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March 2016 – Romania Without Dracula

Month: March 2016

  • Interview – Franco Aloisio

    Interview – Franco Aloisio

    Franco Aloisio arrived in Bucharest at the beginning of the 2000s, he was supposed to stay just for four months as an external advisor for an NGO.  Fundatia Parada had been founded in 1996  by Miloud Oukili, a French-Algerian clown engaged in rescuing street children with the help of circus arts. Things went on differently and Franco wound up settling down in Bucharest and taking over from his friend Miloud the guidance of Parada . Today not only is Aloisio President of Fundatia Parada and  Serviciul Apel – another NGO helping marginalized youth to access the work market -, but also sits as chairman of CIAO,  the umbrella organization reuniting the thousands of Italian NGOs operating all over Romania.

    How many and who are the children and the young population still living in the streets of Bucharest?

    Talking about figures, compared to ten years ago, their number has considerably decreased: from about 5,000 at the beginning of the 2000s they have shrunk to some 1,200. Yet they are still too many. At the beginnings of the 2000s you could breath enthusiasm and a new air of opportunity in Bucharest. That optimism faded when Romania entered into Europe in 2006: the focus shifted on economic targets while the social issues seemed to be under control. In fact, the 2008 world crisis took us all unprepared and new social conflicts emerged. The restrictive measures taken by the Emil Bloc governments – public salaries  cut by 25% and  TVA increased up to 24% – caused many vulnerable families to shift below the poverty line and get some of them to become homeless. So they got to share the destiny of the first generation of street children who by then had become parents of a second generation of street children. All along, other children and adolescents have been arriving to Bucharest from the poorest provinces of the country, escaped from difficult family situations or from local orphanages, undetected by social protection filters.

    Can you sketch an identikit for these kids?

    They usually come from very poor family background. When I say poor I do not necessarily mean economically. More often it is a poverty in human relations where alcoholism, physical violence, forms of abuse are involved. Surely enough, economic poverty cannot but throw oil on the fire.

    How much of the street children phenomenon can be seen as a consequence of Ceausescu’s demographic policy?

    Almost zero connection to that. The problem erupted in the aftermath of December ’89. The collapse of the communist society provoked a total disorientation in the established social order while all the 90s were characterized by a general power vacuum and total incapacity if not disinterest in tackling the insurgent problem. In Ceausescu’s time street children simply could not exist, if only for a matter of social control. Children from poor families were grown in state institutions, if according to selective criteria.

    At that time there existed different types of orphanages.  Surely enough, children with handicap and physical problems were marginalized, the consequence of which are still detectable today. Nevertheless, we cannot blame Ceausescu for the recent scandals involving orphanages and lager-style public institutions maltreating children as of 2016: rather, that is an alibi covering a deeper mentality issue still affecting today’s society. The same applies for the AIDS spreading phenomenon:  today we cannot blame Ceausescu for that, as HIV-positives are mostly less than 26-year-old. In general terms, Ceausescu is still often blamed in a way to raise any responsibility from the current political system.

    What is affecting these children’s lives most now, compared to ten years ago?

    Indifference is what affects them most now. The alarming aspect is that now in Romania street children are no longer perceived as a social emergency at all. To the point that many people consider it a problem belonging to the past. More likely, over the last twenty-six  years people have got used to these children’s ghostly presence. They are seen sniffing their aurolac from plastic bags at the exit of certain metro stations, kind of accepted as part of the urban landscape: which makes them invisible. As it were, a collective suppression has been underway, exempting the Romanian society from any liability along the whole responsibility chain: from the police to the city administrators, from the health system to the social assistance, the school system and – last but not least -, the private citizens. The reason is quite plain: reckoning the existence of a street children issue would destabilize the whole social system and force the collective conscience to think better. Because, as Miloud used to say, “street children do not exist, only children forgotten in the streets by adults. And we are those adults.”

    What is the role of NGOs in facing the problem today?

    The sad thing is that the street children issue neither seems to appeal to Corporate Social Responsibility projects – all the less so in the case of Romanian companies. The reason, as we pointed out, is that by reckoning their existence, they should also recognize that the social body is sick and needing some radical change. Completely different, say, is the case of handicapped children, for whose unfortunate conditions only fate is to be blamed for. Cynically enough, they can make quite a strong emotional impact on public opinion, without involving any social self criticism.

    As a result, at present only three NGOs are actively working to provide street support in Bucharest: Samu Social, mainly focussed in assisting homeless, alcoholics and adults with mental problems, ARAS (Asociatia Romana AntiSIDA) providing assistance to HIV-positives and us, Fundatia Parada, taking care of street children and at-risk youth.

    Another alarming aspect is the massive impact drug addiction is having on the youngest ones living in the streets today. Starting from 2005-2007, we have been registering an impressive growth in hard drugs consume. By now almost half the street children population is drug-addicted and HIV and hepatitis positives. The wider picture, according to the official data from the National Antidrug Agency and Ministry of Health, shows that drug-addict in Bucharest are 20,000, many more than just street people.

    How is the welfare system in Romania coping with all this?

    In theory, the Romanian welfare system is enforced and shaped according to the very same set of rules applying in any other European State, in practice it is still quite behind. Apart from budget cuts which have been affecting the third sector in every other European State, what is lacking here which could make a difference, is the social pressure coming from an active civil society. As it is now, authorities are never much urged to take effective action and just get along.

    At a closer look though, the Romanian welfare system faces two other major problems: very low salaries and lack of a networking system. Like in all the public sector – but all the more so here – welfare sector employees are paid extremely low salaries, no matter their educational level and professional skills. A brilliant post-graduate and specialized operator may earn about 1,100 RON (280 USD, Ed.) per month, which is disqualifying and causing a serious drain towards more profitable jobs, often letting the less capable and motivated cover key roles in important offices. Also, the lack of a networking approach makes the whole scene very patchy, with effective performances reached only on a case by case basis.

    In 2016 Romanians are having both local elections in springtime and general elections in November, would you expect any major change may come along with that?

    The revolution people had been dreaming since the collapse of the Ceausescu’s regime, is late in taking a real shape as steps to be taken are still too many. In fact, by now  a sense of disillusion for a real change has been prevailing in the Romanian society. The recent street protests following the tragic incident at the Collective night club in Bucharest on last November took to the streets thousands of people, actually proving the biggest street protest in Romania since the 1989 Revolution. Yet, it is difficult to understand the final direction such a large social movement may take, containing as it does a whole range of different protesters. Surely enough, most of them belong to the young educated middle class working in international companies, tired to be oppressed by an incompetent and corrupt political social class.

    For sure, the current political system is no longer sustainable and most probably also the large and very active diaspora will have a say on this.

    Going back to Parada, what form of collaboration do you have with the public institutions? 

    We are officially accredited like any NGO operating on the territory. In order to work you need a legal recognition – all the more so for a charity like us, where you may happen to press charge on behalf of our beneficiaries. As for financial aspects, we rely only on our own means.

    Also, in order to access European funds – which represent one of our main financing tools – you need to be accredited to the competent sector. In more general terms, our relation with the public institutions depends mostly on individual relations.

    What about Parada’s relation with Public Order and the Police?

    It is a bivalent approach, which often makes each other stand on two naturally opposite sides. People living on the street may happen to infringe the law. We tend to protect our beneficiaries because we have a wider picture of their personal situation and what may appear as punishable act maybe the result of a deeper discomfort. Actually we are particularly careful when our boys and girls are blamed for faults and crimes which they did not actually commit, as it quite often happens that the become the easiest scapegoats. Or, by effect of the very penal code.  The alternative sentences foreseen by the Romanian Penal Code, like probation cannot be granted if you live in the street: maximum penalty must apply! And unfortunately, it is a vicious circle… In fact, the Police cannot but be tolerant: in Romania discomfort areas are still so large that the public order cannot but widen the net of justice, like it happens with the abusive use of the electric power.

    What are Parada most urgent needs?

    Like for any other NGO, fundraising is our main concern, as over the last few years the whole sector has suffered major cuts. Most of the money comes from projects (with Unicef, Global Fund, European Union, etc.), then CSR, artistic activities – which are our best communication tool – donation campaigns like 5×1000 in Italy, and 2% in Romania, where private citizens can chose to donate a fixed percentage on their annual taxes to a non profit organization. In Romania this is still a relatively  new tool which needs to reach out: another crucial battle for the Romanian civil society to fight in the near future.

    Anything to say to our readers?

    If you are in Bucharest, come to visit us: you would be most welcome. You can also join a Bucharest tour in English with Sergiu, one of our former beneficiaries now working in partnership with Interesting Times Bureau, a project developed by a non-profit organisation promoting urban arts, local history and businesses. Sergiu will be eager to take you around to make you understand more about the city and its parallel worlds. Careful though, he won’t propose you a “poverty tour”, rather he will be glad to share with you his life story, an experience which can be mutually enriching. His tour also includes a visit to our Daily Centre in Strada Bucur. A tour against indifference, in a way ;).

    Watch a tv interview in Romanian to Franco Aloisio

    Watch the trailer of the Italian film PA-RA-DA (2008) by Marco Pontecorvo

    Read Got a Cigarette? A true story by Sergio Dalla Ca’ di Dio

  • True Stories/ Got a cigarette?

    True Stories/ Got a cigarette?

     by Sergio Dalla Ca’ di Dio

    by Valerio Contini
    by Valerio Contini

    The registry officer stares at me as if I were a Martian. “What do you mean he lives in a tunnel?!” I look back at her as amazed as she. My eyes speaks my words, “Are you kidding me?

    In a city where some 2,000 people live in the streets, where every morning you can see sleepy boys and girls clutching their aurolac bags emerging from sewer covers which lead to underground tunnels along the hot water pipelines, that kind of question sounds to me either a mockery or the effect of a situation like “Excuse me, I have been stranded on a desert island for forty years and I have just come back”.

    If it is a civil servant to say that, it makes it all the more discouraging. I do my best to show my diplomatic side but I realize that sarcasm prevails: “Madam, I gather that you have not realized yet that here in Bucharest many people do not happen to have a house. Some of them occupy abandoned apartments downtown, some others find their shelters in tunnels underground. You know, wintertime nights get very cold and staying in the streets is not that healthy”.

    In hindsight my reply has not proved to be the best option. Talking about street people, which means “bringing up the problem” and not just  ignoring them like most of people do, makes me scarcely agreeable. To make things worse, I speak with my strong Italian accent seasoned with many grammar mistakes, I wear a football training kit (we have trained quite early in the morning) urgently needing a shower, I have swooped into the police office together with a guy without a foot, badly dressed and dirty – what people would call a “boschettaro” – to apply for an identity card for him.

    I guess they consider me a fool. Or someone really really stupid.

    I. looks at me shaking his head meaning “I knew it would end up like that!”. My sense of frustration grows. We are almost peers, even though he looks as old as my father. I have never really known how he lost his foot, everybody saying he has always been like that since they have known him. Yet I have always been amazed at how fast he can move up when he has a goal to reach; at times not only does he keep at pace but also seems to slow down a bit not to make me feel tired. Nor have I really understood how many wives, girlfriends and sons he has left around town. Over the four times I have been driving him along to offices for red-tape matters, he has mentioned me at least five among them – as a nevastasotiaprietena or femeia (wife, girlfriend or “woman”, in the most intimate sense of the term), and each with copilul, the child, along with them. I believe that he means that he is father to them all. For sure I know that I. has lived on the street most of his thirty-four years. First in an orphanage, then in a tunnel. “I have never had a document”, he says. I don’t know whether to believe him. “And I have lost my birth certificate.” That I believe. I know well that he does not have an identity card, no matter whether he has lost it or he has never really got one: without an identity card you are a perfect Mister Nobody and forget obtaining medical assistance, medicaments, disability pensions, a job. The point is that to release an identity card you must provide a residential address supported with some other document: a rental contract, a utility bill…

    “And how can I be certain that he really stays in that tunnel there?

    Frustration takes hold of me once more. I strive not to give in to sarcasm again. “Madam, allow me ten minutes and I will drive you there, take you down into that tunnel, so that you can see the mattress, the sheets and the bag with glue that he used last night before falling asleep”. It was meant to be collaborative, it sounded like a challenge. The policewoman begins to search for new excuses. She scribbles down a name on a sheet of paper, of someone higher in rank, suggesting us to come back the following day and speak to him. I protest, we both protest in a civil but firm tone, which does not make any difference. We cannot but accept the situation and we begin to get mentally ready to face it all over again the following day. Still, luck sometimes does not lie just around the corner but even closer, like behind a door.

    The local police officer gets into the room while we are collecting photos, filled-in application forms and various documents. I look at the certificate declaring that I. has been a Parada beneficiary for the past ten years: the red nose on its heading in mocking contrast with the imperious attitude of workers there.

    Buna I., ce faci aici? (hi I., what are you doing here?) the policeman asks. I. smiles and explains to him the reason for our visit there. The man looks at the woman in charge and says “sure! I have been knowing him for the last 15 years, at least! He has always been down that tunnel in front of the hospital. You cannot even imagine how many cigarettes he has been scrounging from me!”

    I burst into a laughter which puts an end to any residual chance of becoming friend with the officer in charge, but I know too well what it is like for a smoker to meet a street boy: how many chaps I have seen having whole packets consumed once inside the threshold of Parada Day Center.

    But now I haven’t even had the time to think “lucky me, I quit smoking!”, as I usually do when I hear of smokers loosing tens of cigarettes, that the policeman has offered to sign a declaration saying that I. lives in that specific tunnel. “That is just fair”, I ponder, “after all that has been his home over the last fifteen years.” Yet, “how can we accept to call a tunnel home?”, for which I cannot find any reasonable answer.

    The woman’s voice wakes me up from my private wondering, her tone is outraged, “you should come back tomorrow to withdraw the identity card.” I. smiles, the policeman too, I thank both of them, the policeman and the woman, her eyes asking me “but who makes you do that?”

    The policeman has already left the office. I. hugs me and thanks me. Then outside, he thanks the policeman with great warmth. The officer has mild eyes and advices him to behave well. “For sure boss, God forbid…See you soon”. We reach the car, I. with his single foot pacing up at double speed. Suddenly he stops and takes three steps back. “Boss, boss!” The policeman turns around “Yes, I.?”

    Aveți o țigară?” (got a cigarette?)

    Lucky me, I quit smoking.

    read the Interview to Franco Aloisio

    Photo by Gianluca Cecere Volunteers' Coordinator at Fundatia Parada Romania, Sergio Dalla Ca' di Dio has now moved to Erbil, Iraq, to work on a project for another Italian NGO. The many stories he has dedicated to his direct experience with the Parada beneficiaries are both pages of an intimate diary and a lively report making us reach out on invisible lives. Sergio is still very much in contact with his "Parada Family".
    Photo by Gianluca Cecere
    Volunteers’ Coordinator at Fundatia Parada Romania, Sergio Dalla Ca’ di Dio has now moved to Erbil, Iraq, to work on a project for another Italian NGO. The many stories he has dedicated to his direct experience with the Parada beneficiaries are both pages of an intimate diary and a lively report making us reach out on invisible lives. Sergio is still very much in contact with his “Parada Family”.

     

     

     

     

     

  • Interview – Lucian Georgescu

    Interview – Lucian Georgescu

    Lucian Georgescu teaches creative writing and screenwriting at UNACT, Bucharest and is visiting professor at Scuola Holden, the creative writing school founded in Torino by Alessandro Baricco. He belongs to the first post-communist generation and he is a member of UCIN ((Romanian Filmmakers Association), SRN (Screenwriters Research Network) and EACWP (European Association of Creative Writing Programs).  Interested in road movies, he is the author of a book about Jim Jarmusch (On the Road with Jim, 2007). In 2011 he wrote, produced and directed a film a tragicomic road movie The Phantom Father. Some of his contributions can be found in The Road movies of the New Romanian Cinema (Studies in Eastern European Cinema, vol. 3, no.1, UK 2012 Intellect Ltd. pp 23-40),  The Point of No Return – Cinematic Expressions of a Nation’s Altered State of Mind (in East, West and Center: Reframing Post-1989 European Cinema, Edinburgh University Press, 2015). Lucian is currently working at a A Subjective History of Cinema Told in Road Movies.

    Lucian, what is Cinepub?

    Cinepub is the only legally free online channel dedicated to the Romanian Cinema. It represents a unique opportunity both for cinefils and for young Romanian artists. Considering the current distribution system, the risk for many emerging film-makers is that their works never get to reach their audiences at all.

    Cinepub has chosen a very simple approach with little space for any critical apparatus, focus on films, each speaking for themselves…

    That is correct. We intend to reach different kind of audiences, just like different kind of books find each their readerships, we let people chose what to watch and what to think of it. Our main intention is to showcase rather than analyze the New Romanian Cinema. In fact, the very name we chose for the project suggests A very empathic approach. Some twelve years back, at the very first editions of the TIFF (Transylvania Film Festival)  – i.e. still far from it having become a mondane must-be event –  Cinepub happened to be the name for a workshop I held as a non competitive section of the festival. The focus was totally on creating a space for young Non professionals to meet and make ideas circulate. I am glad to consider that some of that idealistic energy has been preserved.

    Coming to the distribution issue, what is the role that Cinepub plays in promoting the new Romanian cinema (as well as the past one)?

    During the communist regime some 4,000 cinemas were being run around the country; nowadays only some 40 are still operative, all the others  having been transformed into restaurants, night clubs, supermarkets or just left into a state of total decay. Now cineplex and the commercial Mall model have taken over all the programming and distribution circuit, with almost no space left for any independent operator.  Along with promoting new talents we dedicate great attention to the rediscovery of the great authors of the Romanian cinema. That is why we call 2016 the year of  Mircea Danieluc, such an important figure in the history of our cinema: we will be programming 17 of his films. We may go as far as to say that we represent for Romanian cinema an operation of Corporate Social Responsibility: a totally new approach in our country.

    Talking more specifically about the films, a recurring sense of tension between plain daily life and private expectations – often leading to a deep sense of frustration – can be perceived. Could we consider it a trait in the new Romanian cinema?

    This is certainly not the place where to define the new Romanian cinema in depth,  yet we may say that we are now experiencing a phase beyond surrealism, involving many similarities with neorealism. If we consider that the style is directed by the means and that a chronic lack of means – both financial and technical – affects the Romanian cinema, a new style is emerging. Among the contemporary directors, Cristi Puiu is one of those who really makes a statement in cinema for neorealism with its strong appetite for contemporary stories –  so reminiscent of the neorealismo italiano and yet so tipically Romanian. By the way, we may go so far as say that even Aferim by Radu Jude, despite its apparent historical setting, can be read as a neorealistic film – which can prove a challenge of kind for a foreign audience, probably unable to catch all such subtle nuances…

    A last question, my recurring one: how do you think we can trace a sufletul romanesc in the Romanian cinema?

    Sufletul romanesc has nothing metaphysical to it: you can trace it back to Caragiale’s unique mix of irony and tragedy as well as to Ion Creanga’s spirit. Nor should we forget the importance of Dadaism’s Romanian roots as well as Cioran’s observation that Romanians never take themselves too seriously.

     

     

     

     

  • Cinepub.ro, a Site with a View

    Cinepub.ro, a Site with a View

    • Cinepub communication campaign by GAV
    On last February 26th Cinepub.ro celebrated its first anniversary totaling 5,372.437 minutes – the equivalent of 10 years and 28 days – of Romanian cinema in streaming. To make that possible Lucian Georgescu and his team had been working hard for previous three years.

    We must be very grateful to this energetic team, as Cinepub.ro is the only legally free online platform dedicated to the Romanian cinema.  The films are available in streaming on AVOD platform ( Advertisement-supported Video on Demand). They are all Romanian productions and include documentaries, feature, shorts and animation. The project is engineered by GAV, a communication agency pioneering in cultural marketing in Romania in partnership with Google.

    The site is bilingual Romanian/English while many films – especially the most recent ones – provide English subtitles. Cinepub obtains free rights in exchange for its curatorial work and – in some cases – protection against piracy.  Its mission is to showcase the Romanian Cinema and promote  films otherwise cut out from mainstream distribution channels. In fact, the more successful a Romanian film is the more their World Sales Agents tend not to agree on free online streaming outside Romania, but Cinepub keeps on working hard to obtain as much as they can and every new Thursday at 20.30 Bucharest time a premiere movie is launched.

    Lucian Georgescu is very proud of his “creature” dedicated to all film lovers and aiming to bring to the audiences not only Romanian films of established authors, but also independent productions made by young passionate beginners very unlikely to find other distribution channels.

    Check out more about Lucian Georgescu and his passion for cinema in our interview.

     

     

  • My Take – Mărțișor, and March Is the Sweetest Month

    My Take – Mărțișor, and March Is the Sweetest Month

    These days a Mărțișor is pinned down on my jersey as my Romanian experience has been producing a major change in my mental attitude 

    March is the sweetest month in Romania. Here springtime is a deeply felt moment in the calendar year: climate change allowing, it pops up after long frozen winters melting away any form of hardship. On Mărțișor day, March 1, Romanian women of all ages are presented with spring tokens called Mărțișor by male friends and beloved ones, to which they reply with a smile and a kiss on cheeks, instinctively aware – and proud – of their crucial role in nature’s life cycle.

    Mărțișor are tiny adornments tied with a red and white entwined cord. They belong to a very ancient Romanian tradition with roots back 8,000 years. The red cord symbolises the winter and the white one the spring, which other symbols of joy and good luck such as a four-leafed clove or a heart are tied by. It is also said that white and red are strong amulets against evil eye and a token of purity and innocence. The Mărțișor is worn for a week or two on outer garments.

    These days a Mărțișor is also pinned down on my jersey, which I have not been doing as a form of acquiescing to a local habit but as the effect of a major change occurred in my attitude. Let me try to sum it up in three steps.

    1 What Am I Doing Here?

    Admittedly, when I lived in Italy I never used to be a keen observant of Woman’s Day rites on March 8. Rather, any all-female celebratory dinner made me feel bored and, if attending, I would invariantly end up with the same old question: “What Am I Doing Here?”, keeping at a safe distance from any form of Indian-reserve syndrome having always been my major concern.

    2 Us vs. Them 

    Then we moved to Romania and my perception changed. I packed and took along also some bits of cultural bias, like the Us vs. Them commonplace: Us Italian vs. Them Romanian Women. On my first flight from Milano to Cluj Napoca I started taking notes on every Romanian woman onboard. Far from realizing that I was just contemplating my mirror images: women flying back home, încet încet/ slowly slowly regaining their native background, so allowing themselves to drop their exotic masks to recover their original selves. Anca, Camelia, Adina: no more the foreign wife or fiancée, the saleswoman, the waitress, the badante, the nurse, the businesswoman, the hairdresser, the gorgeous East European beauty, but just themselves as  daughters, sisters, mothers, lovers, singles. In fact, at that time, as aware as I was of the risk of generalization, I could not help assimilating them all to a unique threatening Romanian female type. To serve my prejudices I could even indulge in tracing back some of their proud beauty – long thin legs, fiery eyes – to their Dacian ancestors so powerfully outlined in the relief scenes on Trajan’s Column in Rome. Take  its scene XLV: nude and bound men shown being tortured by women, the latter traditionally identified as Dacian women (war widows?) maltreating captured Roman soldiers. Also  back to present times, Romanian women seemed quite successful in conquering the hearts of a number of “our” Western European men…

    Step 3 – The Reckoning

    Since that first naive flight to Romania I have had the opportunity to unpack my heavy luggage and finally get rid of whole sets of shameful prejudices. Now that I have begun to master Romanian, I can get closer and closer  to the people and their very thoughts. Which, in fact, for an Italian, are not so abysmally distant. By now most of my acquaintances and even friends happen to be Romanian women of various ages and cultural background:  from the artist to the hairdresser, the school teacher or the entrepreneur, the doctor and the journalist. I realize now that we have so much more in common than what would make us different.  So, no room left for prejudices, just a healthy sense of challenge due to their many talents: their  inborn sense of femininity, their resilience, their pride and their will to fight for a better future. I should stop here not to incur in another set of dangerous generalization and just chose to celebrate the great news: Spring is coming! Happy Mărțișor to us all.

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