And there is one essential reason why I have decided to that. The project I am working on, the best television project in Romania. One that could easily compete with television projects from CNN, BBC or CBS.

No, these words aren’t exaggerated. I never exaggerate. I have only met a team of very young and talented people. Who overflow with creativity and energy when it comes to making the television show called “Premiere”. “În premieră” – the Romania translation.

When I decided to leave London and return to Romania, I did not know precisely how this project would turn out to be. I just knew two very good journalists – my favourite – would be part of it. Reason enough to give it a try. Knowing the world is a small place and London isn’t going anywhere.

And it was surely the best decision made. I packed my things in two days – 150 kilos of luggage – and flew to Romania to start it all again.

I found a second home at “Premiere”. As only doing my bit of job isn’t something that characterizes me, everyday I try to find as much as possible about things related to this show.

This is how I found out that after only three months of airing we have already made a name for ourselves, people of all age categories watch us, we already have a devoted public and the audience ratings go higher and higher by the week.

This is how I’ve started the Facebook page of the show, where we receive daily messages of congratulations. This is how we started receiving emails with new ideas for reportages at inpremiera@antena3.ro.

There are many things that excite me about this project. First of all, it is the diversity of topics and the outreach of distances. As we cover stories not only in Romania, but from around the world as well.

Secondly, it is the incredible creativity of our four cameramen, who even create their own filming devices for the sole purpose of revolutionising journalistic filming in Romania.

Thirdly, the fantastic three video editors who can’t have enough of Final Cut Pro, Photoshop and After Effects. Who continuously discover new ideas of editing a story, of “clothing” it.

I will write as often as I can and present you the latest projects we work on. Until next time, here are a few links with some of my favourite – excuse my subjectivity – reportages we have filmed so far. They are, I know, in Romania. But hopefully you’ll find a friend somewhere who speaks this language. I truly find them worth seeing. Thank you!

1) a reportage on the great Romanian sculptor, Constantin Brancusi; for this filming we also used small filming devices that we created on our own.

2) a reportage filmed in the Ural Mountains, near Siberia, where Russians who have given up on their money started a new life in the wilderness.

3) a reportage about Romanian villages which have been turned into cities, but just with the name, the rest is still typically rural.

4) a reportage about Shaun Ellis, a British man who is living with the wolves.

Pleacă dimineața cu Ea de mână, ia tramvaiul și se urcă pe scaunul din dreapta de la geam. Apoi coboară și face cațiva pași. Intră în clădirea de carton, urcă scările multe pană la dublele uși. Si se așază pe mocheta murdară cu albastru. Toarce cu animalele îmblănite și tot asteaptă.

Așteaptă să-i dea drumul, să o golească și dezgolească. Sa-i scoată măruntaiele și să le ofere drept cadou. Poartă atâta greutate. Atâta nimic in ea. Dar un nimic așa de greu încât tremură și transpiră. Ar vrea sa fie ușoară. Să scape de povară.

Dar Ea n-o lasă. O uită pe mocheta cu nimicul într-însa. Îi mai aruncă din când în când o privire fugitivă și-i spune să mai aștepte putin. Dar pană când? Până va avea curaj, răspunde Ea.

Si nimicul o macină. Un nimic cu coperte, un altul cu disc și un nimic împletit din fire de bumbac care nici măcar nu-i aparține. Zac acolo, cu un bilețel alături scris de mana ei. Cu scris învechit și cerneală albastră. Cu zet rusesc și restul romanesc.

Mereu dă. Ar da totul. Orice. Oricui. Simte că atunci când dă, când se desparte de ceva și palma se-ntinde spre altcineva, de fapt primește. Nu renunță, ci ia.

A dat nimicuri în trecut, dar tot timpul a fost atât de ușor. Acum se ridică în picioare, prinde bretelele în mână și sacoșa cu tot cu animalele-ncodite încep sa toarcă mai cu vlagă. Și spun pe limba lor, șoptind: gata, hai, că poți, curaj.

Ea stă și o privește. Se gândește, prinde curaj, se îndoiește si răzgândește. Și renunță. Nici astăzi nu va da nimicul. Nu poate. Căci nu nimicul contează. Este lipsit de valoare materială, poate suflat doar puțin în emotie. Gestul e greu. Ca niciodată de greu.

Așa că vor pleca din nou cateșitrele acasă. Sacoșa va rămâne proptită lângă ușa maro de metal și va visa încă o seară că salvarea este aproape. Peste câteva ore, va lua drumul de la capat. Până cand, nu știe nimeni.

Pe lângă verzi, sunt mari. Rotunzi și conturați. Îi foloseste mereu pe post de mijloc de comunicare. Preferă de altfel întâlnirea face-a-face, cum ne învață dicționarul că se spune, tocmai pentru a se folosi de-această armă.

Gura este absolut obișnuită. Nu frumoasă, nici urată. Situată în locul său normal, zâmbește mult. Uneori, este numai ca urmare a colțurilor trase cu forta în sus de o mască invizibilă, procustiană. De cele mai multe ori însă zâmbește din obișnuință, fara un motiv anume. Poate doar acela de a face ziua bună celor din jur.

Sau de a ascunde tristețea din spatele dinților, care bate ca-ntr-o usă de metal, încercand să se elibereze. Să urle. Să se facă auzită. Dar dinții-s prea înclestați și nu fac loc niciunei șoapte de disperare.

Gura rămâne-nchisă. Mereu. Asta au învațat generații care-au cunoscut-o; puține totusi la numar. Si care veneau să ceară un sfat, să spună un secret, să împărtășească o poveste.

Toate ramâneau secrete. Ramân în continuare. Un lacăt imaginar, puțin ruginit, dar înca rezistent, și-a pierdut de mult cheia.

Probabil o doamnă cu parul alb, îmbătrânită și așteptată oricând sa dispara, intitulată în glumă încredere, a facut-o pierdută.

O încercare a doamnei cu parul alb de a întineri. De a prelua viața ochilor verzi. De a le transmite din secretele vieții, adăpostite atâta vreme în singurătate și suflul secret pe care și-l mai trage rareori.

Dar nu toate acestea sunt importante. Deloc chiar. Se putea lipsi de nasul oricum mare și putin inestetic, de ochii verzi grăitori, dar scăldați de tristete, ori de gura absolut normala, așezată în locul său absolut normal, la distanță absolut normală de urechi…

Vai, iată cuvântul. Carnea esențială, semicercurile vieții. In ele stau importanța, greutatea poveștii. Ele ascultau si ascultau. Uneori auzeau fără s-asculte. Alteori doreau prea mult s-asculte și-n jur era o liniste asurzitoare.

Povești și oameni, călătorii și secrete, tristeți și bucurii, zâmbet, lacrima, drum, iubire, părăsit, găsit, unic, pierdut… Toate cuvintele dispăreau între ciocanel și…nicovală, pe treptele scăriței pe care Eustachio o urca purtând în mână o trompă.

Zi de zi, oameni stăteau asezați la coadă. Așteptându-și rândul ca gurile lor sa sufle secrete. Care urmau să se așeze unele peste altele în ungherele memoriei.

O bandă rulantă le transporta instantaneu într-un loc ascuns, dar atat de fragil. Caci oamenii tot veneau, iar secretele la fel.

Devenise un proces obositor. Ochii verzi doreau uneori să sufle totul, să se elibereze de greutatea informației încoltite in ungher. Dar nu putea! Cum să poată? Doamna cu părul alb aruncase cheia.

Si nici ochii verzi nu voiau să o găsească și apoi să piardă încrederea oamenilor care continuau, și continuau, și continuau…

Cuvintele deja rodeau, rupeau cu dinții, sfâșiau cu ghearele lor din mintea și sufletul ochilor verzi. Un tremur brusc îi apuca din când în când și deveneau și mai verzi văzând trecând prin fața lor toate lucrurile auzite. Pe care credeau ca nu le ascultaseră. Se înșelaseră.

Un gând și-un gând și-alt gând. O coloană infinită de forme, culori, mirosuri și zgomote, linii și curbe, nopți și zile, iubire și ura. Se așezau unele peste altele, într-un dezechilibru tot mai mare. Oricând gata să se prăvale și sfărâme.

Dar continuă. Cum altfel?

Nu am observat încă dacă are unghiile tăiate la labuțe, dar să spunem că este un detaliu lipsit de importanță.

Încă nu i-am dat un nume. Dar până maine o să-i găsesc unul potrivit. Ne-am întâlnit de câteva ori pe scările reci și mereu alunecoase din fața noii mele locuințe.

L-am salutat, probabil m-a salutat și el, și am mers mai departe. Până astazi, când mi-a demonstrat că înțelege mai mult decât oameni dragi mie. Iar asta numai dintr-o privire.

Mă aștepta la colț de stradă. Eu, pierdută în gândurile mele triste de la o vreme încoace, prinsă în capcanele deciziilor pe care le-am luat, ascultam fără s-aud și, probabil, auzeam fără s-ascult, un cântec oarecare.

Dar l-am văzut. Mi-a înflorit zâmbetul acela descris de unii drept esențial si luminos. Cel puțin așa era pe vremuri; uneori. Acum, nu mai stiu cum este.

L-am privit în ochi și el pe mine. Iar el a înțeles. Că eu sunt cea care-l saluta pe scări, când zăcea pe  ghețarii de ciment și aștepta să deschidă cineva ușa ca să mai iasă o briza caldă dinăuntrul noii mele locuințe.

Dintr-o singură privire, a înțeles că nu sunt ca ceilalți. Că mereu am luptat să ies din mulțime. Că aș merita un alt comportament din partea lui.

A înțeles că nu-i corect să mă includă în categoria largă, acolo unde i-a aruncat cu nepăsare pe cei ce i-a întalnit, întamplător sau nu, la un moment dat în viață.

A refuzat să copieze această greșeală comisă de oameni dragi mie. Si a ales să-mi dea o șansă. Sunt sigură că și el îmi împărtășeste ideea că cel mai greu e să convingi să ți se-ofere-o șansă.

S-a ridicat în lăbuțe la colț de stradă și a pornit înaintea mea ca să-mi arate drumul. Fericit, cu un zambet vizibil pe fată, se întorcea la intervale și privea în urma lui. Îl linișteam spunându-i că-l urmez. Să stea fără grijă.

În pragul scărilor reci, distante și distanțate, s-a oprit. S-a-ndreptat spre mine spunându-mi cred că am ajuns acasă. I-am mulțumit, i-am zâmbit și el mie.

Iar apoi l-am lasat singur pe cel ce-a înțeles, ca să ma îndrept spre cel nu a reușit încă, spre noua mea locuință și spre colivia deciziilor mele.

Dar nici urmă de regret. Căci cum spunea și Osho, noi suntem singurii vinovați de ceea ce ni se întamplă.

It was like one of those impossible moments when you wish you could erase parts of your memories, of your life. As if you had the chance to let go of what you do not like. Cover all the wounds and start all over again.

I guess I did that. I try to believe I tricked my brain, as the NLP techniques I wasted my time reading taught me. I told it the biggest lie ever – that I am free of some burdens that used to bring me down. That through just one click, one song, one sleep, I erased what I wanted to give up on.

Now I am brand new, fresh and shinny, smily and bright. I wonder, however, why I feel an immense tiredness, why my arms have no strength, why I drag my feet. Why I don’t manage to sleep. To relax. To slow down. To calm down. To lay down.

It must only be the effect of the erasing process. Of rending pieces of me. It will slowly disappear. But maybe not for some time. As a limb you don’t have anymore, but still feel it.

I will start blogging again. In English and Romanian. I missed my language. Now I have been offered the chance to remember it. So I’ll take advantage of it.

Belated update: The rending effect hasn’t disappeared. I still feel the missing parts.

But Wikileaks founder Julian Assange might actually be both, depending on which side of the problem we situate ourselves.

Last week, its whistle-blowing website started releasing over 200,000 cables of US embassies around the world, causing a 9 degree earthquake in international diplomacy. The purpose for the leaks was people’s right to know the information that is in the public interest, says Assange.

But there’s a difference between the two cases: while the Iraq war is over, diplomacy is a continuous process based on mutual trust between states. Now the trust is shattered and this indeed will affect the diplomatic relationships of many states.

And in the end, diplomacy is a secret area, a land of negotiations and compromise, of “you give me this and I give you that”, of smiling to everyone and keeping the appearances. So the leaked “deals” between states do not surprise me at all. But the consequences of publishing such secret information as the ones contained by the cables can cause a lot of damage to the already unstable political landscape.

Still I think that in a world where the media seems to gradually estrange itself from the its role as the state’s fourth power, where the laws tend to gradually limit the freedom of either print or broadcast media organisations, a website present in a medium not affected by censorship is probably the only way of making secret information public.

Kenya, or when it made a difference

So Wikileaks is probably making history by casting light onto the secrets of the world’s superpowers, be it US or the already announced to be in focus, Russia and China.

But despite the possible dangerous repercussions the leaks might have, I want to present two cases in which freedom of information equaled leaks equaled important change.

As Julian Assange says during a TED conference in July 2010, Wikileaks’ information on Kenya’s Kroll report shifted the outcome of presidential elections in the country.

To put it in a nutshell, Daniel Arap Moi was Kenya’s president for a total of 24 years, until Mwai Kibaki came to power in 2003, playing his card against Moi’s corruption activities.

Kibabi ordered a report into the former regime, which shed light into the high levels of corruptions in the country during Moi’s mandate. However, Kibabi soon decided to team up with the former leader and hide the result of the report, confident that Moi’s endorsement could ensure his election.

Three days before the December 2004 elections in Kenya, the Kroll report was leaked and it was soon covered by all the African media. According to Assange, Kenyan television reports stated that the leaks shifted the outcome of the vote by 10 percent.

Iceland and the way to a free press

Another example that Assange mentions regards Iceland, a country that struggled with a serious economic crisis in 2009.

Wikileaks had an important role when a national TV channel was blocked from revealing a list of creditors related to the country’s banking system. Instead, the broadcaster showed the website of Wikileaks for the amount of time the story was aired.

This brought a huge fame of the website in Iceland, where it was invited to help the MPs launch the Icelandic Modern Media Initiative, whose goal is to turn the country into a global haven for investigative journalism. In June this year, the proposal was voted unanimously by the Parliament.

And probably that’s what all countries should do: promote freedom of information, ensure a safe environment for journalists to commit to their work. But maybe this only happens in countries that don’t have much to hide.

And the very small number of states that support real investigative journalism is something to be worried about.

One last thought…the accusations

I somehow feel like in a silly typical Romanian trial, where a person is accused just for the fun of it.

It is so obvious that the only reason for the rape and sexual harassment accusations are to shut his mouth, that reading stories about it seems to me a waste of time and a serious threat to my intelligence.

What I disagree with is the way he responded to the accusations: refusing to talk about them, walking out of interviews whenever he was asked about the trial. And his denial to say a word about it is why journalists keep pushing.

I was thrilled that an investigation I did on my own, wandering the streets of Bucharest from sun rise till midnight, carrying so much luggage that I had bruises all over my body, was also covered by the BBC.

I have never talked about this experience, the most difficult, challenging and beautiful in my life so far, so I will dedicate my next blog post to it.

And what thrills me the most is that, although I am not a BBC foreign correspondent, but a very young journalist who knew no one in Romania and had never done investigative journalism there, I did it all on my own. Despite everybody’s warnings that I will not make it.

The story of my multimedia project Deadly cure, tomorrow’s blog post.

Apart from learning new programmes, I first of all learned about myself. I learned the body has no limit as long as I do something with pleasure. That yes, I can do anything I want, despite my fears and now forgotten hatred for online. That people are not born with certain categories of skills. Instead, they can develop any in time, by working hard and enjoying every step.

I failed at the beginning, as I always do. Every time, the starting point is difficult. It’s just afterwards that I raise and move on successfully.

After two failed ideas for a website, me and my team reached a third. Moving from general to specific and then to even more specific: the identities of ethnic minorities in the UK and the problems they face in trying to keep them.

Then, there was the name. from Londoning we got to In between and finally to Roots. Big was our surprise when we heard that Roots is a famous novel and film about African people moving to the USA and their struggle to keep their identity. So the perfect name, accompanied by a clarifying tag line: exploring identities.

Four weeks of web design followed. In which I tried to put on pages everybody’s efforts to match every line, to place correctly every box, to find the appropriate colour. For four weeks, I heard yes and no’s, dozens of ideas and tried to put them on pages.

Hundreds of attempts, few hours of sleep and even those visited by dreams of websites and boxes on web pages. Long hours of not standing up from a chair, a complete nightmare to my poor ill legs, and of gluing my eyes to the computer until it hurt.

The website is up in the sky now, at http://rootsidentities.co.uk/. And it’s not over, as the adventure continues with content being put on it weekly. Too bad however that when I look back at so much hard work and then I look at the website, I am just satisfied. Not happy, not thrilled, not excited. As I know it could have always been better than that.

Now, when I look in front of me, everything is blury. My habit of sleeping with the hens – an expression we use in Romanian to refer to someone who goes to bed early – is forever gone. Too tired to fall asleep now, I think of stories to write.

And how I miss designing a website… An experience, fortunately, soon to be lived again.

She took some threads of raffia and threw them in the tree, another type of tinsel. Just this time it was brown and so thin, almost invisible.

She went on to the coloured pieces of paper on which her friend drew different patterns and cut them. Red stars, blue pigeons, green angels, coloured pasta in shape of bulbs and orange peels.

Then she took a needle with white or black thread and stung the angels, stars and pigeons. The first and third in their wings, the second in a corner. Hope it wasn’t too painful, she can be so merciless sometimes… She then made a knot on each and placed them in the Christmas tree.

She made a wish when she hung an angel, like she used to at home. And because she is a good girl, she was allowed to make two wishes and hang two angels. It was the most beautiful Christmas tree she had ever made and was hoping Santa would like it too. So much effort that she must have received some presents.

But she is so selfish and a liar. She didn’t make it all on her own, but with her three good friends. She’s always like that, talking just about herself, when, in fact, the others were much more hardworking.

Johnny Krcmar knew Romania quite well, as he visited it frequently since 1978 and already had numerous contacts among journalists from the Romanian news agency Agerpress and among the official bodies. One month before the revolution, he had participated in the Congres of the Communist Romanian Party, where Nicolae and Elena Ceauşescu “were celebrated as the eight wonder of the world”, says now Krcmar.

The moment he found out about the attempt to evacuate the Hungarian bishop Lazlo Tokes in Timişoara, the journalist left for Romania. He tried in vain various times to enter the country, but the borders were closed. Firtly, he tried to get there by train, then three times by car, but couldn’t make it. He finally got to Bucharest on the 22nd of December, by a cargo that transported medicines. Johnny Krcmar would stay in Romania until the 16th of January 1990.

In the capital, on his way to the city center, the journalist was stopped various times and checked by armed revolutionaries. Some of these were holding the Romanian flag with the central Communist sign taken off. From far away, he could hear the shooting. When he got to the Intercontinental hotel, in the centre of Bucharest, where most of the shootings took place, he wasn’t allowed to enter “because Securitatea (the secret police) was in the building, shooting in the direction of the nearby Central Committee”. This was the headquarters of the Communist Party.

The journalist was surprised to see on the 23rd of December people walking on the street, most of them holding children in their hands. “It gave the impression of more of sightseeing on a public holiday, rather than a revolution. Occasionally there was gunfire but seemed to be more for effect rather than for real”, says Krcmar.

And this relaxed mood of Romanians most impressed the journalist. “In my previous visit to Romania, just one month before, nobody would even dare look at obviously western foreigners, let alone talk to them. People were no longer afraid of speaking, there was a general euphoria that the worst was over. But there was something new: many began to fear of what the future would bring”, says the journalist. He adds that he didn’t know how to react towards those “who only recently had shamelessly uttered the most blatant propaganda and who suddenly had become the most fervent revolutionaries”.                     

 „It definitely was a coup d’état”

Johnny Krcmar was one of the first journalists to find about the death of the Ceauşescu couple, on Christmas morning. He was told by an officer who refused to reveal his identity and who is supposed to have witnessed the execution.

The information was confirmed at night, when the public TV service aired a video with the trial and the execution. “This was on one hand greeted with joy by many, but also with scepticism over the trial and hurried way the two had been killed”, says the journalist.

Krcmar doesn’t believe it was a real revolution, but a show directed and too well organized. „It definitely was a coup d’état”, organized by the „second echelon nomenclature”, thinks the Reuters correspondent.

 „The Governments had given way to the mafia and tolerated mass corruption”

The journalist left Romania in January 1990, after visiting various cities, like Timişoara, Craiova, Oradea, to cover the days following the revolution. He came back later to cover the first democratic presidential elections in the country, on the 20th of May.

However, after his latest visit, in 2000, he left Romania very disappointed, saying that, although things have changed in good for a part of the middle class, the post revolutionary Governments “failed to fulfil their promises of improving the life of normal people and had given way to the mafia and tolerated mass corruption”. In Romania, the long waited for changes never came.

Rou(mour)mania and the terrorists in the pipelines

Douglas Hamilton. Courtesy of Douglas Hamilton

Douglas Hamilton was correspondent for Reuters in Berlin, when the ticker machine rang 6 bells, signalling a top priority bulletin. Nicolae Ceausescu was booed by the crowd in Bucharest

Although the journalist got to Romania only after the 26th of December, he remembers writing about the previous days, caracterised by chaos and paranoia. For instance, because of the rumours saying that Libyan terrorists invaded the country to help Securitatea put Ceauşescu back in power and that they were getting around Bucharest through the sewage drains, popping up and shooting at people. “They were hopeful and fearful. There was a lot of suspicion”, says Hamilton.

Days after the revolution, Romanians were still frightened Securitatea could launch a counter coup at any moment.

 „It started as a revolution, but it turned into a coup d’état”

At the beginning, says Douglas Hamilton, it seemed to be a revolution of the people, but things were very different than in other Eastern European countries. This time, everything seemed to be directed and organized. To support this idea, the journalist mentions the fake information about the massacre in Timişoara or the number of the dead people around the country.

 “Maybe it started as a revolution, but it quickly turned into a coup d’état, after Communists like Iliescu were in charge”, thinks the journalist.

He came back to Romania various times after the revolution. His first visit was during the Jiu Valley miners’ revolt. “The legacy of 40 years of Stalinist dictatorship and isolation” were still evident. There was a lot of paranoia, suspicion and “cruelty revenge” at the thought that “crypto communists like Iliescu had stolen the revolution”, says Hamilton.

The Reuters correspondent says he is very disappointed by Romania’s progress after the revolution. “Romania was much slower to take on democracy than other Soviet bloc states. I didn’t like to see abandoned kids sniffing glue at the railway station. Nobody cared a damn for them”, remembers Douglas Hamilton. He would characterize the first post communist years of Romania as very “selfish”.