A Romanian presidential election intervened by crypto traders

The Election Maze in Romania Under Digital Manipulation

By: Simona Weinglass, Bloomberg

Translated by: Saoirse, Foresight News

In the real world, Bogdan Peschir is a 36-year-old cryptocurrency trader from the fairy-tale town of Brașov in Transylvania. From his balcony, he overlooks red-roofed houses, Gothic churches, and the changing seasons on Tampa Mountain. On TikTok, he is Bogpr, the biggest “tipper” influencer in Romania.

Peschir especially enjoys spending money on streamers. If you’re live on TikTok and do something to catch his attention—like jumping into a canal or doing a backflip—he might watch and send animated gifts across the screen. These gifts range in price from a few cents to hundreds of dollars, and recipients can exchange them for cash. At this level, digital gifts are no longer just likes from strangers.

Peschir keeps tipping, and his followers approach 200,000. His ongoing spending unlocks more dazzling and expensive gifts: virtual Thunder Falcons, Fire Phoenixes. By fall 2024, he reached TikTok’s top 50 level, securing a position among Europe’s top tippers. He also gained a rare privilege: sending animated flying Pegasus to endorsed streamers. This is a very special kind of fame, but Romanian prosecutors say this influence is extremely powerful. They arrested Peschir, accusing him of using money and reputation to help an independent far-right candidate win the first round of Romania’s 2024 presidential election.

This candidate, Călin Georgescu, nearly made a sudden comeback. Three weeks before the election, polls showed he only had 1% support and was not even qualified for the main TV debates. Yet, he secured 22.9% of the vote in the first round, surpassing 12 other opponents. Within three days, Romania’s Supreme Defense Council announced the election was compromised by external interference. The government declassified five partially redacted intelligence documents accusing a “state actor” of meddling in the vote. Germany and the US directly pointed to Russia.

All of this was done online, mainly via TikTok. Tens of thousands of fake accounts created the illusion of Georgescu’s popularity, flooding feeds with his content. According to a French government report, the hashtag #calingeorgescu was viewed 73.2 million times in seven days—an unprecedented level of attention for a country with 19 million people and about 9 million TikTok users. Prosecutors say Peschir was involved: he redirected tips to promote Georgescu’s creators and liked and commented on content supporting the candidate. He wrote in a message to a friend: “I’m doing my best to give him more exposure.”

Călin Georgescu, two days after winning the first round of Romania’s presidential election, with his victory declared invalid, 10 days later. Photographer: Andrei Pungovschi / Getty Images

Prosecutors suspect these actions were crucial to Russia’s overall plan to install Georgescu, possibly even coordinated. They say Peschir played a “decisive” role in boosting Georgescu’s support. After Georgescu was disqualified, Romania’s elected president, Nicușor Dan, publicly criticized Peschir. But Peschir has not been formally charged. He claims the government’s accusations are baseless: he simply enjoys generously tipping TikTok influencers he likes, and he happens to be a fan of Georgescu.

For Romania, which was under pro-Soviet dictatorship from 1944 to 1989, claims of Kremlin election interference are especially sensitive. The Romanian authorities’ response has been unusually strong for such cases. In December 2024, Romania’s Constitutional Court declared the election results invalid, citing violations of electoral law: “opaque use” of digital technology and AI, and undeclared campaign funding sources for Georgescu. The court announced a new election in May 2025 and barred Georgescu from running again.

In March 2025, Peschir’s arrest caused a sensation. He entered Bucharest police headquarters wearing a hat, mask, and sunglasses, reluctantly removing them in front of cameras, revealing a neat haircut and a sharp face. Prosecutors charged him with “electronic voter bribery” and sought detention during the investigation. About a month later, he was released. Since then, a police drone has hovered outside his balcony for months, and every new laptop he bought was confiscated.

Prosecutors say that in the ten months before the election, Peschir spent nearly $900,000 on TikTok gifts, tipping over 250 Romanian influencers. In the last 31 days, he sent $381,000 worth of gifts to accounts supporting Georgescu. The government claims this was unreported illegal campaign funding.

Peschir strongly denies guilt. “The government has no evidence,” he told Bloomberg Businessweek via email, “This is a complete fabricated story just to justify canceling the election.” He denies being directed by Moscow, claiming, “Apart from God, no one can control me, and I haven’t taken a penny from anyone in years.”

Police say the case is still under investigation. Businessweek reviewed reports from Romanian intelligence, a lengthy record of Peschir’s messages, and spoke with him via email. These messages offer a window into the bizarre world of social media election campaigning. The introverted man has unexpectedly become a symbol of what might be the most successful Russian election interference operation of the 21st century.

Bogpr has been active on TikTok since at least 2023, but he truly exploded in popularity in March 2024—eight months before the election. At that time, he sent thousands of dollars’ worth of gifts to Romanian singer Nicolae Guță. According to Peschir, he earned the nickname “TikTok King” domestically because of this.

TikTok’s economy revolves around in-platform virtual coins. In Romania, one coin is just over 1 US cent. Peschir can buy a virtual rose for 1 coin, a lion for 30,000 coins, or a “universe” for 44,999 coins. (Whether he bought a Pegasus worth 42,999 coins is unknown.) Recipients can exchange these gifts for virtual diamonds, then convert them into real money—about half the amount spent by the tipper, with the rest as a commission for TikTok. (The company refuses to disclose exact percentages.)

In the first few months, Peschir’s tipping to streamers seemed unrelated to the election. He responded to donation appeals, such as parents of terminally ill children; he tipped young female streamers lip-syncing or silent; he also sent gifts to people just filming themselves driving or chopping wood.

“I go live, wear dresses, play NPCs—non-player characters in games—to attract attention,” said Gheorghe-Daniel Alexe (online name Bahoi), a Romani hip-hop artist. Prosecutors say he received $2,400 worth of gifts from Peschir. Alexe recalls others tipping, but says Peschir was on a different level.

Almost no TikTok creators know Peschir’s real name or face. Alexe remembers he rarely revealed details, only saying he believes in God and that giving money is his greatest joy. “He said, ‘I have too much money; nothing moves me because nothing can excite me,’” Alexe recounted. “Only giving can excite me.”

This generation of Romanians grew up amid societal upheaval. In 1989, Ceaușescu’s regime collapsed along with the Iron Curtain, ending the communist dictatorship rooted in Soviet occupation after WWII. Romania opened to the West, joined NATO in 2004, and the EU in 2007. Over the following years, Romania’s economy soared—from a country known for orphans to the second-largest economy in Eastern Europe after Poland. Today, Bucharest and many European capitals have street performers, boutique cafes, and co-working spaces. Yet many Romanians remain behind. EU statistics show nearly 30% face poverty or social exclusion, the second-highest rate within the bloc.

Far-right groups appeared online as early as the early 2010s. Oana Popescu-Zamfir, director of the Bucharest think tank GlobalFocus Centre, says these groups include extreme football fans, hip-hop enthusiasts, anti-LGBT activists, and proponents of Romanian unification. They gradually coalesced into a new party called “Alliance for the Union of Romanians” (AUR)—nationalist, nostalgic, critics worry with authoritarian tendencies, advocating traditional values and Christianity.

Georgescu was once a member of AUR, sharing similar views but with his own twist. He called Ukraine a “fictitious country,” hailed the far-right “Legionary Movement” responsible for killing Jews and political opponents before WWII as “heroes,” and claimed he “united tens of thousands of people with a single goal, a belief, national identity, and the purity of Romanians.” He also predicted future telepathic communication and claimed to have seen aliens. (Georgescu did not respond to interview requests.)

Mainstream politics regard Georgescu as a freak. But on TikTok, his image is completely different. One video shows him swimming in a frozen lake, showcasing his muscular shoulders; another shows him riding a white horse in traditional embroidered shirt. He calls himself “son of farmers” and “soul of the nation,” accusing Romania’s current leaders of corruption and selling out to foreign companies. He claims to be Romania’s last hope against globalist forces trying to destroy Christianity and Romania’s unique identity. His ideology is broadly called “sovereigntism,” opposing ordinary people to elites, national sovereignty to the EU and NATO, tradition to progressivism.

These words deeply moved Peschir. He wrote in messages: “I think this person is sent by God. Now Romania has a chance.”

Undoubtedly, in the weeks before Romania’s November 2024 election, strange events kept unfolding. Passwords of election officials leaked on Russian hacker forums. Romanian intelligence reports showed over 85,000 cyberattacks targeting election infrastructure, seemingly from 33 countries, but the report suggests this was likely fake IP masking.

It’s clear that one or more powerful forces are trying to subvert Romania’s election while covering their tracks.

According to Mediapart, French media, Romanian intelligence privately told their French counterparts they believe these attacks are coordinated by Russia. The report states that one attack was traced back to APT29 (“Cozy Bear”), a hacking group under Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR).

By October 2025, President Dan publicly confirmed that the government traced all interference—including Georgescu’s uncontrolled social media campaign—to Russia. On October 2, Dan presented Romania’s interim findings to European leaders in Copenhagen.

He said Russia’s actions began as early as 2019, when a Russian company started profiling Romanians socially. Years later, numerous Romanian Facebook groups appeared suddenly, with themes like alternative medicine, religion, recipes, with names like “Only the True God” and “Romania’s Beauty.” Dan said these seemingly harmless groups aimed to test different public opinion tactics among Romania’s diverse populations.

Romanian investigations show that Russian digital marketers ultimately targeted four main themes: “Romanians’ identity, nostalgia, conspiracy theories, religion, and alternative medicine narratives,” said Romania’s chief prosecutor, Alex Florenta, at a press conference two weeks before Dan’s visit to Copenhagen.

For example, many groups featured what appeared to be AI-generated Romanians claiming they’re not ashamed of living in the countryside; others showed ordinary Romanians, often grieving lost loved ones, still celebrating birthdays.

As the 2024 election approached, many of these groups began posting content supporting Georgescu, beyond recipes, motivational quotes, and touching stories. Meanwhile, a flood of videos and images appeared on TikTok. Romania officials say one major source was a Telegram group called Propagatorcg, whose admins curated Georgescu’s promotional material, distributed it to volunteers, and provided detailed instructions on hashtags, editing videos, images, and memes to trick TikTok’s algorithm into treating it as original content.

Then, as hundreds of influencers posted Georgescu-related content, a third phase of the campaign launched: bot accounts. Two weeks before voting, 25,000 previously dormant TikTok accounts suddenly became active, engaging heavily with Georgescu’s content. Pavel Popescu, deputy chairman of Romania’s telecom regulator Ancom, said these accounts had independent IP addresses, simulated mobile devices, and constantly changed locations—making them hard to detect as bots and making Georgescu’s engagement metrics appear very authentic to TikTok’s algorithm.

“Anyone can buy 25,000 bots to like their content; it’s not a big deal,” Popescu said. “But when you have 25,000 active accounts, following everywhere, flooding live streams as soon as they start—that’s a whole different level.”

Typically, a 10,000-follower account might have 500 viewers during a live. But Georgescu’s live viewership far exceeded what his follower count would suggest. “Soon, Georgescu started appearing in everyone’s feeds, then exploded like a snowball,” Popescu explained. Shortly after these bots appeared, Georgescu became the ninth biggest trending topic on TikTok worldwide.

When Peschir was arrested, prosecutors accused him of supporting Georgescu in two phases: first, building his popularity and followers through tipping; then, near the first round, liking and sharing Georgescu’s videos and memes. Given Peschir’s fame and follower count, these actions would automatically spread. When Bogpr entered a live stream, viewers reacted as if a star had arrived. When he sent gifts like lions or universes, his ID would appear with animations on the screen, and streamers often paused to thank him. His reputation for generosity spread, and many who contacted him mentioned their support for Georgescu.

“Can you send me some money? I’ll do anything,” a recently released TikTok user, Cristian Gunie, texted Peschir a week before the election. “I can distribute flyers for Mr. Georgescu all day long.”

“Hello, if you go live doing that, I’ll support you,” Peschir replied. He only sent him one gift: a plane worth $48.88.

In many of his conversations with influencers he funded, there’s a clear disconnect: they openly say that accepting money to support Georgescu is obvious; Peschir’s language is much more cautious.

Bogdan Peșchir—known as Bogpr on TikTok—being escorted to the Bucharest Prosecutor’s Office. Photographer: Cristian Nistor / Romanian News Agency

The TikTok username Costelusclejeanioficial10 belongs to 14-year-old Costel Niculae, who served 22 years in prison for murder. His TikTok content includes prison stories, singing, and raw life reflections.

Six days before the election, Niculae messaged Peschir, saying he hadn’t heard from him in days. “Aren’t you planning to involve me in voting activities?” he asked. “I can gather a lot of people in my community, and I have video evidence.”

“I didn’t ‘bring’ anyone to do anything,” Peschir replied. “I just tell people what I think is good for the country. I won’t pay anyone to do things.”

Niculae was confused. “I don’t understand. Why are you ignoring me? Did I do something wrong?”

“I’m not ignoring you,” Peschir responded. “Just do what you think is right.” After some back and forth, he emphasized again: “There’s no plan to pay anyone.” He sent Niculae gifts worth $4,207.37.

If Peschir’s messages sound like he checked election laws, that’s because he did. Police found search history on his computer, including “election bribery” and Romania’s electoral finance law “Law No. 334/2006.” In Romania, paying for votes and candidates accepting undisclosed campaign funds are illegal. Prosecutors believe that even without explicit mention, such exchanges are understood as tacit.

Peschir refuses to discuss these messages, saying it might involve upcoming court proceedings. But he claims he genuinely supports Georgescu and hopes he wins, and that researching election law was to avoid breaking it. “This kind of charge is straight out of Orwell’s dystopia—police state accusing you of ‘thought crimes’ even with clear evidence to the contrary,” he wrote in an email. “It’s absurd.”

Cross-border financial investigations could take years, and Romanian prosecutors are known for their secrecy. This may explain why officials rarely comment publicly, only occasionally hinting that Peschir’s explanation of spending thousands on TikTok is hard to believe. (Telecom regulator Popescu said, “Who would spend a million dollars supporting a newcomer?”) Court documents state that Peschir deliberately avoided showing money transactions with Georgescu’s supporters, which proves he was doing exactly that. They say his TikTok tipping in the half-year before the campaign was part of a plan: to entrap people into his rapidly expanding network, creating “dependency” and exploiting it during the election, according to court filings.

Peschir claims his non-political tipping was just broad interest in TikTok. His lawyer, Cristian Sirbu, says his client not only tipped Georgescu’s supporters but also supported opponents’ supporters. Sirbu points out that Peschir explicitly told others that his money was not politically motivated.

“But the judge didn’t listen,” Sirbu said, recalling a hearing last March. “He said even if (Peschir) told others not to do it, there’s subconscious suggestion that they follow. He needs to see a psychiatrist. I even started questioning whether I should get checked myself.”

The government also says that about $7 million found in Peschir’s cryptocurrency accounts after his arrest “does not match his lifestyle,” implying possible off-the-books income or that TikTok tips were not his own funds.

But current charges do not specify the source of funds. Until 2023, Peschir worked for nearly a decade at BitXatm, a Bitcoin ATM company. He now claims to be a full-time crypto trader. “Most of my investments are on open decentralized platforms, which anyone with blockchain knowledge can verify,” he said.

His case is part of a broader investigation into Georgescu’s behind-the-scenes supporters. Since Georgescu’s disqualification after winning the first round, he has been under close scrutiny. He’s accused of glorifying the Legionary Movement (which is illegal in Romania) and, after the election was annulled, of conspiring to overthrow the government. In October 2025, Romania’s chief prosecutor confirmed that they had sought assistance from at least three foreign agencies to investigate Georgescu’s campaign funding.

Romanian President Dan admitted last fall that the government still faces difficulties in convicting Peschir. “We know how social media influence campaigns are carried out,” he said. “We know that some clues—whether fake accounts or paid ad agencies—point to Russia. But we don’t know who designed the entire strategy. Likewise, we know little about the flow of funds… related to Bogdan Peschir.”

It’s been nearly a year since Peschir’s arrest. A police source told Businessweek that the case remains under investigation. He has returned home, can move freely, and has a new laptop to replace those confiscated. He says he’s trying to recover his losses through crypto trading. “I’m a workaholic, introverted person,” he described himself, “living a very peaceful, quiet life. Most of my time is spent in the office. I only have a little free time—going to church, playing with my pet, reading, or driving late at night to relax.” He added that tipping on TikTok is just another way to unwind.

In December 2024, Romania submitted TikTok to the EU Commission to investigate whether the platform has taken sufficient measures to prevent manipulation. The results have not yet been released.

TikTok admits there are attempts at election manipulation but disputes Romania’s characterization of the activity. In an email to Businessweek, a TikTok spokesperson said the company dismantled several manipulation networks targeting Romania in November and December 2024, which did not only support Georgescu. “Given the broad range of supported candidates, it’s inaccurate and impossible to measure the relative benefits for each candidate from these activities,” the spokesperson said.

But Dan points directly to his main opponent. “We are facing information warfare from Russia against European countries,” he said in October, calling Russia’s alleged interference in Romania’s election a hybrid war.

This term refers to indirect hostile actions between states that do not involve overt violence, aiming to subvert from within. Western governments often blame Russia for such strategies—interfering in elections, sabotaging infrastructure, supporting coups—while Russia denies involvement each time.

Supporters of the government believe that the less evidence there is, the more effectively the conspiracy is hidden. Skeptics argue that this only proves the conspiracy theories are just that—conspiracies.

The unprecedented decision to annul the election has angered many Romanians. Elena Lasconi, the main mainstream candidate who was second behind Georgescu and expected to face him in the runoff, said the annulment “shattered the core of democracy—the vote.” In January 2025, thousands marched in Bucharest, some carrying coffins inscribed “Democracy.”

Initially, Romania’s decision to disqualify Georgescu seemed counterproductive. Another sovereigntist candidate, George Simion, announced his run. Like Georgescu, he is skeptical of the EU and its aid to Ukraine, and claims Russia poses no threat to NATO. Georgescu publicly supports him.

Two months after this candidate’s brief electoral victory, on the day he was taken for questioning by police, his supporters gathered. Photographer: Alex Nicodim / Anadolu Agency

In the first round of the 2025 rerun, Simion received 41% of the vote, far ahead of Georgescu’s 23%. His opponent was Dan, a mathematician and activist who has been Bucharest’s mayor since 2020. Many international media predicted Simion would win. On May 7, Reuters headlined: “Romania’s far-right leader Simion leads in polls ahead of runoff.” The Romanian leu fell to a historic low against the euro, reflecting investor concerns over Simion’s economic policies.

On TikTok, Simion has 1.3 million followers, while Dan has only 350,000. Simion posts videos of himself and workers, at churches; Dan shares clips of city life, dining out, and sharing chores with his partner. Simion talks about restoring Romania’s dignity and justice; Dan explains math problems and how to balance a budget. Simion aims to rally Romanians into a great historical movement; Dan advocates rule of law and liberalism.

During the EU investigation, TikTok responded more actively to suspicious activity during the runoff. Mircea Toma, secretary of the Romanian Audiovisual Council, said TikTok doubled its Romanian-language moderators and worked more closely with regulators. “When we flag content, it’s removed within minutes,” Toma said. “We couldn’t find anyone before.”

On voting day, May 18, Romanians again surprised. Dan defeated Simion with 53.6% to 46.4%. After the results were announced at 9 p.m., crowds gathered outside Dan’s campaign headquarters near Cișmigiu Park in Bucharest. Voter turnout reached a record 65%, compared to only 53% in the annulled first round. People chanted “Europe! Europe!” and “Fascists out,” waving EU flags.

Russia’s preferred candidate lost, but Georgescu’s political ideology clearly persisted. “Our society is more polarized than ever,” said Romanian journalist Victor Ilie. “Because we canceled and reran the election, everyone who voted for Simion and Georgescu doesn’t see Nicușor Dan as a legitimate president. Meanwhile, those who voted for Dan are ecstatic that the far right didn’t win, in an extreme way worshiping him. These two groups no longer communicate.”

Of course, those who believe Georgescu was the true victim of election interference argue that “Romania’s election had to be canceled because the ‘wrong’ person won,” as Peschir put it.

When asked why he thought Georgescu could become so popular, Peschir said it was purely because of his charisma. “I think it’s just because people identify with his ideas,” he said. “Romanian society deeply longs for change, and people see him as an outsider. He’s very good at touching on the issues that truly hurt Romania.”

In a way, this is obvious. Fake accounts’ viral propaganda gave Georgescu a huge early advantage, allowing him to reach ordinary people’s phones first. Once reached, many are genuinely persuaded. The fake campaign ultimately became real public opinion.