A Romanian presidential election intervened by crypto traders

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

Peschir especially enjoys spending money on streamers. If you’re live on TikTok and do something that catches his attention—like jumping into a canal or doing a backflip—he might watch and send animated gifts that scroll 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 strangers’ likes.

Peschir keeps tipping, with his followers approaching 200,000. His ongoing spending unlocks more dazzling and expensive gifts: virtual thunder hawks, fire phoenixes. By fall 2024, he reached TikTok’s top level 50, securing his position as one of Europe’s top tipper users. He also gained a rare privilege: the ability to send flying animated 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 breakthrough. Three weeks before the election, polls showed he only had 1% support and was ineligible for major national TV debates. Yet he won 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 subject to external interference. Declassified intelligence documents, partially redacted, accused “state actors” of meddling in the vote. 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 for a country with a population of 19 million 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. In messages to friends, he wrote, “I’m doing my best to give him more exposure.”

Călin Georgescu, two days after winning the first round of Romania’s presidential election before his victory was invalidated, photo by Andrei Pungovschi / Getty Images

Prosecutors suspect these actions were crucial to Russia’s overall plan to support Georgescu’s rise, possibly 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 Romanian 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 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 election law: “opaque use” of digital tech and AI, and unreported campaign funding sources for Georgescu. The court scheduled a new election for May 2025 and barred Georgescu from running again.

In March 2025, Peschir’s arrest made headlines. He entered Bucharest police headquarters wearing a hat, mask, and sunglasses, reluctantly removing them in front of cameras to reveal a neat haircut and a slender, angular face. Prosecutors charged him with “electronic voter bribery” and sought his 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 an unreported illegal campaign contribution.

Peschir strongly denies wrongdoing. “The government has no evidence,” he told Bloomberg Businessweek via email, “This is a complete fabricated story, just an excuse to cancel the election.” He denies being directed by Moscow, saying, “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. These messages offer a window into the bizarre world of social media election meddling. The introverted man has unexpectedly become a symbol of what may 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 “King of TikTok” in Romania.

TikTok’s economy revolves around in-platform virtual coins. In Romania, one coin is just over 1 cent USD. Peschir can spend one coin on a virtual rose, 30,000 coins on a lion, 44,999 coins on a “universe” (whether he bought the 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 refuses to disclose the exact percentage.

In the first few months, Peschir’s tips 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 a dress, 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.

Hardly any 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 can move me because nothing excites me,’” Alexe recounted. “Only giving can excite me.”

This generation of Romanians grew up amid rapid social change. 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 decades, 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 feature 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 in Romania 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 the “Romanian Unification” movement. They have gradually coalesced around a new party called “Romanian Alliance” (AUR)—nationalist, nostalgic, critics worry it has authoritarian tendencies, with core platforms 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 pure unity 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 regard him as a weirdo, but on TikTok, his image is very different. One video shows him swimming in a frozen lake, showcasing his muscular shoulders; another has him riding a white horse in traditional embroidered shirt. He calls himself “son of farmers” and “soul of the nation,” accusing Romania’s current leadership of corruption and selling out to foreign companies. He claims to be Romania’s last hope against globalist forces aiming to destroy Christianity and Romania’s unique identity. His ideology is broadly called “sovereigntism,” opposing ordinary people to elites, national sovereignty to EU/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 November 2024 election, strange events unfolded. 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 false IP masking.

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

According to Mediapart, Romania’s intelligence agencies privately told their French counterparts they believed these attacks were coordinated by Russia. The report traced one attack to APT29 (“Cozy Bear”), a hacking group under Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR).

By October 2025, President Dan publicly confirmed that the government had traced all interference—including Georgescu’s social media manipulation—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 aimed to test different public opinion tactics among Romania’s diverse populations.

Romanian investigations showed 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 of ordinary people. 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 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 en masse with Georgescu’s content. Pavel Popescu, deputy chair of Romania’s telecom regulator Ancom, said these accounts had independent IP addresses, simulated mobile devices constantly changing locations, and mimicked real phones. This made them hard to detect as bots and made Georgescu’s engagement metrics appear very authentic to TikTok’s algorithm.

“Anyone can buy 25,000 bots to like themselves; it’s not much different,” Popescu said. “But when you have 25,000 active accounts, following everywhere, flooding live streams from the moment they start—that’s a whole different story.”

Typically, a 10,000-follower account might have only 500 viewers during a live. But Georgescu’s live streams 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 tips; then, near the first round, liking and sharing Georgescu’s videos and memes. Given Peschir’s fame and follower count, these actions would have spread automatically. When Bogpr entered a live stream, viewers reacted as if a star had arrived. When he sent gifts like lions or the universe, his ID would appear 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 their support for Georgescu.

“Can you give 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 Georgescu flyers on the street from dawn till dusk.”

“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 speak plainly, as if accepting money to help Georgescu is obvious; Peschir’s words are 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, 14-year-old Costel Niculae, served 22 years in prison after killing someone. His TikTok features 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: “No plans to pay anyone.” He sent Niculae gifts totaling $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 election finance law Law 334/2006. In Romania, paying for votes and candidates accepting undisclosed funds are illegal. Prosecutors believe that even without explicit statements, this exchange was understood as a covert transaction.

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 checking election law was to avoid breaking it. “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 absurd.”

Cross-border financial investigations can take years, and Romanian prosecutors are known for their secrecy. That might explain why officials rarely comment publicly, only occasionally hinting that Peschir’s explanation of spending huge sums on TikTok is unbelievable. (Telecom regulator Popescu said, “Who would spend a million dollars supporting a random outsider?”) Court documents state that Peschir deliberately avoided showing money or influence transactions with Georgescu’s supporters, which prosecutors say proves he was doing exactly that. They say his TikTok tips in the half-year before the campaign started were part of a plan: to entrench people into his rapidly expanding network, creating “dependency” that could be exploited during the election, according to court filings.

Peschir claims his non-political tips simply reflect his broad interests on 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 giving money was not political.

“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 claims that about $7 million found in Peschir’s cryptocurrency accounts after his arrest “does not match his lifestyle,” implying unreported income or that TikTok tips were not his own funds.

But current charges do not specify the source of funds. Until 2023, Peschir worked at BitXatm, a Bitcoin ATM company for nearly a decade. 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 backers. Since winning the first round and then being disqualified, Georgescu 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 they had sought foreign assistance to investigate Georgescu’s campaign funding.

Romanian President Dan admitted last fall that prosecuting Peschir remains difficult. “We know how social media influence operations are carried out,” he said. “We know that some clues—whether fake accounts or paid ad agencies—point to Russia. What we don’t know is who designed the entire strategy. Likewise, we know little about the flow of funds… related to Bogdan Peschir.”

Peschir’s arrest is nearly a year old. A police source told Businessweek the case remains under investigation. He has returned home, can move freely, and has new laptops to replace those confiscated. 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 I 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 Romanian influence networks between 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 each candidate received from TikTok’s non-authentic activity,” they 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 between states that avoid overt violence, aiming to undermine the target from within. Western governments often blame Russia for such tactics—interfering in elections, sabotaging infrastructure, supporting coups—though Russia denies involvement each time.

Supporters of the government believe that the less evidence there is, the more it indicates 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 finished second behind Georgescu and was 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-oriented 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 endorsed him.

Two months after this candidate’s brief electoral victory, supporters gather outside Bucharest’s election headquarters on the day he was summoned for questioning. Photographer: Alex Nicodim / Anadolu Agency

In the May 2025 runoff, 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 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 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 for rule of law and liberalism.

During the election, TikTok, still under EU investigation, responded more actively to suspicious activity. Mircea Toma, secretary of Romania’s 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. “Before, there was hardly anyone.”

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 ideas clearly persisted. “Our society is more polarized than ever,” said Romanian journalist Victor Ilie. “Because we canceled and 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 worshiping him. These two groups no longer communicate.”

Of course, those who believe Georgescu was the true victim of election interference are 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 become a viral sensation, Peschir said it was simply because he was charismatic. “I think it’s just because people identify with his ideas,” he said. “Romanian society is deeply longing 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 head start, allowing him to reach ordinary people’s phones first. Once reached, many are genuinely persuaded. The fake campaign ultimately became real public opinion.