A Romanian Presidential Election Influenced by Crypto Traders

Original author: Simona Weinglass, Bloomberg

Original compilation: Saoirse, Foresight News

In the real world, Bogdan Peschir is a 36-year-old cryptocurrency trader from the fairytale-like city of Brașov in Transylvania. From his balcony, he can see red-roofed houses, Gothic churches, and the changing seasons on Mount Tâmpa. On TikTok, however, he is Bogpr, the biggest "tipping boss" on the Romanian platform.

Peschir particularly enjoys spending money on streamers. If you are live-streaming on TikTok and do something that catches his attention and earns his approval—like jumping into a canal or doing a backflip—he might watch and send you 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 scale, digital gifts are far more than just likes from strangers.

Peschir tipped relentlessly, and his follower count approached 200,000. His continuous spending unlocked increasingly flashy and expensive gifts: like virtual Thunder Falcons and Fire Phoenixes. In the fall of 2024, he reached TikTok's highest level, 50, cementing his position as one of Europe's top tippers. He also earned a rare privilege: the ability to send soaring animated Pegasus gifts to streamers he endorsed. It's a peculiar kind of fame, but Romanian prosecutors say this influence is potent. They arrested Peschir, accusing him of using his money and clout to help a maverick far-right candidate win the first round of Romania's November 2024 presidential election.

The candidate, Călin Georgescu, came from almost nowhere. Polls three weeks before the election showed him with just 1% support, not even qualifying for the main national TV debates. Yet he secured 22.9% of the vote in the first round, beating 12 other contenders. Within three days, Romania's Supreme Council of National Defense declared the election had been subject to external interference. Authorities declassified five partially redacted intelligence documents alleging interference by a "state actor." Germany and the United States pointed the finger directly at Russia.

The entire operation was conducted online, primarily via TikTok. Tens of thousands of fake accounts created the illusion of a Georgescu craze, pushing him into everyone's feed. According to a French government report, the hashtag #calingeorgescu was viewed 73.2 million times on TikTok in seven days—an unprecedented level of engagement for a country of 19 million people, with about 9 million TikTok users. Prosecutors allege Peschir was part of this: he directed his tipping towards creators promoting Georgescu and liked and commented on content supporting the candidate. In a text to an acquaintance, he wrote: "I'm doing everything I can here to give him exposure."

Cǎlin Georgescu two days after winning the first round of Romania's presidential election, 10 days before his victory was annulled. Photographer: Andrei Pungovschi / Getty Images

Prosecutors suspect these actions were crucial, possibly coordinated, to Russia's overall plan to install Georgescu. They claim Peschir's role in boosting Georgescu's support was "decisive." Nicușor Dan, who was elected president after Georgescu's disqualification, has publicly criticized Peschir by name. However, Peschir has not been formally charged. He says the government's claims are nonsense: he simply enjoys generously tipping TikTok influencers with money he earned independently, and he happens to be a fan of Călin Georgescu.

For Romania, which was under a pro-Soviet dictatorship from 1944 to 1989, allegations of Kremlin election meddling are particularly sensitive. The Romanian authorities' forceful response is rare for such incidents. In December 2024, Romania's Constitutional Court annulled the election results, citing violations of electoral law: the "non-transparent use" of digital technology and AI, and Georgescu's failure to declare his campaign funding sources. The court ordered a new election for May 2025 and barred Georgescu from running.

Peschir's arrest in March 2025 caused a sensation. He walked into Bucharest police headquarters wearing a hat, mask, and sunglasses, reluctantly removing them for TV cameras to reveal a sharp haircut and gaunt, angular face. Prosecutors cited charges including "bribing voters by electronic means" and requested his detention while charges were finalized. He was released about a month later. Since then, a police drone has hovered outside his balcony for months, and every new laptop he buys is confiscated.

Prosecutors allege that in the 10 months leading up to the election, Peschir spent nearly $900,000 on TikTok gifts, tipping over 250 Romanian influencers. In the final 31 days, he sent gifts worth $381,000 to accounts supporting Georgescu. The government calls this undeclared, illegal campaign donations.

Peschir vehemently denies any wrongdoing. "The government has not presented a single piece of evidence," he wrote in an email to Bloomberg Businessweek. "This is a completely fabricated story to justify canceling the election." He denies being directed by Moscow, saying, "No one can command me except God, and I haven't taken a single cent from anyone for years."

Police say the investigation is ongoing. Businessweek has reviewed Romanian intelligence reports, hundreds of pages of Peschir's text messages, and communicated with him via email and conversation. The texts, in particular, offer a window into the bizarre world of social media electioneering. This reclusive man has unexpectedly become the poster child for what may be one of the 21st century's most successful Russian election interference operations.

Bogpr has been active on TikTok since at least 2023 but gained real fame in March 2024—eight months before the election—when he sent tens of thousands of dollars worth of gifts to Romanian singer Nicolae Guță. According to Peschir, this earned him the nickname "King of TikTok" in his country.

TikTok's economic model revolves around virtual coins purchased within the platform. In Romania, a coin is slightly over 1 US cent. Peschir could spend 1 coin for a virtual rose, 30,000 coins for a lion, or 44,999 coins for a "Universe." (It's unknown if he ever bought the 42,999-coin Pegasus gift.) Recipients can exchange gifts for virtual diamonds, which they can then cash out for real money—about half of what the tipper spent, with the other half going to TikTok as commission. (The company declined to specify the exact commission rate.)

For the first few months, Peschir's tipping to streamers seemed largely unrelated to the election. He responded to donation pleas, like from parents of terminally ill children; he tipped young female streamers lip-syncing silently; he sent gifts to people simply filming themselves driving or chopping wood.

"I would go live, wear a skirt, role-play as an NPC—a non-player character in a game—to get his attention," said Roma hip-hop artist Gheorghe-Daniel Alexe (online alias Bahoi). Prosecutors allege he received a total of $2,400 in gifts from Peschir. Alexe says others tipped too, but Peschir was on another level.

Few TikTok creators knew Peschir's real name or face. Alexe recalls he rarely revealed personal details, only saying he believed in God and found his greatest joy in giving money. "He said, 'I have too much money, nothing moves me because nothing stimulates me,'" Alexe recounted. "'Only giving stimulates me.'"

Peschir's generation grew up during a period of intense social transformation. In 1989, the Ceaușescu regime collapsed along with the Iron Curtain, ending the communist dictatorship that took root after WWII during Soviet occupation. Romania opened to the West, joining NATO in 2004 and the EU in 2007. In subsequent years, Romania's economy boomed, transforming from a country known for its orphans into Eastern Europe's second-largest economy after Poland. Today, Bucharest, like many European capitals, has street performers, boutique cafes, and co-working spaces. But many Romanians have been left behind. Nearly 30% are at risk of poverty or social exclusion, the second-highest rate in the EU, according to EU statistics.

Romania's far-right emerged online in the early 2010s. These groups included extreme football fans, hip-hop enthusiasts, anti-LGBTQ activists, and proponents of Greater Romania, says Oana Popescu-Zamfir, director of the Bucharest think tank GlobalFocus Centre. They gradually coalesced around a new party called the Alliance for the Union of Romanians (AUR)—nationalist, nostalgic, and, critics fear, authoritarian-leaning, with a core message embracing tradition and Christianity.

Georgescu, a former AUR member, shares a similar worldview with his own flair. He calls Ukraine a "fictional state," refers to leaders of the interwar far-right, anti-Semitic, and murderous Iron Guard as "heroes" who "united tens of thousands with one goal, one belief, national identity, and the pure unity of Romanians." He also predicts future human telepathic communication and has claimed to have seen aliens. (Georgescu did not respond to requests for comment.)

In mainstream political circles, Georgescu was seen as an eccentric. But on TikTok, his image was different. In one video, he swims in a frozen lake, showcasing muscular shoulders; in another, he rides a white horse in a traditional embroidered shirt. He calls himself a "farmer's son" and the "soul of the nation," declaring Romania's current leadership corrupt and selling the country to foreign companies. He presents himself as the nation's last hope against globalist forces seeking to destroy Christianity and Romania's unique identity. Georgescu's ideology, broadly termed "sovereigntism," pits ordinary people against elites, nation-states against the EU and NATO, and tradition against progressivism.

This rhetoric deeply resonated with Peschir. He wrote in a text: "I feel this man was sent by God. Now we Romanians have a chance."

Undoubtedly, strange things happened in the weeks before Romania's November 2024 election. Passwords of Romanian electoral agency employees were leaked, appearing on Russian hacker forums. Romanian intelligence reports indicate over 85,000 cyberattacks targeted election infrastructure, seemingly originating from 33 countries, but the report suggests this was likely a smokescreen created by IP spoofing.

Clearly, one or more powerful actors sought to subvert Romania's election while trying to cover their tracks.

According to French outlet Mediapart, Romanian intelligence privately informed French counterparts they believe the attacks were coordinated by Russia. The report states Romania traced one attack to the hacker group APT29 (aka "Cozy Bear"), linked to Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR).

In October 2025, President Dan finally stated publicly that the government had traced all interference, including Georgescu's runaway social media campaign, back to Russia. On October 2, Dan presented Romania's interim investigation findings to European leaders in Copenhagen.

The president said Russia's operation began as early as 2019, when a Russian company started social profiling Romanians. Years later, a flood of Romanian Facebook groups suddenly appeared, focused on topics like alternative medicine, religion, and recipes, with names like "Only the True God" and "The Beauty of Romania." Dan said these seemingly harmless groups aimed to test different narratives on different segments of the Romanian population.

Romania's investigation shows Russian digital marketers eventually zeroed in on four major themes: "Romanians were most receptive to narratives about identity, nostalgia, conspiracy theories, religion, and alternative medicine," Romanian Prosecutor General Alex Florenta said at a press conference two weeks before Dan's Copenhagen trip.

For example, many groups featured what appeared to be AI-generated Romanians claiming they weren't ashamed of living in the countryside; others were simple Romanians often losing loved ones but still celebrating birthdays.

As the 2024 election neared, many such groups began posting pro-Georgescu content alongside recipes, inspirational quotes, and touching stories of ordinary people. Simultaneously, a deluge of videos and images flooded TikTok. Romanian authorities say one primary source was a Telegram group called Propagatorcg, where administrators centrally managed Georgescu promotional materials, distributing them to volunteers with detailed instructions on hashtags, video editing, and memes to trick TikTok's algorithm into treating them as original content.

Then, just as hundreds of influencers posted Georgescu-related content, the third part of the campaign launched: bot accounts. Two weeks before the vote, 25,000 previously dormant TikTok accounts suddenly became active, massively engaging with pro-Georgescu content. Pavel Popescu, vice president of Romania's telecom regulator Ancom, said these accounts had unique IP addresses, simulating mobile devices constantly switching locations, just like real phones. This made them hard to identify as bots and made Georgescu's engagement metrics appear exceptionally authentic to TikTok's algorithm.

"Anyone can buy 25,000 bots to like their own posts, it doesn't make much difference," Popescu said. "But when you have 25,000 active accounts following you everywhere, flooding your live streams the moment you go live, that's completely different."

Typically, a stream by an account with 10,000 followers might have 500 concurrent viewers. But Georgescu's live streams had far more viewers than his follower count would suggest. "Soon, Georgescu was in everyone's feed, and then it snowballed," Popescu said. Shortly after the bots appeared, Georgescu became the ninth most popular global trend on TikTok.

When Peschir was arrested, prosecutors alleged his support for Georgescu occurred in two phases: in the preceding months, he built his TikTok popularity and follower base through tipping; as the first round neared, he began liking and sharing Georgescu's videos and memes. Given Peschir's fame and follower count, this content automatically spread. When Bogpr entered a live stream, users got excited as if seeing a celebrity. When he sent big gifts like lions or Universes, his ID would appear on screen with the animation, and streamers often interrupted their broadcast to thank him by name. His reputation for generosity spread, and many who contacted him mentioned his support for Georgescu.

"Can you give me some money? I'll do anything," TikTok user Cristian Gunie, recently released from prison, texted Peschir a week before the election. "I can hand out Mr. Georgescu's flyers on the street, from morning till night."

"Hello, if you livestream doing this, I will support you in the stream," Peschir replied. He only sent him one gift: an airplane worth $48.88.

In many text exchanges between Peschir and the influencers he funded, a clear disconnect exists: the influencers spoke bluntly, as if being paid to campaign for Georgescu was a given; Peschir's wording was far more cautious.

Bogdan Peșchir—known to his 200,000 TikTok followers as Bogpr—being escorted to the headquarters of the Bucharest General Prosecutor's Office. Photographer: Cristian Nistor / Romanian National News Agency Photo

Costel Niculae, online alias Costelusclejeanioficial10, served 22 years in prison after killing someone at age 14. His TikTok content features prison stories, singing, and profanity-laced life reflections.

Six days before the election, Niculae messaged Peschir, saying he hadn't heard from him in days. "Aren't you going to involve me in the voting campaign?" he wrote. "I can gather many people in my community here, with video proof."

"I am not 'involving' anyone in anything," Peschir replied. "I am just telling people what I think is good for the country. I am not paying anyone to do things."

Niculae was confused: "I don't understand. Why are you leaving me aside? What did I do wrong?"

"I'm not leaving you aside," Peschir answered. "Just do what you think is right." After a few more exchanges, Peschir reiterated: "There is no plan involving payment." In total, he sent Niculae gifts worth $4,207.37.

If Peschir's texts sound like someone who looked up election law, it's because he did: police found search history on his computer for "electoral bribery" and Romania's electoral finance law, Law 334/2006. In Romania, it's illegal to buy votes or for candidates to accept undeclared financial support. Prosecutors argue that even if unstated, this quid pro quo was implicit.

Peschir declined to discuss the texts, citing potential relevance to upcoming court proceedings. But he says he genuinely liked Georgescu and wanted him to win, and his election law searches were precisely to avoid breaking the law. "This accusation is like something out of an Orwell novel—a police state charging you with the 'thoughtcrime' of having contrary evidence," Peschir wrote in an email. "It's absurd."

Cross-border financial investigations can take years, and Romanian prosecutors are notoriously secretive. This may explain why prosecutors and officials have rarely spoken publicly, only occasionally hinting that Peschir's explanation for his lavish TikTok spending is implausible. (As telecom regulator Popescu put it: "Who spends $1 million of their own money to support someone who came out of nowhere?") In filings, prosecutors argue that Peschir's careful avoidance of appearing to exchange money for Georgescu support precisely proves he was doing so. They claim his TikTok tipping more than half a year before the campaign season was all part of the plan: he was drawing people into his rapidly expanding network, creating, in the court documents' words, "a state of dependency to be exploited during the electoral campaign."

Peschir says his non-political tipping simply reflects his broad interests on TikTok. His lawyer, Cristian Sirbu, says his