I browsed the collection of a daily newspaper in which I used to publish daily articles on the issues of the day, as they appeared to us in the first years after 1990, and I was not proud of myself at all. Back then, I was.
THE WRITER FROM THE 3rd PAGE
I browsed the collection of a daily newspaper in which I used to publish daily articles on the issues of the day, as they appeared to us in the first years after 1990, and I was not proud of myself at all. Back then, I was.
The people I used to talk about have been long forgotten, and those who are still public were massively damaged. Most articles were concerning the President. Even the best articles have a short life. Usually a day. I made a simple ratio: during the time spent on the articles about Iliescu I could have done a lot of better things. I earned some money, but I lost years of my life. Most people give years of their life on their earnings, but there are a lot more better options in the press, no matter how appealing the job you're doing appears to be.
The thousands of articles spread all these years in those daily newspapers must have had an effect, but if the effect was positive or negative, large or small, towards the truth or against it, I will never know for sure. The unpleasant part is that the situations I was writing about have been forgotten and even if I remember parts of them, they do not impress me at all. In time, happenings that, in the first years after the revelation – the name that a friend of mine gave to the events in December 1989 - seemed cardinal, with fatal importance, have no dimension at all and don’t mean anything to the general public of the media. I wanted to go up, but the reality pulled me down. There are many other respectable journalists in my situation. Some built selective anthologies with their best articles, but anthologies
