Adelina Iancu - Justice for my grandfather | People of Justice 2022 Bucharest
Author: Adelina Iancu
Emil Gheorghișcan, my grandfather. Or, as I've liked to call him ever since I was little, Grandpa. Born and raised in Jurilovca, Dobrogea, a few years before World War II. He loved Russian music, as well as the folk music of Dobrogea. He went to high school in Tulcea and, shortly thereafter, he went to Bucharest, to the Military Academy. He was very proud of his job. Eventually, life took him to Piatra Neamț. He got married and moved there, together with my grandmother.
Many years later, my first memories with them begin there: on the 10th floor of a building, in an apartment, during the late 90's. Because I was born and raised in Tulcea, I made long journeys to spend my summers with them. They did everything they could to satisfy all of our, mine and my sister's, wishes. They made French fries for us, we'd watch cartoons, they took us to the park, they told us bedtime stories before going to sleep. Zacusca, jams, kompots and other things.
Unfortunately, in the year 2018, my grandmother passed and my grandfather remained alone. He was 81 years old and he had a cane. The only thing he had left was his cat, which was old as well and suffered from cataract. But, somehow, he did all he could to try to make the best out of life. He would wake up in the morning, he would go to the market, to the fishmonger's, he would watch politics on TV, he would have a chat with the other Eagles of the Motherland, while drinking a coffee from the vending machine at the nearby bus station and other similar activities. Somehow, he loved sudoku and crosswords, and the activity of the homeowner's association in the building.
He loved beer... Warm, from a plastic bottle... A bottle as large and as cheap as possible. And he would collect the caps for competitions. Maybe he'd win something for his granddaughters. On the other hand, he hated craft beer. He thought it was very bad. Also... Democracy disappointed him because there is no equality before the law. He was also a bit nationalistic and he never went abroad. He'd say: Isn't our sea the most beautiful anyway? Why are you going to Greece? Or: What's up with all these people going to the mountains in Austria? What's wrong with the Carpathians?! He was disappointed in democracy, in the state's leadership, as well as the justice system.
He didn't even believe in doctors. He thought that if he went there, they'd find something to... I don't know... Give him more medicine to make money. He did have a small box with pills, organized according to the days of the week, which he took with great care. I went to visit him each month and, somehow, his loneliness made me get closer to him: we would cook together, we would watch TV together, we'd try to guess which region the songs from Favorit TV came from, we'd have a glass of spritzer and have philosophical debates. I'd just finished university and I actually moved in with him for a month because the bar examination was coming up and I said: It's the perfect environment for studying.
During that period, he started complaining that he can't see that well anymore because of his cataract. It was very hard to convince him to let us take him to the doctor to see precisely what the odds of a surgical procedure were, and find out the risks for... An 81-year-old. The doctor told him: Oh, it's no big deal! The right eye can be operated, he will regain his eyesight in two to three days. No big deal. Eventually, grandpa was glad to accept the surgery. He came home, I remember, with a huge white bandage on his eye, smiling. And he respected the protocol rigorously. He simply couldn't wait for the next round of eyedrops. After two days, he took his bandage off and... And he told me he only saw a very thick fog.
I calmed him down, I said: Let's be patient because, well, the doctor is good, after all, and... Let's wait for you to get better. After that, he went for a check-up and the doctor told him that he had a slight complication, but it would be fine. Except that... He would have to go to the Bacău Hospital. Slowly, his optimism began to fade. I prepared a package with food and clothing, but he didn't even want to hear about me visiting him, he wanted me to stay in Piatra Neamț and focus on studying. Then he was discharged. When he came back to Piatra Neamț... He received another promise: that, after another 5-6 weeks of treatment, he would finally get his eyesight back. Meanwhile, I called him from Bucharest and... I broke the big news to him: that I passed the exam and that I was officially a lawyer.
He was very happy, except that... This happiness lasted only for a very short while. “Adelina, I can't see a thing with my right eye. It's all black.”.
We got stressed out, too, and we asked for an explanation. Whereas, at first, they said the operation wouldn't be a big deal, now they were telling us: Well, he's old, you know... The body doesn't recover as quickly, it heals slower. Grandpa, anguished and furious, went to other doctors to ask for their opinions. He saved money and he went to Bucharest, where he was told that a toxic substance prevented his eye from healing. Then, he went to Iași, as well: same verdict. The medical opinions transformed grandpa's pain into... Fury and fear. Will he be able to cook for himself from now on? How will he be able to take care of himself? How will he water his flowers? How... How will he watch TV? How will he see pictures of us on vacation? He was disheartened and, one evening, he called me and he asked me how he could prove that it was a case of malpractice. I told him I would have a look into the case law. I looked into it to confirm what I already suspected: that malpractice is hard to prove and that it's a difficult case in court. And for irrelevant cases... No chance at all. And I pondered upon it and said to myself: And what chance does he stand with a single eye? What can I tell him?
Still, I advised him to go and bring the matter through an investigation before the County Board for Malpractice. He agreed to it and he saved money an he filed the complaint at the beginning of 2019. He even saved 3.000 lei to be able to pay, to afford an expert's report and he thought that... Now that a medical expert will examine him, who knows, maybe the situation will clear up. After half a year of waiting, surprise! He didn't get the report! Why was it written in the ruling that, in his case, it wasn't a case of malpractice? Why didn't the medic consult him? He realised that, if he doesn't even have a forensic report, that means that justice is lost from the very beginning. He asked for the result. In the end, he got it and it said that... Unfortunately, there is no data from which to determine the evolution of his condition, other check-ups or if he took his medicine accordingly. Grandpa gave up and, in the end, he withdrew his complaint. He didn't want to hear about the whole thing.
He was outraged. We were outraged, as well. And we were thinking about how to support him. He was convinced that they all worked hand in hand, that he couldn't get justice in his case, that he is an irrelevant citizen, that he doesn't trust judges, because no one will do justice for him, an almost blind old man with a cane. I felt powerless when he asked me: Does this seem normal to you? Is it fair? You're a man of the law, how can you put up with this? I didn't know how to answer this. Still, I said: Let's go take them to court, let's see if we can get justice. To which he answered: Adelina, considering how much time a trial takes, how can I know that, before the verdict is given, I will not be dead? And he was right. I didn't have an answer.
The battle was lost, before it even started. It seemed that where was no accessible and fair administrative procedure, the battle seemed lost from the very beginning. I kept saying: Let's support him. But I didn't know how. Since I had only been a intern for a few months at that time, I didn't know what to do and weariness had taken over me. And the subject was so painful that I decided not to take any action. And, somehow, in the end, I thought to myself: Alright, I have to get used to the idea that injustice will still exist among us and it will keep existing, but I believe that it should be reported.
In order to be able to create a functional system, I think we have the duty, each one of us, to question such situations and tell others about them, tell the stories, so that they aren't overlooked because... It's a shame. After this whole story, I realised that... Since this Malpractice Board is organised at the county level the chances of it being biased are huge. If an administrative procedure is not unbiased and objective, it means it's useless. This useless procedure leads to huge additional waiting times and costs for the citizen, on the one hand, and to overcrowding for the courts, on the other hand. This overcrowding of the courts transforms cases where small injustices occurred, like the one suffered by grandpa, into irrelevant and unimportant cases. Grandpa suffered a lot. He could only solve sudoku with a magnifying glass.
He lived like this, suffering, during his last two, three years, until he passed this year, in spring. Through this experience, we realised that... In spite of it, he still trusted me and the profession that I represent. He would say: Be fair. Be hard-working. He was very proud of his granddaughters: One of them works there, at the government, in the capital city, the other one is a software engineer, and another one is a doctor. We still cooked together. This time around, he gave the instructions and I was making pumpkin pie in a kitchen where stories would blend with philosophical debates and with the spritzer in the glass. I hope he can hear me from somewhere up there and that he's glad you've found out about this story, too.
This can be a beginning for justice, as well. Now, if he does hear me from where he is, I want to show him that, in the meantime, I learned to play the accordion.
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The People of Justice 2022 shows were produced alongside Decât o Revistă, a team of journalists who believe in the transformational power of stories.
Together with over 1,000 viewers, we imagined what a more just Romania could look like through vulnerability, empathy and the power of example. In each city we brought on stage lawyers, journalists, civic activists and artists whose true stories about justice: how we achieve it, what it means for justice, education, the healthcare system or our cities.
