Kukeri are not meant to be beautiful. They are meant to be frightening. Not to people—but to the unseen. To whatever threatens balance.

When they move through villages and cities, it is not a performance. It is a cleansing.

A People in Need of Driving Out More Than Winter

In December, the streets around what Bulgarians call the Triangle of Power—the area where the government, presidency, and parliament converge in Sofia—filled with people who had simply had enough. The protests were about corruption, abuse of power, and a political system many feel has lost contact with reality.

The government fell.
But the anxiety remained.

And at the same time—almost symbolically perfect—Kukeri step forward on New Year’s Day.

As if the country itself is saying: Enough.

Masks That Reveal Rather Than Hide

There is a paradox at the heart of Kukeri. They wear masks, yet they reveal more than they conceal. They embody chaos, yet they create order. They sound like a storm, yet they carry the promise of spring.

In a country where trust in institutions has eroded, where political faces change but patterns remain, Kukeri become something more than folklore. They become a language everyone understands—regardless of education, age, or political affiliation.

Corruption cannot always be measured in numbers. But it can be felt. Just as Kukeri are felt in the body when the bells thunder through the streets.

The Euro – Hope or Threat?

As of today, the euro is the official currency. For some, it represents stability, integration, and a step toward the future. For others, it triggers fear: rising prices, loss of control, an even greater distance between people and power.

Rational debates about currency unions and macroeconomics rarely reach the kitchen table. There, emotions live—not spreadsheets.

And that is precisely why Kukeri matter.

They are neither for nor against the euro. They drive away the fear surrounding it. They remind us that people have always faced changes they did not fully understand—and yet survived them, shaped them, and sometimes even turned them to their advantage.

A Country Carrying Multiple Times at Once

Bulgaria lives in several layers of time simultaneously. One foot in the EU, one in the Balkans, one in deep history. Fiber optics coexist with clay soil, startup hubs with shepherds, digital nomads with ancient rituals.

Kukeri are proof that modernity does not require forgetting.

On the contrary, societies that know where they come from are often the ones best equipped to handle change.

When Folk Tradition Does What Politics Cannot

Politics often promises too much and delivers too little. Kukeri promise nothing—and simply do their work.

They take space. They disturb. They are impossible to ignore. Much like the people who filled the streets in December.

That may be why Kukeri feel especially charged this year. As if they carry the voice of the people when words no longer suffice. As if the bells are not only chasing away spirits, but also reminding those in power of something fundamental:

Legitimacy does not come from buildings, titles, or flags—but from people.

A Ritual That Outlives Systems

Regimes fall. Currencies change. Parties dissolve and reappear under new names. Kukeri remain.

They have seen empires rise and collapse. They survived Ottoman rule, kingdoms, communism, and transition economies. They will likely outlive today’s conflicts over the euro, the EU, and the future.

There is something profoundly comforting in that.

A New Year’s Promise Without Words

When Kukeri dance on New Year’s Day, no promises are made. No press releases. No policy platforms.

Yet the message is unmistakable:

We begin again.

We shake loose what has lingered too long. We make space. We move forward—not because we are certain, but because we must.

Maybe they drive away corruption.
Maybe they drive away fear.
Maybe they simply remind us that change always begins with movement.

And sometimes, it needs to be loud.