BUCHAREST -- It's been nearly half a century since Romanian communist dictator Nicolae Ceausescu decided to build the House of the Republic in the heart of Bucharest. It was to be Europe's largest building at that time. Over 10,000 houses were razed, transforming a project initially conceived by Romanian King Carol II into a North Korean-style megalomaniacal endeavor.
Following the devastating 7.4-magnitude earthquake on March 4, 1977, that claimed the lives of 1,500 people, Ceausescu decided to transform Bucharest's ruins into a monumental socialist triumph. He believed rebuilding the city with grand architecture would symbolize the victory of socialism.
The Palace of the Parliament is the seat of the Romanian parliament, located atop Dealul Spirii in Bucharest.
Today, the House of the Republic is known as the Palace of the Parliament. It was finished in 1997 at an estimated cost of $4.3 billion. The Bucharest building is among the heaviest in the world, weighing about 4,098,500 tons. It is also the second-largest administrative building in the world, after the Pentagon.
Ceausescu's ambition to cement his place in history through colossal construction projects led to the displacement of more than 50,000 people.
An undated picture of the Nicolaescu family home before its demolition
Seven years later after the 1977 earthquake, on the same date, the home of Christian Stoica Nicolaescu, great-grandson of Romanian archaeologist Stefan-Stoica Nicolaescu (1878-1941), was demolished. Nicolaescu recalls seeing Ceausescu walking down the street, waving his hand, signaling the imminent demolition of his family home.
The Uranus neighborhood being prepared to be demolished
Throughout the 1980s, entire streets and neighborhoods disappeared under Ceausescu's directive. To maintain control, the secret police were stationed in targeted neighborhoods as demolition plans were circulated covertly.
The Uranus neighborhood before its demolition
Preserving The Past For The Future
Dan Vartanian, a construction engineer of Armenian origin, was in his early 20s when he heard the rumors of Ceausescu's demolition campaign. He also had a camera from then-socialist Germany, a Praktica, which was "pretty much the best camera at the time," as he describes it.
Despite the risks of being chased away, imprisoned, or blacklisted, Vartanian photographed the doomed neighborhoods.
Homes and shops in the Uranus neighborhood before demolition
"I wanted the memory of some places that I was attached to -- to remain for me, to Bucharest itself."
He usually found out weeks before the bulldozers were to arrive and began his secret work.
A church awaits its fate at the hands of a bulldozer.
"Everything I photographed I processed -- that is, I developed the film and transferred it to paper. I made a laboratory in my kitchen, obviously in the place where I could make it dark very well," Vartanian said.
Small shops before their demolition
Many years later, Vartanian began posting his images online. "To my surprise, I was very successful," he says.
The few who dared to capture the quickly changing landscapes are today holders of priceless historical documents. Their photos allow others to see and reconstruct neighborhoods that were destroyed.
An excavator demolishes homes in the Uranus neighborhood.
The 1989 Revolution
The 1989 Romanian Revolution and the subsequent trial and execution of the Ceausescus ended their grand plans. Many detailed maps and records disappeared in the ensuing mayhem.
The Venice Convention forced Ceausescu to find solutions for some of the churches in the demolition area, explains Cristian Lipara-Vararu next to the marker where the Mihai Voda monastery complex once stood.
Honoring The Past
Despite the large-scale destruction, some small islands of old houses and churches managed to survive. Urban archaeologists like Cristian Lipara-Vararu are dedicated to documenting and sharing the stories of these surviving structures and the vanished neighborhoods.
Relying on oral histories, photographs, and the few remaining physical traces, they are reconstructing the past, revealing the disorganized and often brutal nature of the demolitions.
"The demolitions were done in great secrecy, hence the 'underhand' documentation. The maps that were used in the construction site, copies of the detailed plans along with the notations of the workers, have disappeared. They would have shown the true picture of the destruction," says Lipara-Vararu.
"Now everything that is historically reconstructed is based on the traces or statements of the former inhabitants from family photos," he adds.
Viewers watch a projection of images that show the Uranus neighborhood before it was demolished.
Lipara-Vararu offers presentations and tours to educate the public about Bucharest's lost history, ensuring the memory of these neighborhoods endures despite the physical erasure.
Vartanian, reflecting on his documentation efforts, expressed one regret.
"I regret not taking more pictures," he says.