What’s the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about the Danube Delta? Perhaps it’s the stunning bird flocks flying above landscapes that seem untouched by humans? Or fisherman and their boats floating across canals and lakes, casting their nets and waiting for their next catch? Or vernacular architecture where local, natural materials are still employed for building or repairing houses? But it probably isn’t of athletes competing in mega sporting events such as World Championships or the Olympics, forever influencing the history of sports, right?
You probably raised an eyebrow while reading the last question, but a lesser-known story of the Danube Delta is that of its rowers. Ivan Patzaichin, the most decorated canoeist of all time, is probably the region’s most famous enfant prodige.
However, Patzaichin is an avatar of a wider phenomenon: the elite athletes of the Danube Delta. Patzachin’s career was not just the result of a hard-working individual born with an incredible talent, but also of a state network that aimed at both improving sports participation of the masses and Romania’s international image.
During the 1960s the Danube Delta became a hotspot for identifying new sporting talents. Besides Patzaichin, hundreds of young men originating from all around the area were enrolled in dedicated clubs in Tulcea and Bucharest. Sports provided an alternative option to traditional occupations for many young locals until the turn of the 20th century when the transition to a market-oriented economy let to the scrapping of many of the sporting structures set up by the communist Romanian state before 1989.
“I loved it, life in Bucharest was way easier than in Sfântu Gheorghe,” recalls Ilie Sidorenco, a former canoeist who moved to the Capital in 1960 after he was selected by Dinamo Bucharest to be part of the rowing team. Now in his 80s, Mr. Sidorenco returned to his hometown village at the end of a successful career through which he won several national and regional competitions. Unfortunately, the man did not keep many things related to his former past. The only item I found with him was an old Master of Sport certificate—an object of remembrance, symbolic of the negative changes that the post-communist transition brought to local sports. The social mobility from which Mr. Sidorenco once benefited is today severely limited by the new political and economic configuration.
Comparing his experience with that of his father, Mr. Sidorenco could not be more delighted. The disciplined life that athletes are usually complaining about was not a burden for the son of a fisherman who worked hard to provide for his family. Fishing meant waking up in the middle of the night almost daily and working in a very humid and dangerous environment that took its toll on the workers’ bodies. In brief, it was tough and risky. Against this background, waking up at decent hours, having a club provide you with food, accommodation and other facilities seemed the most obvious option for the young athlete. He remembers finding it easy to compete against his colleagues coming from other regions of the country. “I was born with the oars in my hand,” he recollects of his Danube childhood. When moving to Bucharest to start proper training he was already years ahead of his mates. The club only provided him the context for improving an already acquired skill, a basic practice for any young man from the Danube Delta.
Improving sports participation was a common policy among the east European communist regimes. Katherine Verdery underlined that sports investments in the region were considered by governments as efficient tools for colonizing the free time of the masses (1996). Besides, more participants resulted in a wider selection base for athletes which would represent the countries at international level. The outcome of these policies was spectacular, and influenced the lives of people living in the most remote areas of Romania, such as Sfântu Ghoerghe.
It all started with infrastructure. On May 23, 1955, the People’s Council of the Tulcea District transmitted a decision to the representatives of the commune of Sfântu Gheorghe, implementing orders from Romania’s central authorities. It stated that the village must find a proper spot and start the construction works for a new sports facility which was destined for the local school and state employed workers. A new structure would be developed which would be closely linked to sports clubs in Tulcea. The development of this network, which emerged in the following decade across Romania hugely improved the younger generation’s chances to practice sports at a competitive level.
Gradually, rowing became one of Romania’s crown jewels, with athletes gaining national or international notoriety. For a young lad like Mr. Sidorenco, it was a version of the future which would not be available otherwise. Moreover, athletes’ successes provided their communities with a strong sense of pride. Press materials such as the one in image 1 could be constantly read by friends and family back home, creating new forms of positive identification with the communities. An interview from the early 1980s with Toma Simionov a canoeist and Olympic gold medal winner from Caraorman is such an example (1981). The personal trajectory described by national champion is similar to that of Mr. Sidorenco. He remembers starting practicing sports back home, before being enrolled by a club.
The communist state’s recognition of the achievements of the Danube Delta’s athletes was not only oriented towards its most famous representatives. While interviewing Mr. Sidorenco in the summer kitchen of his household he mentioned feeling forgotten by the sports authorities of today. Furiously, the man took what looked like a piece of red carton out of his pocket and smashed it on the table while rumbling about it having no value today, as the government has cut the benefits that he received for his performances. What looked like a small notebook, was, in fact, his master of sport card, a document that the communist authorities issued to all athletes who performed in important competitions.
The document lost any power after the regime change, an issue that is typical for a broader social transition that made people feel less appreciated for their life-long contributions. A phrase extracted from the cover’s inside stands out. It stated that Mr. Sidorenco had the right to freely attend sporting events across the country and use facilities at his own will. Of course, his status also provided him with other benefits, but this one struck me for being embedded in the document’s fabric. Today no sports venue would recognize such benefits. The document is useless. It recalls a palpable sense of the alienation experienced by people whose accomplishments are overlooked by the present societal configurations. Most of Mr. Sidorenco’s peers feel stuck betwixt the realities of the modernity, losing any recognition of individual achievements, and its impact on their communities of origin.
Today, you can hardly find a young person in Sfântu Gheorghe or Caraorman considering a such a career. After 1989, Romanian infrastructures went through a seemingly never-ending degradation which resulted in the decline of the number of athletes. Sports, as a social mobility option, has mostly vanished from any future a young local might envision. This phenomenon is just another layer of the widely felt abandonment that is experienced in the region. Without its performers the community is not only losing a marker of pride but also a horizon that points to an alternative future.
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