In the summer of 1959, Bucharest was shaken by an incredible story that seemed ripped from a Western crime thriller rather than the bleak reality of communist Romania. In an era when any form of rebellion was punished with years in prison and the state’s control over citizens’ lives was absolute, six educated individuals — intellectuals, officers, engineers, journalists, and university professors — managed to commit the largest robbery in the history of communist Romania.

An Unprecedented Robbery in a Cashless State

The case, later known as “The Ioanid Affair,” became legendary not only because of the sum stolen but also because of the mystery that still surrounds it.

Was it an act of defiance against the regime? A setup orchestrated by the Securitate? Or a desperate attempt to challenge a totalitarian system? No one has ever been able to say for sure.

The Heist on Calea Giulești

It all happened on a Wednesday morning, July 29, 1959. A Skoda Station car belonging to the State Bank of the People’s Republic of Romania (RPR) was transporting two bags containing the impressive sum of 1,686,000 lei — the equivalent of more than $250,000 at the time, or about $2.64 million today, adjusted for inflation.

While the car was parked in front of the State Bank’s Sector 8 branch on Calea Giulești, a Moskvich taxi stopped nearby. From it emerged four men and a woman, all masked and armed. Within seconds, they immobilized the driver, seized the money bags, and disappeared. 

The robbery unfolded in broad daylight, under the eyes of startled passersby — but in an age when fear paralyzed any reaction.

It was an unprecedented event in communist Romania, a country where the very idea of a crime against the state was unimaginable. What followed was an unparalleled manhunt.

The Almost Perfect Plan and the Fatal Mistake

According to later investigations, the perpetrators were Alexandru and Paul Ioanid, Igor and Monica Sevianu, Sașa Mușat, and Haralambie Obedeanu. After the heist, the five who were directly involved drove out of the city and stopped in an open field to divide the loot.

Fate intervened when a child happened to see them. Startled by the possibility of being discovered, the thieves abandoned part of the money — 138,000 lei — and fled. The child immediately alerted the authorities, providing descriptions that would later prove crucial in identifying the suspects.

A few hours later, the police discovered the abandoned Moskvich taxi on a Bucharest street, with another 213,000 lei inside. The rest of the money was taken to Igor Sevianu’s house, where it was divided among the participants.

An Investigation Ruled by Fear

News of the heist spread quickly, and the authorities went into full alert. It was the first time in the communist regime’s history that such a brazen act of defiance had occurred. Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, Romania’s top leader, personally ordered that daily reports be made on the investigation’s progress, and Soviet advisors from Moscow were brought in to assist.

For nearly three months, the Militia and Securitate interrogated thousands of people, searched hundreds of homes, and issued dozens of composite sketches. Finally, on December 18, 1959, the authorities announced the capture of the suspects and the recovery of the entire stolen sum.

Who Were the “Bandits” of the Ioanid Affair?

The revelation shocked everyone. The culprits were not common criminals but members of the communist elite — respected figures with prestigious positions and high education.

·       Alexandru Ioanid – Lieutenant Colonel in the Militia, former head of the Criminalistics Department, and brother-in-law of Interior Minister Alexandru Drăghici.

·       Paul Ioanid – Alexandru’s brother, engineer, university professor, PhD graduate in Moscow, and Communist Party member.

·       Igor Sevianu – Aeronautical engineer, former lieutenant in the Militia.

·       Monica Sevianu – Igor’s wife, journalist at Radio Romania.

·       Sașa Mușat – University professor of history.

·       Haralambie Obedeanu – Former Interior Ministry officer, journalist at Scânteia, and dean at the Faculty of Journalism within the “Ștefan Gheorghiu” Academy.

All six were of Jewish origin, active in the pre-war communist movement, and rewarded after 1948 with privileged positions in the new regime. That such individuals would organize a robbery against the state seemed absurd even to the investigators themselves.

Interrogations, Pressure, and “The Reconstruction”

From September 18 to November 1959, the suspects were subjected to brutal interrogations. Eventually, they all “confessed” — though it remains unclear whether these admissions were genuine or extracted under torture.

To transform the case into a propaganda lesson, the authorities conceived an unprecedented maneuver: the defendants were forced to play their own roles in a propaganda film, titled “The Reconstruction”. The script depicted the robbery in detail but altered key facts to conceal the protagonists’ political ties. They were portrayed as individuals corrupted by greed and the “decadent Western lifestyle.”

The film was never released to the general public. It was shown only to high-ranking Communist Party officials and select journalists, as an example of “the state’s vigilance.”

The Executions at Valea Piersicilor

After a short trial, the verdicts were announced: five of the accused — Alexandru and Paul Ioanid, Igor Sevianu, Sașa Mușat, and Haralambie Obedeanu — were sentenced to death, while Monica Sevianu received life imprisonment.

The executions took place at Valea Piersicilor, on February 18, 1960. The only survivor, Monica Sevianu, was pardoned in 1964 following a general amnesty and later emigrated to Israel, where she died in 1977.

A Story Full of Contradictions

Over the years, the “Ioanid Affair” has been reinterpreted by historians, former Securitate officers, and journalists. Many questions remain unanswered.

How could loyal members of the communist elite suddenly turn into criminals? What did they hope to achieve by stealing money in a regime where personal wealth was tightly controlled and any financial irregularity was punishable by prison?

The official investigation concluded that the money was intended for “the Zionist movement,” to aid Jews seeking to emigrate. Yet this explanation seems dubious, especially given the latent antisemitism within the communist establishment of the time.

Another theory, often cited by historians, suggests that the robbery was staged by the Securitate itself. According to this version, the suspects were chosen precisely because they had become inconvenient. 

Alexandru Ioanid was reportedly in conflict with his brother-in-law, Interior Minister Alexandru Drăghici, after expressing his desire to divorce Drăghici’s sister. Drăghici allegedly threatened to “destroy” him, and the heist provided the perfect pretext.

Other sources claim that the six had become too independent or critical of the regime, and were deliberately involved in a controlled operation meant to discredit and eliminate them.

The Legacy of a Mystery and a Bitter Ending

During the 1970s and 1980s, information about the Ioanid Affair was strictly censored. Only after the 1989 Revolution were journalists and researchers able to access some of the Securitate archives, discovering fragments of interrogation transcripts and internal reports. Even so, many files remain missing or classified.

Today, historians view the Ioanid case as a complex mix of tragedy, political manipulation, and propaganda experiment. The robbery was real, but its circumstances were distorted to serve the regime’s narrative. The film “The Reconstruction” became an instrument of control, designed to discourage any act of defiance against the Party.

The Ioanid Affair remains, to this day, the largest heist in the history of communist Romania — not just because of the stolen amount, but because of its symbolic meaning. It exposed the cracks in a regime that claimed to be infallible and revealed that, beneath the mask of ideological conformity, there were still people who dreamed of freedom — even if they paid for it with their lives.

For some, the six were victims of an oppressive system. For others, they were reckless adventurers. What is certain is that, more than six decades after that morning of July 29, 1959, the Ioanid Affair continues to fascinate, disturb, and raise the same haunting question: who truly orchestrated the heist — and why?

Perhaps the full truth will never be known. But its legend endures as a crucial page in the secret history of communist Romania — a story of courage, betrayal, manipulation, and mystery, written in an era when truth itself was a crime.

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