Bloomberg: Romanian Presidential Election Intervened by Crypto Traders

Did Romania’s “King of TikTok” Really Influence a Presidential Election?

By Simona Weinglass, Bloomberg

Compiled by Saoirse, Foresight News

In real life, Bogdan Peschir is a 36-year-old cryptocurrency trader from the fairy-tale town of Brașov in Transylvania. From his balcony, he overlooks red-roofed 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 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 across the screen. These gifts range from a few cents to hundreds of dollars, and recipients can cash them out. At this level, digital gifts are no longer just likes from strangers.

Peschir keeps tipping, and his followers approach 200,000. His ongoing spending unlocks cooler, more expensive gifts: virtual Thunder Falcons, Fire Phoenixes. By fall 2024, he reached TikTok’s top 50 level, securing his position as one of Europe’s top tippers. He also gained a rare privilege: sending animated flying Pegasus to streamers he supports. This is a 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.

Candidate Călin Georgescu nearly had a meteoric rise. Polls three weeks before the election showed him with only 1% support, not even qualifying for major TV debates. Yet he secured 22.9% of the vote in the first round, surpassing 12 other opponents. Within three days, Romania’s National Defense Council announced external interference in the election. Declassified intelligence documents accused “state actors” of meddling. Germany and the US directly pointed to Russia.

All of this was done online, mainly via TikTok. Tens of thousands of fake accounts created the illusion of Georgescu’s popularity, flooding feeds with his content. According to a French government report, the hashtag #calingeorgescu was viewed 73.2 million times in a week—an unprecedented level of engagement for a country with 19 million people, about 9 million of whom use TikTok. Prosecutors say Peschir was involved: he redirected tips to promote Georgescu’s creators and liked and commented on content supporting him. In messages to friends, he wrote: “I’m doing my best to give him more exposure.”

Two days after Georgescu won the first round of Romania’s presidential election, his victory was declared invalid—just 10 days later.
Photographer: Andrei Pungovschi / Getty Images

Prosecutors suspect these actions were crucial to Russia’s overall plan to install Georgescu, 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 claims are baseless: he simply enjoys generously tipping TikTok influencers he likes, and he happens to be a fan of Georgescu.

For Romania, which was under pro-Soviet dictatorship from 1944 to 1989, allegations 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. A new election was scheduled for May 2025, and Georgescu was barred from running.

In March 2025, Peschir’s arrest made headlines. He entered Bucharest police headquarters wearing a hat, mask, and sunglasses, reluctantly removed 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 10 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 undeclared illegal campaign funding.

Peschir strongly denies guilt. “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, along with hundreds of pages of Peschir’s text messages, and spoke with him via email. These messages offer a window into the bizarre world of social media campaigning. 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. 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 currency. In Romania, one coin is worth 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 refuses to disclose exact percentages.)

In the first few months, Peschir’s tipping to streamers seemed unrelated to the election. He responded to donation requests, such as parents of terminally ill children; he tipped young female streamers lip-syncing or silent; he also 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, a Romani hip-hop artist known as Bahoi. Prosecutors say he received $2,400 worth of gifts from Peschir. Alexe recalls that others also tipped him, but Peschir was on a different level.

Almost no 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 moves me because nothing can excite me,’” Alexe recounted. “Only giving can excite me.”

This generation of Romanians grew up amid societal upheaval. 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. But many Romanians remain behind. EU statistics show nearly 30% face poverty or social exclusion, the second-highest rate in 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 Romanian unification. They have gradually aligned with a new party called “Romanian Alliance” (AUR)—nationalist, nostalgic, critics worry it has authoritarian tendencies, with core beliefs in 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—responsible for killing 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 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 shows him riding a white horse in traditional embroidered shirt. He calls himself “son of farmers,” “soul of the nation,” and claims Romania’s current leaders are corrupt, selling out the country to foreign companies. He says he is Romania’s last hope against globalist forces trying to destroy Christianity and Romanian 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 man is sent by God. Now Romania has a chance.”

Undoubtedly, in the weeks before Romania’s 2024 election, strange events unfolded. Passwords of election officials leaked on Russian hacker forums. Romanian intelligence reports show over 85,000 cyberattacks targeting election infrastructure, seemingly from 33 countries, but the report suggests this is likely fake IP masking.

Clearly, one or more powerful forces are trying to subvert Romania’s election while covering their tracks.

According to Mediapart, a French media outlet, Romanian intelligence privately told their French counterparts they believe these attacks are coordinated by Russia. The report states Romania traced one attack back to APT29, a hacking group under Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR), also known as “Cozy Bear.”

In October 2025, President Dan finally 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. Years later, numerous Facebook groups appeared suddenly, with themes like alternative medicine, religion, recipes, with names like “Only the True God” and “Beauty of Romania.” Dan said these seemingly harmless groups aimed to test different public opinion tactics among Romania’s diverse populations.

Romanian investigations show Russian digital marketers ultimately targeted four main themes: “Romanians’ identity, nostalgia, conspiracy theories, religion, and alternative medicine narratives are most effective,” 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 is a Telegram group called Propagatorcg, where admins centrally manage Georgescu’s promotional material, distribute it to volunteers, and give 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 Georgescu-related content, 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, and constantly changed locations—making them hard to detect as bots. Their activity made Georgescu’s engagement metrics on TikTok appear very authentic.

“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 level.”

Typically, a 10,000-follower account might have 500 viewers during a live. But Georgescu’s live viewership far exceeded what his follower count would suggest. “Soon, Georgescu started appearing in everyone’s feeds, then exploded like a snowball,” Popescu said. 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 unfolded in two phases: first, he built his following through tipping on TikTok; then, as the election neared, he began liking and sharing Georgescu’s videos and memes. With Peschir’s fame and followers, these actions spread automatically. When Bogpr entered a live stream, viewers reacted as if he were a celebrity. When he sent gifts like lions or a “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 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 all day long.”

“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 text exchanges with influencers he funded, there’s a clear disconnect: they speak plainly, as if accepting money to help Georgescu is natural; Peschir’s language is much more cautious.

Bogdan Peșchir—known as Bogpr on TikTok—was escorted to the Bucharest Prosecutor’s Office.

Photographer: Cristian Nistor / Romanian News Agency

Costel Niculae, 14, who was imprisoned for 22 years after murder, runs a TikTok account sharing prison stories, singing, and life lessons full of profanity.

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 the voting campaign?” 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 worth $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 No. 334/2006. In Romania, paying for votes and candidates accepting undisclosed funds are illegal. Prosecutors believe that, even without explicit statements, such exchanges are understood tacitly.

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 searching 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’ when there’s 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. 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 suggest Peschir deliberately avoided showing money-for-influence transactions with Georgescu’s supporters, which prosecutors say proves he was doing exactly that. They say his TikTok tipping spree starting six months before the campaign was part of a plan: to entrap people into his rapidly expanding network, creating “dependency” to be exploited during the election.

Peschir claims his non-political tips are just him being broad-minded 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 he was not giving money for political reasons.

“But judges don’t listen,” Sirbu said, recalling a hearing last March. “One judge said even if (Peschir) told others not to do it, there’s subconscious suggestion for them to follow. He said he should see a psychiatrist. I started questioning whether I should get checked myself.”

The government also says that about $7 million found in Peschir’s crypto accounts doesn’t match his lifestyle, which they interpret as evidence of off-the-books income or that TikTok tips weren’t his own funds.

But current charges do not specify the source of funds. Until 2023, he 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.

Peschir’s case is part of a broader investigation into Georgescu’s backers. Since Georgescu’s initial disqualification, he has been under close scrutiny. He’s accused of glorifying the Legionary Movement (which is illegal in Romania) and, after the election results were 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 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. What we don’t know is who designed the entire strategy. Likewise, we know little about the flow of funds… related to Bogdan Peschir.”

It’s been nearly a year since Peschir’s arrest. A police source told Businessweek the case remains under investigation. He’s back home, free to move around, with a new laptop replacing the confiscated ones. He says he’s trying to recover his losses through crypto trading. “I’m a workaholic, introverted person,” he said, “living a very quiet, peaceful life. Most of the time, I stay in my office. My only free time is spent at church, with my pets, reading, or driving late at night to relax.” He added that 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 have been attempts at election manipulation but disputes Romania’s characterization of these efforts. 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 benefits for each candidate from these activities,” they said.

But Dan points to his main opponent. “We are facing information warfare from Russia against European countries,” he said in October, calling Russia’s alleged interference in Romania’s election a form of hybrid warfare.

This term refers to indirect hostile actions—such as disinformation, infrastructure disruption, and support for coups—that aim to subvert a target from within without overt violence. Western governments often blame Russia for such tactics, accusing it of election meddling, sabotage, and supporting destabilization efforts. Russia denies involvement each time.

Supporters of the government believe that the more unprovable the claims, the better the cover-up. Skeptics see it as evidence that the so-called conspiracy is just a conspiracy theory.

The unprecedented decision to annul the election upset many Romanians. Elena Lasconi, the main candidate who finished second and was expected to face Georgescu in the runoff, said the cancellation “shattered the core of democracy—the vote.” In January 2025, thousands marched in Bucharest, holding coffins labeled “Democracy.”

Initially, Romania’s decision to disqualify Georgescu seemed counterproductive. Another nationalist candidate, George Simion, announced his run. Like Georgescu, he is skeptical of the EU and NATO, and also supports Russia’s stance against Ukraine. Georgescu openly endorsed him.

Two months after this candidate’s brief electoral victory, on the day he was taken for questioning by police, his supporters gathered.
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 opponent was Dan, a mathematician and activist who has been Bucharest’s mayor since 2020. Many media outlets 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 budget balancing. Simion aims to rally Romanians into a great historical movement; Dan advocates rule of law and liberalism.

During the EU investigation, TikTok’s response to suspicious activity during the runoff was notably more proactive. Mircea Toma, secretary of Romania’s audiovisual regulatory authority, said TikTok doubled its Romanian moderation staff and worked more closely with regulators. “When we flag content, it’s removed within minutes,” Toma said. “We used to have no one.”

On voting day, May 18, Romanians again surprised. Dan defeated Simion with 53.6% to 46.4%. After the results, 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 reran 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 idolizing him. These two groups no longer communicate.”

Of course, those who believe Georgescu was the true victim of election interference say it’s all Peschir’s fault. “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 so popular, Peschir said it was simply because he was charismatic. “I think it’s because people identify with his ideas,” he said. “Romanian society is longing for change, and they see him as an outsider. He’s very good at touching on issues that truly hurt Romania.”

In a way, this is obvious. Fake accounts launched viral campaigns that gave Georgescu a huge head start, allowing him to reach ordinary people’s phones first. Once reached, many people were genuinely persuaded. Fake campaigning ultimately became real public opinion.