Ambiguity of the 39(2) 235­–254

© 2012 SAGE Publications
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DOI: 10.1177/0096144212465394
Three Romanian Secondary juh.sagepub.com

Cities: Brăila, Piteşti, and Sibiu

Alexander Răut,ă1

Abstract
The article proposes a revaluation of a type of public space constituted in communist Romania.
New county capitals’ central squares, constituted between 1965 and 1989, are rightfully
considered as a fertile source for architectural icons of the period, as well as embodiments of
totalitarian power. Yet, the present research, based on case studies, brings evidence that they
not only constituted quite diverse answers to a homogenizing ambition, but also that political
tension around these civic centers ended up providing often disarticulated results. Such results
testify today more convincingly about the weaknesses of the communist system than about its
aims to provide unity samples of leadership for people.

Keywords
civic center, communism, Romania, architecture

Introduction
This article discusses three central squares constituted in secondary cities during the second half
of the Romanian communist regime.1 Existing synthesis literature about this type of urban inter-
vention, commonly denominated in Romanian practice as “civic center,” rightfully considers
them as one of the most fertile sources of architectural icons for the communist period in
Romania.2 The bombastic shapes of several Syndical Houses of Culture and “political-
administrative seats,” grouped around civic plazas, are considered results of complicity between
architects and politicians. Architecture and power legitimated each other through buildings for
state administration, state-owned economic activities, and official culture. The Bucharest gov-
ernmental complex, crowned with the “House of the People,” is considered as the “ultimate
civic center.”3 Consequently, the rest of the civic centers are judged retrospectively starting from
the quite late and rather atypical Bucharest case. However, in secondary cities, only rarely the
Romanian architectural icons of the 1970s and 1980s coordinate their style with a surrounding
ensemble, to form a true civic center.4 With several notable exceptions, such as in the civic
centers of Satu Mare and Miercurea Ciuc (Csíkszereda- Hu.), these buildings were rather sepa-
rate subjects of design and debate.

1
Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Leuven, Belgium

Corresponding Author:
Alexander Răut,ă, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Oude Markt 13, Leuven, 016 32 40, Belgium.
Email: alex.rauta@gmail.com
236 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

From a perspective not relying on the presence of these architectural icons, civic centers are
considered to have conferred a grim and uniform appearance to Romanian cities.5 Nonetheless, in
one of the most comprehensive accounts of the Romanian communist period, civic centers appear
as most evident manifestations of totalitarian power not necessarily through their architectural
content but because their construction provoked massive destructions of traditional fabric.6
Unfortunately, in spite of this continuing interest in civic centers, there is still little information
gathered about their construction, local conditions, and the interactions they provoked between
architects and politicians. As such, architectural results appear homogeneous, as they are dis-
cussed mostly as outcomes of a unique central political intention.
This article proposes a reassessment of the civic center program in Romania, starting from
empirical results in the cities of Brăila, Piteşti, and Sibiu and following sequences of professional
and political gestures from their making processes. Plans, negotiations, and on-site interventions
are analyzed based on interviews, archive research, and primary literature survey, aimed at under-
standing how shifting visions fragmented the empirical outcome. The present research follows the
advice of Charles King in establishing the stakes of present and future historical investigations on
Romanian communism: understanding how Romanians themselves built communism, beyond
imported ideology and sectarian attitudes of central power.7 Instead of analyzing civic centers as
manifestations and representations of central power, they are regarded as results of series of par-
tial and temporary compromises between architects and local and central politicians.

Urban Development Context

During communist times (1947–1989), Romanian cities grew rapidly and underwent substantial
transformations. The concentrated power of the Party-state exerted its pressure on the urban
fabric for accommodating economic growth through industrialization. Until the mid-1960s,
urban population growth and industrialization were to a large extent directed toward already
existing major cities, the regional capitals.8 Simply put, it was cheaper for new industry to use
existing infrastructure. In 1965, Nicolae Ceauşescu was appointed General Secretary of the
Romanian Communist Party, who immediately initiated a series of changes. In 1968, an admin-
istrative reform was enacted; previous regions were replaced with smaller counties, and more
than 20 cities were restored to their prewar status of county capitals.9 Within the following two
decades of communist rule, industrial investments would be redirected toward these new county
capitals. And they would experience very fast population growth, as along with important
changes in their built fabric.10
A parallel shift is to be recognized in remodeling city centers. During the late 1950s and early
1960s, in the aftermath of Socialist Realism’s historicist period, new public spaces were shaped
mostly in central areas of regional capitals such as Baia Mare, Galaţi, and Iaşi. The urban ensem-
bles defining these public spaces follow outspokenly pragmatic principles.11 In most cases, five-
storey-high collective housing, with commercial ground floor and a standardized appearance,
form monotonous edges of orthogonal squares. Sometimes, the same formula is used to frame
prewar buildings functioning as public institutions (Bacău, Piteşti, as well as the Palace’s Hall
Square in Bucharest). Through their overt utilitarian expression, such ensembles were clearly a
symbolic rejoinder to the industrialization process underwent by the respective cities.
Starting with late 1960s, this modest, economic outlook of the new public spaces will no lon-
ger be considered suitable for the city center area. New “political-administrative squares”—
commonly referred to as “civic centers”—were systematically developed in county capitals.
They were to openly challenge previous central squares, either by doubling their civic function
or by replacing them. The political megalomania characterizing these spaces is obvious. Political
power was deeming prewar civic spaces as representing an outdated social structure, condemned
to irrelevancy by abolition of conflicting interests in the new society.12 As an alternative, the
socialist built environment would provide mass-oriented commercial and cultural venues, tall
Răut,ă 237

and solid concrete structures for a dramatic profile to the city, and, of course, a political place
where the appreciation for the visiting Party leader could be expressed.

Choice of Case Studies

Choosing the case studies for this research was based on a typology of urban environments
receiving civic centers. A purpose of this article is to understand how the leveling vision on civic
centers, originating from central power, met local conditions.
In Romania, historical circumstances resulted in noticeable differences between the areas
formerly subjected to Habsburg rule, the intra-Carpathian territories broadly designated as
Transylvania, and the ones long under Ottoman sovereignty, the extra-Carpathian territories from
the medieval principalities of Moldova and Wallachia. The founding figure of the Romanian
discipline of urbanism, Cincinat Sfinţescu, explained how cities in Moldova and Wallachia
developed in a predominantly agricultural economy while those from Transylvania, Banat, and
Bukovina developed in a capitalist, industrial context.13 In addition, the medieval cores of the
intra-Carpathian cities were surrounded by fortifications, while the Ottoman sovereignty over
the extra-Carpathian ones prevented such developments. The selected case studies of Sibiu and
Piteşti are representative of these differences.
Sibiu represents a fine example of the Transylvanian city, founded by German settlers, enjoy-
ing a long history of prosperity and privileges. This long-lasted prosperity allowed the crystalli-
zation of a prestigious urban core, revealing today well-preserved layers of the past. Medieval
Sibiu’s prestige was recently recognized internationally by being accepted as a European Capital
of Culture for the year 2007. The communist civic center appropriates an immediate outer space
next to the old city fortifications, but its completion has been continuously postponed. The space
is left until today unfinished, undefined, and amorphous. Moreover, its amorphousness is further
accentuated by demolitions initiated during communist times.
Piteşti represents the opposite case. A city of little international relevance, it had its traditional
core considered too poor and too embedded by commercial logic to be preserved under a com-
munist rule. Although the extensive demolitions render Piteşti an extreme case, the radical rela-
tionship between new and old is typical for a vast majority of cities from the other two historic
Romanian provinces, Moldova and Wallachia. Its civic center, which replaced the traditional
core, is considered today as one of the most successful enterprises of its kind. After its comple-
tion, the mid-1970s development plans indicate the intention of the local administration to dra-
matically expand the city center.14 Some of these subsequent proposals that were put into practice
remain questionable, as rather than integrating the civic center into the remainders of the old city,
they only seal its inwardness.
Besides such manifest differences between these two cases, there is also a resemblance. Both
Sibiu and Piteşti have their original urban fabric organically constituted. As such, modernist designs
of civic centers introduce a geometrical logic and a level of abstractness for public space with little
correspondence in their historic fabrics. However, a significant number of cities along the River
Danube and from the Plain of Danube are structured on preconceived nineteenth-century geo-
metrical street schemes. The modernist spaces of the civic centers no longer contrast through their
abstractness an existing urban arrangement. Brăila’s nineteenth-century massive neoclassical
expansion is designed within the same historic period, economic logic, and planning layout prem-
ises as the rest of the harbor cities along the Danube.15 The distinctive feature of Brăila is its form
based on concentric boulevards, with a geometrically positioned central square, the focal point of
three radial avenues. Just as most of these cities, during communist times, Brăila was quite neglected
in terms of investments allotted for the civic center. Here, some tension is perceptible between the
dominant building, the county political-administrative seat, and the rest of the ensemble. An awk-
ward juxtaposition of buildings of different ages, street façade rhythms, and volumetric composi-
tion principles, offers to bystanders a rather improvised definition of public space.
238 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

Figure 1. Brăila, the three public spaces: (1) nineteenth-century neoclassical square; (2) 1960s public
space; and (3) 1970s–1980s civic center.

Site Choice for Civic Centers

In each case, the site choice for the civic center implied a massive change in the fabric of the
city. Pre-1989 Romanian publications, based on the considerable amount of experience around
the already achieved civic centers, were theorizing around the idea of “doubling” the old city
center.16 This meant creating new central public spaces in addition to old ones. In a sense, the
new was seen as inevitable and the old was a problem to be solved. This approach was starting
from the correct assumption that communist urban development was following a fundamentally
different growth model than what the previous, bourgeois, society proposed. As a consequence
of the structural changes in society, cities were requiring a different level and type of amenities
(meeting square, House of Culture, civic hotel). Grouping the more important new amenities
was seen as capable of improving the quality of both new, industrialized, functionalist, inten-
sively lived city and historic core. In this context, civic centers were defined as active instru-
ments for integrating the otherwise disadvantaged traditional urban core into the living patterns
of the newly arrived city dwellers.
Yet none of these publications explored as a distinct category the new public spaces already
developed in cities during communist times. As mentioned in the introduction, the civic center
program appears after a postwar period during which the approach to new central squares was
different. These previous, ascetic, squares occupied symbolic places of the city and, through this,
influenced both the position and the spatial configuration of the ulterior civic centers. As such,
Răut,ă 239

Figure 2. Perspective of Brăila’s 1960s public space.

Source: Arhitectura, 2/1963, p. 16

Brăila’s early-1960s public space was established on the already constituted axis of prestige end-
ing in the neoclassical square (Figures 1 and 2).17 There, a public space is defined by sequences
of collective housing with ground-floor shops. The civic center, although it occupies as well a
structural node of the city, was thus prevented from challenging openly the neoclassical square.
Also, Piteşti developed a 1960s ascetic square around the prewar financial administration build-
ing, appropriated as city hall (no. 1 in Figure 3). An entire urban scenario was conceived along
the avenue connecting this initial site with the national road to Bucharest. The “Calea Bucureşti”18
housing alignment was among the first structural interventions from Piteşti. The avenue was
bordered with collective housing, had a green space traced in the middle, and was decorated with
an artesian fountain in a major intersection. The avenue’s perspective is articulated into the
1960s square by the prewar building of the theatre, which was restylized with every passing
political directive on artistic taste. In 1958 it was reinaugurated, freshly dressed with the histori-
cist layout of the Socialist Realist period, only to be reworked in 1973 to modernist facades. The
actual square was bordered with the same commercial ground floor collective housing as the rest
of the squares of the period.
The plan for the new civic center had its first version drafted about the same time as the new
highway connecting Bucharest with Piteşti was being started (end 1960s). In 1973, when the
highway was officially inaugurated, the political-administrative seat (1971) together with the
House of Culture (1970) was already built and Ceauşescu already had held his first political rally
in the new square. The previous urban scenario was already obsolete. However, the planner did
not just ignore the earlier political site. The civic center is extended with a commercial esplanade
toward the city hall. Also, the whole area including the two political sites was reserved for exclu-
sive pedestrian use (no. 7 in Figure 3).
Sibiu was subjected to a different set of circumstances. The chosen site is placed at the city-
wall main entry (Figure 4). The site was already appropriated by the prewar political system; it
was denominated as the “Union Square” and was designated to host official manifestations of the
Romanian rule instated in 1918. The German heritage and ethnic component of the medieval city
area was deemed as much too prominent, thus endangering to overshadow any intramural offi-
cial manifestation. However, in spite of the official interest, only minimal works were carried out
into this extramural square before the war. A competition was held for designing a Union
Monument and, through this, consecrating the Romanian administration. The competition, won
by a local German architect, Joseph Bedeus, included among its purposes an architectural defini-
tion of the square. However, the Ministry of Public Works rejected the proposal. The most dif-
ficult dilemma was raised by the former Habsburg casern of Regiment 90. For a monumental
240 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

Figure 3. Piteşti’s scheme, two urban scenarios: (1) the prewar financial administration reused as
city hall; (2) the prewar theatre; (3) the 1960s public space; (4) the 1970s civic center; (5) the political-
administrative departmental seat; (6) the House of Culture; (7) commercial esplanade mediating between
the two political sites; (a) late-1970s intervention; (b) late-1980s intervention.
Răut,ă 241

Figure 4. Sibiu—current plan: (1) system of public spaces of the medieval core and (2) area dedicated
to the civic center.

square, it was argued by a technical body of the Ministry, the casern needs to be demolished. Its
preservation, in the project of Bedeus, meant that a more modest square was to be constituted.
Unfortunately, the difficult position of this casern, far detached from the built fronts, made the
definition of the space dependent on a decision about it (Figure 5).19 The problem was inherited
by the communist rule, together with the name of the site. Local architects and politicians post-
poned a decision on the caserne. Instead of defining the entire space of the Union Square, a
pocket of space was extracted and configured separately. Around this pocket space there were
placed a House of Culture, an administrative building, a general store, and a taller hotel. Further
on, the plans for the area were foreseeing the demolition of the casern in order to be replaced by
the political-administrative seat. However, the position of the political-administrative seat was
not correlated with the ensemble around the pocket space. It stood as an outpost of the modernist
city toward the historic core. In parallel to the indecision about the fate of the caserne, an alterna-
tive project was proposed publicly, which suggested the use of the caserne for defining an inter-
mediate space, an antechamber of the traditional core.20 Eventually, in 1986, the disputed object
was demolished, but nothing replaced it. This only enlarged the void and accentuated the separa-
tion between the pocket space of the civic center and the edge of the historic city.

Building Processes
During the building processes, two types of discontinuities induced the current state of ambigu-
ity of civic centers: interventions based on plans ignoring previously adopted principles and
on-site political intrusions. Clearly, during any decision-making process, politicians retain the
upper hand and the communist ethos pushes them toward radical and irrevocable decisions.
However, the study of the Brăila, Piteşti, and Sibiu cases indicates that professionals may rec-
ommend solutions that postpone or expedite answers concerning the definition and integration
of urban ensembles. Architects have their share of contribution to the inner tensions present up
to these days in the respective spaces.
242 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

Figure 5. Plan for Union Square, Sibiu, redrawn after the original published in BIT 9/1971. The missing
buildings were added later; the shading indicates height differentiation. (1) The first proposal for a political
administrative seat; (2) demolished caserne; (3) demolished custom building; (4) pocket space of the civic
center; (5) office building; (6) House of Culture; (7) hotel; and (8) general store..

In spite of the different characteristics of professional and political thinking, contributions of

architects are nonetheless difficult to separate a posteriori from the political context. A most
revealing case, illustrating this ambiguity between professional and political reasoning behind
decisions, unfolds with the construction of the civic center project for Sibiu.
Răut,ă 243

Figure 6. Late-1980s scheme for Unirii Square: (1) political-administrative seat, proposal; (2) House
of Culture, existing; (3) hotel, existing; (4) collective housing, existing; (5) shops and services, existing;
(6) general store, existing; (7) commerce, proposal; (8) collective housing, proposal; and (9) theatre,
proposal.

The Sibiu civic center projects, although never leading to a conclusive result, followed for
almost two decades with remarkable fidelity the structuring principles divulged in a plan published
in 197121 (Figure 5). This plan was published though only after the House of Culture was already
commissioned and after an earlier version was displayed publicly.22 Most functional features and
the general spatial configuration of the public space were followed by subsequent designs.
There is only one major exception to this continuity: the county political-administrative seat.
Probably for the better, this item was never built. The above-mentioned published plan places it
on the site of the caserne; later plans place it at the corner of the pocket space, where previously
a generic “office building” was proposed. Probably, both places were considered alternatively.
However, in another, late, version, the political administrative seat was turning a narrow side
façade toward the pocket space and the main façade toward the pedestrian pathway coming from
the medieval core (Figures 6 and 7).23 This solution was giving up both defining the pocket space
and articulating it to the rest of the open space. Instead, a political urban narrative was preferred.
The county seat was to become the most prominent building in the sight of anyone coming from
the medieval square. Probably, implementing this later project would have reduced much of the
site’s potential. In spite of such a late project, the initial vision of the Union square seems to have
been so influential that it produced effects even after the communist regime fell. In the immedi-
ate post-1989 period, the construction of an administrative building was initiated at the corner of
the pocket space, following a 1987 plan.24 However, the project was never finished and, after a
period of stagnation, it was sold, partially demolished, and transformed into a hotel.
As already mentioned, the most problematic dilemma for the composition of the civic center
was the presence of the Habsburg Caserne, which affected also the debate on the political-admin-
istrative seat. No official plans preserve it. However, during interviews, local architects indicated
that two instances blocked a decision in regard to the demolition of the caserne. First, it was a
244 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

Figure 7. Photo of the model for the scheme in Figure 6. The political-administrative building can be
seen dominating the site.

committee concerned with patrimony preservation, “Direction for Historic Monuments,” which
disagreed with placing a tall building in the immediate vicinity of the intramural city. Second,
also the high-rank local politicians were not convinced of the projects proposed by local archi-
tects. According to local architects, they demanded countless studies on the area, as they were
not confident that the new ensemble will stand comparison to the intramural city.
It appears that the professionally based institutional system of approving projects, com-
bined with the devotion of several architects to the built patrimony of Sibiu, managed for a
while to negotiate successfully the preservation of the caserne. In spite of the increasing pres-
sure of the 1980s nationalist phase of communism, and of the obvious association of the
caserne to the former Austro-Hungarian Empire ruling Transylvania before 1918, the building
was not demolished.
Eventually, something decisively inclined the balance toward its 1986 demolition. The former
head of the design studio from the local planning institute, Constantin Voiciulescu, assumes openly
his voluntary contribution to the demolition decision.25 He judged the building as unsafe and inap-
propriate for a central area of the city. Other architects recall a spontaneous outburst of Nicolae
Ceauşescu, during a visit to the site. This outburst was judged as related to a systematic policy of
erasing testimonies of foreign rule. Yet, the head of the local design studio emphasizes his profes-
sional courage and clairvoyance, confirmed by his success in convincing the authorities. The dif-
ficulties of distinguishing between political and professional sources of a decision are exposed
here. Knowing that political radicalism and nationalism would support demolition, professional
arguments are difficult to discern from mere rationalizations of political expectations.
In Piteşti, the political dimension of urban development in the city center is very prominent.26
Since 1952, the deputy of a Piteşti electoral circumscription was Nicolae Ceauşescu himself,
who later became General Secretary of the Communist Party (1965) and President of the Socialist
Republic (1974). This perhaps explains the radicalism present from the very first planning pro-
posals restructuring the city center. In 1960, a first project for an ascetic new Piteşti center is
published in the Arhitectura R.P.R. review.27 Except for one building, the oldest church in town,
nothing was to be preserved in the area of the future civic center. The whole composition was
based on repetitive items, collective housing units of similar sizes (Figures 8 and 9). The area of
the future civic center was to be treated monumentally, but only with collective housing—in the
ascetic manner of the majority of its contemporary projects from Romania. Based on this plan,
several interventions were achieved in the city-hall area (Figure 3 above). Among them, a long
Răut,ă 245

Figure 8. Picture of model, 1960 project: (1) ascetic square in the place of the future civic center;
(2) prewar up to 1960s departmental administration building and park; and (3) city hall area.

Figure 9. Perspective from the 1960 intended square.

Source: Arhitectura RPR 4/1960

row of collective housing with ground floor amenities (shops and various offices) stretches from
the city hall square up to the border of the future civic center (no. 5 in Figure 10).
In 1967, the following plan to be applied was already shaped in its major constituents.28 This
later plan manages to cope efficiently with the achieved items of the previous stage, although it
doesn’t retain almost anything from its principles. Only the location of the square remains con-
stant, now treated as a civic center, as well as the systematic erasing of previous built traces.29
246 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

Figure 10. The civic center proper, redrawn after a scheme published in Arhitectura 2/1973, shaded for
height differentiation: (1) square of civic center; (2) political-administrative seat; (3) House of Culture;
(4) collective housing; (5) 1960s collective housing; (6) commercial galleries; (7) general store; and
(8) prewar House of Army.

The slight misalignment of the already built row of collective housing with the sides of the new
square is dealt with by organizing the opposite border of the esplanade in a sequence of front
movements of a commercial gallery. Based on this second plan, with slight adjustments, the
entire public space of the civic center and commercial esplanade is defined in situ.
Following interventions, however, partially undo the principles of the civic center. The square
is defined by placing the House of Culture and the political-administrative seat centered on the
sides, leaving the corners opened toward the hilly landscape. These intentional visual escapes
were however leaving in plain sight reminiscences of the old city. Once the situation was
acknowledged, two measures were enacted. Firstly, a long tall row of collective housing blocked
the visual escapes through one side (area “a” in Figure 3).30 This new insertion triggered a wave
of protests among local architects, who probably understood at this moment that demolitions of
the old city were not going to stop. They were quickly reduced to silence.31 Second, in an irratio-
nality outburst, the local highest-rank politician decided to demolish the remnants of the old city
that were still visible from the square.32 For this personal initiative, he was admonished even by
his Party superiors. The consequence of these late destructions was a new urban profile. More
precisely, another tall row of collective housing was built, but this time so close to the political-
administrative seat that its role in the profile of the city diminished dramatically (area “b” in
Figure 3 above). Thus, an entire initial urban setting, a sequence of screens opening the public
space toward the civic center, with the perspective ended by the political-administrative seat, is
overshadowed by the height of the surrounding collective housing rows.
There are also testimonies regarding on-site political interventions on new buildings.
According to Mircea Ochinciuc, author of the political-administrative seat as member of the
Cezar Lăzărescu team, the construction site was halted after a visit of Nicolae Ceauşescu.33 It
seems that the initial outlook of the political-administrative seat was found deeply unsatisfying.
The design team was disbanded and a committee of reputed architects was called in to reassess
the solution. The original author asserts that this particular committee was mostly composed of
Răut,ă 247

Figure 11. The House of Culture.

architects with a specific professional ideology, trying to revive a byzantinist outlook in their
projects.34 Thus, the building was mitigated into a more traditional version, with a prominent
roof and a division of the façade by a sequence of columns (Figure 12).
There are two indirect evidences, partly confirming this story. First, there is a difference
between the outlook of the House of Culture and that of the political-administrative seat. The
House of Culture was authored by Radu Mănăilă, also under Cezar Lăzărescu’s guidance, who,
probably, as head of the team retained the right of having a final say in all matters. Lăzărescu’s
reputation is built on his bold modernist thrust in the immediate aftermath of Stalin’s death and
during the consequent contestation of the historicist Socialist Realist language. And indeed, the
modernist language is more outspokenly present in the House of Culture (Figures 11 and 12). A
second indirect evidence is in the pages of the local newspaper “Secera şi ciocanul.”35 During the
early 1970s, immediately after the completion of the political administrative seat, the rarely pub-
lished photographs of the building display various items placed in the foreground, masking por-
tions of the building. This attitude stands in sharp contrast with the emphatic presence of the
corresponding building in Brăila’s local newspaper.
For Brăila, the relative neglect of the city by the central administration resulted in a delay of
the civic center investment, compared to the other two analyzed cities. In 1974, when the first
announcement for the civic center appeared in the local newspaper, the Piteşti ensemble was
already constituted. In addition, while the civic center was still on the drawing board, new legis-
lation was enacted that reduced to almost half the amount of square meters per person for office
space. Thus, the county political-administrative seat, in order to keep the already accepted gen-
eral outlook, had to also accommodate the city hall function. Moreover, in 1974 the new
Systematization Law was approved, instituting Nicolae Ceauşescu’s final word on each civic
center. As a consequence, the Brăila civic center was no longer treated as a self-standing project,
but was included in a larger project concerning the development of the boulevard “Calea
Călăraşilor.”
After a high-level official meeting, the presidential apparatus was sending “observation
notes” to the design team. In these notes, it was mentioned that the House of Culture in the civic
center was refused by central authorities (no. 3 in Figure 13).36 Specifically, in a first instance,
the warning was that the city would not receive funds for a House of Culture until the restoration
of the theatre was completed. About two years later, by means of the same instrument, the team
248 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

Figure 12. The modified political-administrative seat.

Figure 13. Plan submitted by local authorities for approval at the State Council (source ANR, State
Council fund, file 56/1976): (1) square of civic center, proposal; (2) political-administrative seat, proposal;
(3) House of Culture, proposal; (4) hotel, proposal; (5) Party hotel, proposal; (6) high school, existing; and
(7) House of the Agricultural Chamber, existing.

was asked to remove the item from the composition and instead place collective housing (final
result represented in Figure 14).37
The civic center project submitted officially to the State Council (chaired by Nicolae
Ceauşescu) contained also two hotels—one for regular people and one for Party members (nos.
4 and 5, Figure 13). These hotels are not mentioned in the official correspondence. In place of
the regular hotel, today there is instead a House of Youth (a smaller and less elaborated version
of the House of Culture, oriented more toward club activities). Multiple local sources38 indicate
Răut,ă 249

Figure 14. Brăila civic center’s final appearance: (1) square of civic enter; (2) political-administrative
seat; (3) Party hotel; (4) House of Youth; and (5) collective housing.

that a higher-rank local politician was a personal friend of Nicolae Ceauşescu’s son, Nicu. Nicu
Ceauşescu was in charge of the youth organization of the Party and, through him, as the hotel
was not approved, the respective investment was obtained.
In the Brăila civic center case, political disruption intertwines with professional incoherence.
The collective housing fronts constitute nothing else than neutral edges of the space dominated
by the late-modernist building of the political administrative seat. The prewar historicizing item
of the site, the House of the Agricultural Chamber (no. 7 in Figure 13), stands isolated in the new
composition. In several consecutive plans from the 1970s and 1980s, drawn by the author of the
political-administrative seat, it was usually maintained on a different alignment than newer
buildings. As such, a smaller square was created in front of it, constituting a transition between
the new ensemble and the historicizing item. However, the House of Youth brings into this rela-
tionship a quite different compositional logic, as it aligns with the Agricultural Chamber and, as
such, does not allow a space of transition. The public space, as it remains until today, is sharply
divided between the actual square, dominated by the free-floating political-administrative
250 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

Figure 15. Square front, from left to right: House of Youth, prewar House of Agricultural Chamber.

Figure 16. Early picture of the political administrative seat from the front square.
Source: Arhitectura 1/1982.

building (Figure 16), and the ambiguously defined larger sidewalk of the opposite front, across
the street (Figure 15).
The previously mentioned hotel for Party members plays a role as well. Unlike the regular
hotel and the House of Culture, there were resources available for its construction (1986).
However, its volume was never included in the general design of the ensemble. This peculiar
status probably resulted in its position not being determined by professionals but by political
activists. To the deep dissatisfaction of the author of the political-administrative seat,39 the new
hotel encroaches upon his design, on the Danube-oriented facade. From behind, now, the county
administration no longer appears as a late-modernist, free-floating on pilotis, corbusianist legacy.
The new hotel parasitizes its mannerist loneliness (Figure 17).

Conclusions
Brăila’s civic center was subject to a significant amount of improvising. Even if the administra-
tive building represents a strong presence into the square, the accompanying amenities do not
support it, nor do they allow a better connection with the historicizing item on the site. Moreover,
Răut,ă 251

Figure 17. Recent picture of the former Party hotel from the Danube promenade.

even its ship-like profile is compromised by the excrescence of the Party hotel. During the plan-
ning phase, architects were able to react with coherent designs to initial restrictions imposed by
central authorities, such as smaller office space and no House of Culture. Interventions of local
politicians compromised the initial logic of the site. They obtained investments for a House of
Youth and a hotel for Party members, but there was no separate urban design phase for these
items. As such, these insertions do little more than parasitizing the existing ensemble.
The civic center of Piteşti was conceived in a coherent spatial scenario, which manages to absorb
tensions of previous interventions. Nevertheless, it was designed as an inward reality, a city within
city, irrespective of the context, careless about the edges of the new ensemble, too trusting in the
convincing qualities of the corbusianist Chandigarh story of the far distant background supporting
the free perspectives of a modernist ensemble. Contradictions between new and old were left for
later reflection. Unfortunately, this postponing only led to unilateral decisions in favor of the new,
either by covering the old, or by further demolishing it. This compromised also initial intentions of
the civic center’s composition, by diminishing the importance of the political-administrative seat
through surrounding it with tall rows of collective housing, and by sealing its inward orientation.
The incompleteness of the civic center from Sibiu is the most obvious example of unsolved
contradictions. However, in this case, contradictions were rather not dealt with than emphasized
by new interventions. A major attempt to change the site, the demolition of the Habsburg casern,
did not compromise completely nor did improve significantly the potential of the square. The
other major attempt to articulate the site to surrounding urban fabric, the political administrative
seat, did not convince anybody enough to allow sufficient resource allocation.
The site choice influenced also to some extent the state of ambiguity left within the analyzed
civic centers. For Brăila, probably a placement of the civic center on the site of the 1960s public
square would have induced more political strain into the ensemble, by placing it in direct com-
parison to the neoclassical center. It could be speculated that such lack of direct comparison may
have favored improvisation in the civic center. In Piteşti, the proximity of the two political sites
and, more specifically, the changing logic from the 1960s plan, which envisaged generalized
demolitions, to the partial plan applied during the late 1960s to early 1970s, only lead to an
improvised relation of the civic center with the remainders of the old city. For Sibiu, during the
communist regime, we observe a prolongation of the prewar debates on the site. The awareness
that the situation remained unsettled for two decades before the war may have induced a state of
inertia during the postwar period.
The state of ambiguity of the analyzed case studies is recognizable each time in a different
situation. For Brăila, ambiguity is mainly created by problematic relationships between new
252 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

interventions. For Piteşti, it is characterizing the perimeter and is caused not only by political
radicalism but also by the determination of architects to achieve a grand design. For Sibiu, ambi-
guity is circumvented by the built ensembles, but the space between the fortifications of the
medieval core and the pocket space containing the House of Culture is rather an urban interstice
than a square. Here, the site retains at the same time the highest degree of antiurbanity and
the highest potential for a positive appropriation in the future.
In 1989, none of the here studied civic centers was considered properly finished by the com-
munist authorities in charge of the sites. This is serious ground for supposing that such perception
was the rule rather than the exception for the Romanian secondary cities. As the cases of Piteşti
and Brăila prove, even apparently completed civic centers were continuously reevaluated. The
Sibiu civic center could not be achieved in almost two decades since its first item was constructed.
In this context, it is only accurate to say that initial professional and political plans and expecta-
tions concerning civic centers proved to be relatively short-sighted. This lack of in-depth reflec-
tion, combined with the drive for action characteristic to the communist type of society, had
consequences such as radical simplifications of complex circumstances, on-site improvisations,
and contradictory initiatives. Civic centers were privileged sites for representing political power,
as they were not as much technically and economically conditioned as collective housing neigh-
borhoods and industrial objectives. However, this architectural representation today arrives even
to dispute the memory of the totalitarian function they were conceived to primarily perform, as
symbols and inspiring decors of the unity between the central power and the local community.

Declaration of Conflicting Interests

The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or pub-
lication of this article.

Funding
The author is deeply indebted to both New Europe College in Bucharest and the Catholic University of
Leuven for their support during doctoral research, which resulted also in this article.

Notes
 1. The concept of secondary cities is employed here following the definition adopted by Dennis A.
Rondinelly, Secondary Cities in Developing Countries: Policies for Diffusing Urbanization (London:
Sage, 1983). Accordingly, such cities usually have more than 100,000 inhabitants, but are not consid-
ered metropolises (pp. 48–51). In Romania, these cities, together with Bucharest, were denominated
municipia, and were the subject of a specific administrative status.
  2. Augustin Ioan, “Romanian Civic Centers: A Showcase of Nationalism under Ceauşescu,” in Modern
Architecture and the Totalitarian Project: A Romanian Case Study, ed. Ioan Augustin (Bucharest:
Editura ICR, 2009), 185–98.
  3. Ibid., 194–98.
  4. Originally, during the City Beautiful Movement in United States, a civic center would have been an
urban ensemble conceived in a unified stylistic expression, such as those designed by Daniel Burnham.
Here, within the specific Romanian context, civic centers of communist times are defined solely as
groups of public buildings defining a civic plaza.
  5. Tom Sandqvist and Ana Maria Zahariade, Dacia 1300: My Generation (Bucharest: Simetria, 2003),
82.
  6. See Comisia Prezidenţială pentru Analiza Dictaturii Comuniste din România, Raport final (Bucharest:
Humanitas, 2007), 416–21.
  7. Charles King, “Review: Remembering Romanian Communism - Comisia Prezidenţială pentru Analiza
Dictaturii Comuniste din România, Raport final,” Slavic Review 66, no. 4 (Winter 2007): 718–23, 722.
Răut,ă 253

See also the response to this review, Vladimir Tismăneanu, “Review: Confronting Romania’s Com-
munist Past: A Response to Charles King,” Slavic Review 66, no. 4 (Winter 2007): 724–27.
  8. For a precise account, see F. E. Ian Hamilton, “Urbanization in Socialist Eastern Europe: The Macro-
Environment of Internal City Structure,” in The Socialist City: Spatial Structure and Urban Policy,
ed. R. A. French and F. E. Ian Hamilton (Chichester, UK: Wiley, 1979), 167–94. Accordingly, 58.5%
of the urban growth between 1946 and 1970 was realized in Bucharest and 12 other major cities. This
was actually a common trend in Eastern Europe at the time.
  9. Prior to the 1968 administrative reform, there were 16 regions and 15 regional capitals plus Bucharest.
When regions were turned into smaller counties, 23 other cities became county capitals. Later, two more
cities will join ranks (Giurgiu and Călăraşi), following some subsequent administrative adjustments.
10. Ioan Ianoş, Dinamica urbană: aplicaţii la oraşul şi sistemul urban românesc (Bucharest: Editura
Tehnică, 2004), subchapter “Dinamica funcţiei politico-administrative,” 38–40. See also 75–76, popu-
lation growth and restructuring of cities.
11. See them published: for Baia Mare—a paradigmatic square for the period—in Sena Farb, “Piaţa Vic-
toriei din Baia Mare,” Arhitectura R.P.R. 2/1962, pp. 16–19; for Galaţi—one of the politically appro-
priated interventions of the time—in V. Sebestyén, “Studii pentru sistematizarea centrului oraşului
Galaţi,” Arhitectura R.P.R. 4/1959, pp. 35–39 + 2 ill.; T[itus] Evolceanu, “Probleme de sistematizarea
Iaşiului,” Arhitectura, 4/1963, pp. 7–27.
12. See, e.g., Imre Perényi, Town Centres: Planning and Renewal (Budapest: Akadémiai kiadó, 1973), 7.
13. Cincinat Sfinţescu, “Urbanistica Generală,” Urbanismul, 1-2/1933, pp. 15-88, p. 72.
14. As preserved in the Romanian National Archives (ANR), fund “Consiului de Stat al RSR/Decrete,”
file 149/1976, “Judeţul Argeş. Schiţa de sistematizare a Municipiului Piteşti.”
15. 1829 is considered a major year for Romanian modernity. At that time, the Adrianople treaty estab-
lished free navigation through the Bosporus Strait, between the Mediterranean and Black seas, at the
time controlled by the Ottoman Empire. Danube was Wallachia’s (and later Romania’s) gate to the
sea. As such, a series of harbor-cities were established or revitalized along it. These cities lost a lot
of their geopolitical relevance after 1878, when Romania gained direct access to the sea. Because of
their positions, closer to the sea, Brăila and Galaţi will retain some economic significance until the
sea-harbor of Constanţa gained momentum—roughly until World War I.
16. See for this type of approach the excellently documented article of Sandu Alexandru, “Centrul
oraşului,” in Urbanismul în România, ed. Cezar Lăzărescu (Bucharest: Ed. Tehnică, 1977). Similar
ideas are to be found in Gheorghe Curinschi-Vorona, Istoria arhitecturii în România (Bucharest: Ed.
Tehnică, 1981).
17. During the prewar period, it was known as the “Royal Avenue” (Calea Regală). It is a commercial
street centered on the neoclassical square. Even during communist times, it received some funds for
being restored.
18. “Bucharest avenue.”
19. For the competition on that Sibiu space, see ANR, fund Consiliul Tehnic Superior, file 724, and for the
disputes on the results of the competition, file 516.
20. The author of this specific proposal is an architect, Hermann Fabini, a passionate researcher of the
Sibiu built history, who continuously voiced the need for preserving as much as possible of the historic
buildings. The proposal is published in Hermann Fabini, “Ein neues Tor für die Stadt am Zibin,” Neuer
Weg, January 12, 1985, 3.
21. Buletinul de informare tehnică (BIT), section “Sistematizare teritorială şi orăşenească,” 9/1971, 20.
22. The House of Culture was placed in the city based on a preliminary study conducted at Braşov, prob-
ably before the 1968 administrative reform, when Braşov was the capital of the region including Sibiu;
see Dorin Gheorghe, “Casa de cultură din Sibiu,” Arhitectura 1/1970, pp. 58–62. A previous version
of the square project was exposed earlier, see the independent picture published in Tribuna Sibiului,
no. 497 (September 23, 1969), 3.
254 Journal of Urban History 39(2)

23. The author is grateful to former head of the Sibiu design institute, Liviu Niculiu, for permission to use
these photos.
24. Interview Ioan Ene, author of project.
25. Interview with author.
26. The city had one of the highest rates of development in Romania during the communist times, with a
population increase of about six times in forty years, was endowed with heavy industries (automobile
factory and petrochemical activities) as well as with numerous light industry factories.
27. Arhitectura RPR, 4/1960, arh. Pădureţu, P. “Sistematizarea centrului oraşului Piteşti,” pp. 22–23.
28. Ileana Lăzărescu and Georgeta Gabrea, Vise în piatră: În memoria prof. dr. arh. Cezar Lăzărescu
(Bucharest: Capitel, 2003), 121.
29. According to Eugenia Greceanu, Ansamblul urban medieval Piteşti, Paralela 45, Piteşti, 2007, p. 141)
even the last preserved historic item, the St. George Church, was candidate to demolition. Apparently,
Nicolae Bădescu, the head of the State Committee for Constructions, Architecture and Systematiza-
tion (CSCAS—a normative and advising agency of the government), assumed the initiative of opening
an archaeological research site for gathering evidences about its historic value. The restoration of the
church took place between 1964 and 1968; thus, it may have been indeed in a race against time before
the contouring of the second plan.
30. This intervention received the prize of the Romanian Architects Union for 1982.
31. Interview Alexandru Mulţescu, husband of the initiator of this protest, the late Maria Mulţescu. They
were both actively involved in preservation of monuments.
32. Greceanu, Ansamblul, explains how a local politician, C. Matei, went to Paris for medical reasons.
Finding out that he has little time left to live, and impressed by the Paris boulevards, he ordered the
demolition of about two kilometers of street front length in Piteşti. No expropriation decrees were
issued, no planning formalities were followed, no approval requested from other state institutions.
This was too much of a defiance of the communist ritual to be accepted as such by the rest of the
apparatus; he was dismissed, but he died soon after.
33. Interview with author.
34. Indeed, if Octav Doicescu was part of this committee, as asserted by Mircea Ochinciuc, his presence
would lend veracity to the interpretation provided by the original architect. Doicescu advocated local
specificity in urban architecture based on reinterpreting the byzantine architectural vocabulary. His
own attempts in this direction are well illustrated by the Bucharest Polytechnic School. However,
there are no material evidences to suggest his level of implication as well as who might have been the
architect designing the actual modifications.
35. “Hammer and Sickle.”
36. ANR, Fund Central Committee of Romanian Communist Party, Economic section, folder 60/1975.
37. ANR, Fund Central Committee of Romanian Communist Party, Economic section, folder 20/1977.
38. Interviews conducted with Costin Drăgan, the chief-architect of the design studio from the local Tech-
nical Institute and with Ionel Cândea, county museum director.
39. Radu Tănăsoiu. His dissatisfaction with the excrescence of the hotel was expressed repeatedly during
several discussions with him.

Author Biography
Alex Răuţă studied at the Bucharest “Ion Mincu” University of Architecture and Urbanism. He had
recently obtained a PhD degree (May 2012) at the Catholic University of Leuven, Belgium, where he also
graduated in Master’s in Human Settlements. During doctoral studies, he was also a fellow at the New
Europe College in Bucharest.