Moldovan students still engaged

I’d been given an address, but in Moldova that doesn’t mean very much.
Sure, one side of a street has odd numbers and the other side even numbers. But they are consecutive, not broken into blocks. And while one building might be small and another number might designate a large complex, things quickly got out of order.
So, on one side of the street the numbers might be 21, 23 and 25, while on the other side of the street they were 12, 14 and 16. After a few more streets, the discrepancy might be even greater.
But I was determined to find No. 9 Banelescu-Bodoni, Office 6. That’s where I would find one of my former students from back in 1998.
The first likely candidate for that number turned out to be the offices of the Moldovan Supreme Court, and I didn’t expect to find Igor there. When I tried across the street, I found the No. 9 marker hanging behind an advertising sign.
Then it was just a matter of finding Office 6. The first door I tried turned out to be a travel agency, but the women there were helpful and suggested I try next door. That’s when I finally found Igor.
He had been one of my sharpest students during the semester I taught at the State University of Moldova. Roughly 90 percent of the class was female, but Igor was among the most steadfast males when it came to attendance.
But that was long ago, heading toward 20 years. What had he done with his journalism education? Had our class together made a modicum of difference?
Turns out Igor was for a time one of the best journalists in his country. He was recognized as young journalist of the year and later as journalist of the year. Then something happened. Whether it was the bug of politics that bit him or a realization that he could make more money as a politician than as a journalist, I’ve never known.
But I do know that he’s not a journalist today. He’s a “political consultant.” As such, he runs a political commentary website, one that’s probably not entirely independent in its views.
While that’s disappointing, I’m not in a position to judge. Igor has a family to feed and has to make his own decisions. Besides, I’ve known American journalists who have crossed the border between covering the news and becoming part of it.
The good news is that Igor was delighted to see me.
The better news is that he could bring me up to speed on many if not most of the other students who made up my class on the role of a free press in an open society.
I’d throw out a name, and Igor would have a scrap of information about the former student.
Inga? That’s Igor’s wife, and she works in corporate communications for a U.S. firm in Moldova.
Sandu? He was a football analyst for a TV station for awhile then managed a football club but is a sportswriter these days. So is another classmate whose name is lost to me.
Angela Novac? She used to be a public information officer for the police but married a Ukrainian and moved to Ukraine.
Constantin? He’s a nationally respected photojournalist.
OIga? She had served as student translator when the official translator didn’t show up. Today, she lives in Alabama, married to a retired U.S. military officer.
Sylvia? She and Olga had worked together on public health information programs, especially those involving HIV and AIDS. Though Olga’s in the States, Sylvia is still on the job in Moldova.
Angela Cibotaru? She’s the official spokesperson for a government anti-corruption agency.
And Gabi, the class sexpot? To no one’s surprise, she’s married to a successful politician.
Calling out the names was a bit like taking roll.
And I was pleased to hear that — for the most part — the response wasn’t just that they were present. They were engaged.
That’s what any teacher wants to hear.