As Bulgaria prepares to join the euro area on 1 January 2026 as its 21st member, two parallel voices can be heard across the country: “at last, we are completing our European course” and “this will end with another wave of price increases.” The decision is taking shape amid political instability and low public trust in institutions, which means the currency itself has become a symbol of a larger dispute about the country’s direction—toward deeper integration with the West or toward a more “sovereign” path, often intertwined with hostility toward Brussels.
Supporters of the euro speak of it as the culmination of the transformation that began after 1989: after leaving the post-Soviet model behind, joining the EU in 2007, and completing full Schengen accession in 2025, adopting the euro is presented as another “anchor” of stability. In this narrative, the euro is not merely convenience for tourists or businesses, but also a political signal—strengthening Bulgaria’s pro-Western orientation and providing an additional shield against Moscow’s influence, especially in the context of Russia’s war against Ukraine.
Importantly, some economists and politicians also try to calm fears by pointing out that Bulgaria has been living “in the shadow of the euro” for years, because the lev has been tightly pegged to the European currency at a rate of 1.95583 lev per euro. That means the country has long had limited room for an independent monetary policy, and the change may be less disruptive than in states that switched from a freely floating national currency. From this perspective, the euro is more a formal confirmation of an existing order than a revolution in people’s wallets.
Opponents of the euro—and many ordinary citizens who do not necessarily identify with any party—focus on something else: the memory of “rounding up” and the small but noticeable rise in prices that, in many countries, accompanied the currency changeover, even when the statistical impact was limited. In Bulgaria, this fear is amplified by the fact that living standards still lag behind those in Western Europe, while day-to-day costs have become a politically sensitive topic. That is why protests have repeatedly returned to the idea of “defending the lev” as defending one of the last symbols of sovereignty, with slogans calling to preserve the national currency.
In the background lies a dispute over who has the right to decide “on behalf of the nation.” President Rumen Radev has signaled that a referendum should be considered, pointing to risks connected with inflation and purchasing power, while pro-European forces in parliament have rejected the idea, accusing him of fueling emotions and weakening European unity at a difficult geopolitical moment.
Hopes tied to the euro also have a very practical dimension. Supporters expect lower transaction costs, the removal of exchange-rate risk, and improved credibility in the eyes of investors. These are not just talking points: after the formal approval of Bulgaria’s entry, Fitch upgraded the country’s rating, arguing that euro area membership strengthens the framework for economic policy and improves access to financing—while also stressing that it does not erase structural weaknesses or political instability.
In many “street-level” conversations—the kind reflected in media interviews and everyday discussions—these two worlds often merge. The same person may say, “I’m afraid everything will get more expensive in shops,” and then add, “but maybe things will finally become more normal, more European, and politicians will be forced to keep to higher standards.” This is typical in countries where EU integration is simultaneously a modernization project and a cultural-political battleground over identity.
Ultimately, on 1 January 2026 the euro will enter Bulgarian wallets as a decision with weight far greater than the currency itself. For some it will be a “Western seal” and a promise of economic stability; for others, a risk of everyday price hikes and yet another sign that elites make decisions over citizens’ heads. And even if Bulgaria has technically operated for years with a currency pegged to the euro, emotionally this step is still being fought on the level of trust: trust in the state, in the market, and in the belief that the promised benefits will reach ordinary people—not only statistics and headlines.
