A Romanian presidential election intervened by crypto traders

Author: Simona Weinglass, Bloomberg

Compiled 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-tiled houses, Gothic churches, and the changing seasons on Tampa Mountain. On TikTok, he is Bogpr, the biggest “tipper” in Romania’s platform.

Peschir especially likes to spend 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 that fly across the screen. These gifts range 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 follower count nears 200,000. His ongoing spending unlocks cooler, more expensive gifts: virtual Thunder Falcons, Fire Phoenixes. By fall 2024, he reached TikTok’s top level 50, securing his position as one of Europe’s top tippers. He also gained a rare privilege: the ability to send animated flying Pegasus to streamers he supports. 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. Polls three weeks before the election showed him with only 1% support, not even qualifying for major national TV debates. Yet he secured 22.9% of the vote in the first round, surpassing the other 12 opponents. Within three days, Romania’s Supreme Defense Council announced the election was meddled with externally. Declassified intelligence documents accused “state actors” of interference. Germany and the US directly pointed to Russia.

All of this was done online, mainly through TikTok. Tens of thousands of fake accounts created the illusion of Georgescu’s popularity, flooding everyone’s 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 in a country with 19 million people and about 9 million TikTok users. Prosecutors say Peschir was involved: he redirected tipping to promote Georgescu’s creators and liked and commented on content supporting him. He wrote in a message to a friend, “I’m doing my best to give him more exposure.”

Two days after Georgescu won the first round, his victory was declared invalid, just 10 days before the official announcement. Photographer: Andrei Pungovschi / Getty Images

Prosecutors suspect these actions were crucial to Russia’s overall plan to put Georgescu in power, possibly coordinated. They say Peschir’s role in boosting Georgescu’s support was “decisive.” 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 Călin Georgescu.

For Romania, which was under pro-Soviet dictatorship from 1944 to 1989, claims of Kremlin election meddling 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 election law: “opaque use” of digital tech and AI, and undeclared campaign funding sources for Georgescu. The court ordered 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 gifts worth $381,000 to accounts supporting Georgescu. The government claims this was illegal unreported 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, saying, “Besides God, no one can tell me what to do, 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 manipulation. 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 went viral in March 2024—eight months before the election. At that time, he sent thousands of dollars’ worth of gifts to Romanian singer Nicolae Guță. Peschir claims this earned him the nickname “TikTok King” in Romania.

TikTok’s economy revolves around in-platform virtual coins. In Romania, one coin is just over 1 cent USD. 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 gifts for virtual diamonds, then convert those into real money—about half the amount spent by the tipper, with the rest taken as a commission by TikTok. (The company declines to specify the exact rate.)

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; tipped young female streamers lip-syncing or silent; and 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 Peschir was on a different level altogether.

Hardly any TikTok creators know Peschir’s real name or face. Alexe remembers he rarely revealed details, only saying he believes in God and finds joy in giving. “He said, ‘I have so much money, nothing moves me because nothing can excite me,’” Alexe recounted. “Only giving can excite me.”

This generation of Romanians grew up during a period of intense social transformation. 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 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 include extreme football fans, hip-hop enthusiasts, anti-LGBT activists, and proponents of Romanian unification. They have gradually coalesced around a new party called “Romanian Alliance” (AUR)—nationalist, nostalgic, critics worry it has authoritarian tendencies, with core ideas embracing tradition and Christianity.

Georgescu was once a member of AUR, sharing similar views but with his own twist. He calls Ukraine a “fictitious country,” praises the far-right “Legionary Movement” that killed Jews and political opponents before WWII as “heroes,” and claims he “united tens of thousands of people with a single goal, a belief, national identity, and the purity of Romanians.” He also predicts future humans will communicate via telepathy and has claimed to have seen aliens. (Georgescu did not respond to interview requests.)

Mainstream politics see Georgescu as a freak. But on TikTok, his image is completely different. One video shows him swimming in a frozen lake, showing off muscular shoulders; another has him riding a white horse in traditional embroidered shirt. He calls himself “son of farmers” and “soul of the nation,” claiming Romania’s current leaders are corrupt and have sold the country to foreign companies. He says he is the last hope for Romania to resist globalist forces trying to destroy Christianity and Romanian identity. His ideology is broadly called “sovereigntism,” opposing ordinary people to elites, national states 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.”

Unquestionably, in the weeks before Romania’s 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, Romanian intelligence privately told their French counterparts they believe these attacks were coordinated by Russia. The report states that one attack was traced back to APT29 (“Cozy Bear”), a hacking group linked to Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR).

By October 2025, President Dan publicly confirmed that the government traced all interference—including Georgescu’s out-of-control 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 “The Beauty of Romania.” Dan said these seemingly harmless groups were testing different narratives on various Romanian audiences.

Romanian investigations show that Russian digital marketers ultimately targeted four main themes: “Romanians respond most to narratives about identity, nostalgia, conspiracy theories, religion, and alternative medicine,” 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 who often lost loved ones but still celebrated birthdays.

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

Then, as hundreds of influencers posted about Georgescu, 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 constantly changing locations, and mimicked real phones perfectly. This made them hard to detect as bots and made Georgescu’s engagement look very authentic on TikTok.

“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, that’s a whole different story.”

Typically, a 10,000-follower account might have 500 viewers during a live. But Georgescu’s live streams far exceeded what his follower count should have allowed. “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 said his support for Georgescu involved two phases: first, he built his popularity and followers through tipping; then, as the election neared, he began liking and sharing Georgescu’s videos and memes. With Peschir’s fame and follower count, these actions spread automatically. When Bogpr entered a live stream, viewers reacted as if a star had arrived. When he sent gifts like lions or universes, his ID appeared with animations on the screen, and streamers often paused to thank him. His reputation for generosity spread, and many who reached out to him mentioned his support for Georgescu.

“Can you send me some money? I’ll do anything,” a recently released TikTok user, Cristian Gunie, messaged Peschir a week before the election. “I can hand out flyers for Mr. Georgescu on the street, from morning till night.”

“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 just normal; Peschir’s language is much more cautious.

A TikTok user named Costel Niculae, 14, who served 22 years in prison for murder, posts prison stories, singing, and gritty life reflections. Six days before the election, Niculae messaged Peschir, saying he hadn’t heard from him in days. “Aren’t you planning to let me help with the vote?” 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 totaling $4,207.

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 election finance law Law No. 334/2006. In Romania, paying for votes and candidates accepting undisclosed funds are illegal. Prosecutors believe that even if unspoken, such exchanges are understood implicitly.

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

Cross-border financial investigations can 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 huge sums 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 or influence 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 entrench 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 gave gifts to his opponents’ supporters. Sirbu notes 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 for them to follow. He needs to see a psychiatrist. I started questioning whether I should get checked myself.”

The government also states that about $7 million found in Peschir’s crypto accounts after his arrest does not match his lifestyle, which is inconsistent with his business activities. This is the closest they come to alleging off-the-books income or that TikTok tipping funds are not his own.

But current charges do not specify the source of funds. Until 2023, he worked at BitXatm, a Bitcoin ATM company, for nearly a decade. Since then, he 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.

Peschir’s case is part of a broader investigation into Georgescu’s behind-the-scenes support network. Since winning the first round and then being disqualified, Georgescu has been under tight scrutiny. He’s accused of glorifying the Legionary Movement (banned under Romanian law) and, after the election was annulled, of conspiring to overthrow the government. In October 2025, Romania’s chief prosecutor confirmed 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 prosecuting 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.”

Nearly a year after his arrest, a police source told Businessweek the case remains under investigation. Peschir has returned home, can move freely, and has a new laptop to replace the confiscated ones. He says he’s trying to recover his losses through crypto trading. Describing himself as a workaholic, introvert, “living a very peaceful, quiet life,” he spends most of his time in his office. “My only free time is spent at church, with my pets, reading, or driving late at night to relax,” he said. “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 done enough 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 interference. In an email to Businessweek, a TikTok spokesperson said the company dismantled several 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 benefit each candidate gains 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 efforts to subvert Romania’s election a hybrid war.

This term refers to indirect hostile actions—without overt violence—aimed at internal subversion. Western governments often blame Russia for such strategies, accusing it of election interference, infrastructure sabotage, and supporting coups. Russia denies involvement each time.

Supporters of the government believe that the less evidence there is, the more it suggests the conspiracy is well concealed. 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 cancellation “shattered the core of democracy—the vote.” In January 2025, thousands marched in Bucharest, carrying coffins inscribed “Democracy.”

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

Two months after this candidate’s brief electoral victory, supporters gathered on the day police took him in for questioning. 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 runoff 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 leu, Romania’s currency, 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 with workers, at churches; Dan posts about enjoying 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 election, TikTok, still under EU investigation, responded more actively to suspicious activity. Mircea Toma, secretary of the Romanian Audiovisual Council, said TikTok doubled its Romanian moderation staff and worked more closely with regulators. “When we flag content, it’s removed within minutes,” Toma said. “Before, there was no one to do that.”

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 hit 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 then re-held 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 worshipping him. These two groups no longer communicate.”

Of course, those who believe Georgescu was the true victim of election interference say it’s all Bogdan Peschir. “Romania’s election had to be canceled because the ‘wrong’ person won—something the political establishment considers a mistake,” he said.

When asked why he thought Georgescu could go viral, Peschir said it was purely because of his charisma. “I think it’s just because people identify with his ideas,” he said. “Romanian society is craving change deep down. 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.