A prisoner with the air of a martyr[1]

A Confession of Faith

In August 1948, the second group of political prisoners—mostly former convicts who had been students at the time of their arrest—was transferred from Aiud prison to Târgșor prison. Among them was Virgil Maxim, a former student of the Buzău Normal School, sentenced in 1941 by the military tribunal to 25 years of hard labour. Maxim was already renowned in political prisons for his exemplary moral discipline. This way of life—adopted by many young prisoners, especially during the harsh years of the extermination-by-starvation regime—embodied the biblical principle of accepting personal sacrifice for the benefit of the most needy.

Among these young followers of Christian moral discipline were students like Valeriu Gafencu, Ioan Ianolide, Iulian Bălan, and the labourer Sebastian Avram. They lived in prison as saints might, placing Christian morality above the political ideologies that had led to their arrest.

At twenty-six, Virgil Maxim was a harmonious and gentle young man, his face always brightened by a discreet smile. Imprisoned in the same cell as the Buzău students, he willingly took part in re-education sessions led by Spirea Dumitrescu.

One day, while reviewing his file, the deputy headmaster noticed his mystical attitude. Eager to meet him, he approached Maxim during the first session:

—Are you Virgil Maxim?

—Yes, I am, sir.

—At the next meeting, you will present the report. Choose a topic from the books distributed.

Maxim, surprised and puzzled, replied hesitantly:

—Y…es…

—Very well. We’ll listen to you, comrade Vasilache concluded.

Agreeing to teach atheism in a communist prison in 1948 was a real moral test. For Maxim, the dilemma was not whether to give the lecture—the decision was already made—but which subject to choose, so that it would inspire the young students and not provoke the guards’ anger.

After a week of preparation, the day arrived. Maxim chose his theme, sketched the ideas, and carefully selected his words. In the hall, aside from the two headmasters and seven Buzău students, were the first guardian Vițel, the section head Moș Dumitrache, and the secretary Coman. With controlled emotion, Maxim drew a New Testament from his pocket—a book forbidden in prison—and read from St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans, Chapter XIII:

“There is no rule except from God… Give to all, therefore, what you owe: to him who gives, give; to him who takes, take; to him who fears, fear; to him who honours, honour. You owe no one anything except to love one another, for he who loves his neighbour has fulfilled the law.”

The defiance was twofold: he audaciously took out a forbidden book, and he read from it to educate atheists. Maxim spoke of obedience to the Master and of the gifts of Christian love, countering the hatred sown by the Party in the politics of class struggle.

At the end of his talk, a tense silence fell. The students were awestruck, frozen by fear. Even the administrators were stunned. Vasilache, the deputy headmaster, recovered first and rushed to Maxim, snatching the book and stammering:

—Let me see! What book is this? Where did you get it? You won’t get away with it… You’ll pay for this!

—Here you are, Mr. Vice Principal, Maxim replied calmly, handing him the book respectfully.

The incident had immediate consequences. Realizing that continued re-education could backfire, the directors suspended the sessions and requested a pedagogue from the General Directorate of Prisons. It had become dangerous to continue as before.

Maxim played a unique role in Târgșor. His moral example influenced many students, earning respect from both inmates and some guards. Even after years in prison, a quiet smile always lit up his face.

Those who knew him recognized his silent influence. He did not need to give advice to educate others; his mere presence shaped their character. In conversations with him, I learned the importance of Christian moral values, which foster tolerance, respect, and the strength to endure suffering.

The first time we met, he spoke of conscience:

—Courage needs the support of conscience, he said.

—And how does conscience help you? I asked.

—Did you go through the Securitate investigation?

—Of course.

—Did you? There are people who harm others to save themselves. A person without conscience can do anything to escape punishment. Conscience is the witness that prevents us from wrongdoing.

I needed no further arguments. Through him, I learned to follow the apostolic letters. With his guidance, I memorized the three epistles of John, the epistle of James, two of Peter, and two of Paul, alongside Luca Calvarasan and Petre Paraschiv.

(Victor Rosca, The Târgșor Experiment. The Beginning of the Communist Repression, Curtea Veche Publishing House, Bucharest, 2011, pp. 24-27, 76-78)