"A youth from disadvantaged communities has one chance in life and this is being lucky enough to meet good teachers and benefit from good quality schooling. If he/ she does not have these chances everything is almost in vain" - Andreas Schleicher, manager of the Education and Skills Division, OECD, from a speech delivered at the Educated Romania Conference, Presidential Administration, 29.01.2020

This statement from an OECD high official reminded me of the teachers who made a positive impact on my life and were the difference between who I was expected to be and who I eventually became.

In my neighbourhood of Galati, the Roma community lived around the areas of Libertății, Dorobanți and Poșta Veche, and most went to Primary School No. 19. When my parents managed to buy a house, they bought it at the other end of Libertatii Street, an area which was allocated to Primary School No 15.  They did not do this on purpose, but this was a decisive event in my evolution.  Most Roma students in Primary School No. 19 graduated from secondary school without even being able to read or write  properly, and very often I listened to their stories about ill-treatment they had received from their teachers. Things were different in my new school.  

In first grade, I was taught by Mrs. Ifrim and I was one of the very few Roma in the class and unfortunately, as is often the case, we were among the poorest. As I had spent only one year in kindergarten, the gap between me and my Romanian classmates, who had benefitted from three years of pre-school education, was rather big. I was the best student among the Roma, but in comparison to my non-Roma classmates I was rather poor. I don’t know why but Mrs. Ifrim identified something in me and asked my parents if I would be allowed to work one extra hour per week in order for her to help me with my schoolwork. My mother, a simple woman without any formal education, agreed and became my watchdog, supervising me at home to make sure I did everything that “Miss” had asked of me. My mother learnt to read and write at the same time as me and would very often finish the homework before me - we would do the homework together but would have our own individual notebooks. When starting second grade, my mother could no longer keep up with me, she was too busy with her job and needing to take care of four boys, all the while Mrs. Ifrim continued to put pressure on me to work more. She explained to me, taking my little hand in hers, how good I could become.  Mrs. Ifrim was the reason I went to school. I was not interested in the subjects, but only interested in working hard to return the respect my teacher had shown me.

I finished fourth grade with a general average of over 8 (at that time we were still receiving marks), a mark which placed me in the middle echelon of my class.

In the fifth grade I met two wonderful teachers, a Romanian and a History teacher. Both made me fall in love with their subjects, through their smiles, the fact that they taught in a relaxed manner, the fact that we exchanged ideas when we were examined, but especially because the lessons were like stories. Only once did I see Mr. Cobzaru, the History teacher, writing on the blackboard during my secondary school years, and this happened when we had an inspection. We were all shocked to see Mr. Cobzaru writing the name of the lesson on the blackboard, as his classes were relaxed and full of historical events one did not find in textbooks. We were 30 children in his class and would all listen in fascination to his stories. I swear, I had the feeling of being able to hear the weapons clash and the sounds of characters battling when he would tell us these stories. That class, from an ordinary school, produced 8 county Olympiad participants, one of them being myself.

In high school I benefited from a magnificent triad: Mrs. Bujoreanu, my Romanian teacher, Mrs. Mazilu, teaching universal literature and oratorical debates and Mrs. Gafton, the form teacher closest to my soul, who also taught Latin.

Upon starting 9^th grade my form teacher Mrs. Gafton, a woman in her 40s who did not have any children, had the calmest voice I have ever heard. Under her tutelage we were treated as her friends and she taught us things like how to eat properly in a restaurant and even how to befriend a girl. She did everything with kindness and a smile and praised and encouraged each and every one of us. During parent-teacher meetings, she could always find something kind to say about us to our parents, no matter how mischievous we were. When we heard the news that she was pregnant and would be leaving us at the start of 10^th grade, we were both happy and sad at the same time because we would be losing the teacher that taught us how to behave properly and kindly.

Despite this setback she was quickly replaced in our souls by Mrs. Mazilu. She taught us how to think, to question what we were taught and search for the truth. Her Romanian classes had the format of oratorical debates, which forced us to understand and learn the finest nuances of the books we read.  Once, during an oratorical debate contest we had in Ploiesti, Monica (we called her by her first name when we were amongst ourselves) invited me to dance with her, and her head pressed against my chest she whispered “Gelu, you are better than Petru! Don’t waste yourself!”, Petru being her son, the same age as us. These words gave me wings and I worked even harder during her classes so as to not disappoint her.  

During our first class together, Mrs. Bujoreanu immediately noticed my potential. One of her daughters was at university, in Iași, and she sent flyers from the Iasi University so that her mother could  show them to me.  Once every two weeks she would take 5 minutes out of her recess and explain to me what each university was about and made me promise that I would not stop learning after graduating from high school. Mrs. Bujoreanu also explained to me the meaning of the word “university” and made me believe I could get there. In the 10^th grade, I decided to sit for an exam at the School of Sociology and Social Work, and no other.

The Principal of the high school was a Biology teacher, whose name I can no longer remember. I did not have classes with her, but she smiled every time she saw me. During class on one particular day I was called to the Principal’s office by the student who was on duty. When entering the office, sat beside the Principal was another lady, who seemed pretty upset.

The Principal asked - “Gelu, please excuse me, tell me what is your ethnic origin”?

“I don’t understand, madam!” I replied in a low voice.

 “Gelu, please! and forgive me for asking you this question”!

 “I am Roma Madam”, I answered, looking straight into her eyes.

“You see, Madam”, said the Principal, “this boy is Roma and is one of the very best students we have. And if he was my daughter’s boyfriend, I would be very proud! Please don’t bring me this nonsense!”

That other lady in the Principal’s office was the mother of a girl in my high school who was romantically involved with a Roma boy at the school - a relationship forbidden by the girl’s family. The girl’s parents thought that they should bring this to the attention of the school and ask for support from the Principal, so that their daughter “might not be with the Gipsy”.  

During my second year at university I couldn’t pay much attention to my schoolwork. I used to fight the hunger in my stomach every day, the fact that a friend of mine had to bring me a sandwich and a cup of coffee every day did not help my self-esteem one bit. On many occasions, walking from my dorm in Magurele to Bucharest seemed like a burden, and on the return journey at night a pack of dogs would chase me, testing my physical abilities and also my fears. My parent’s lives were very tough, but they would still send me half of their pensions, even though they suffered from hunger in Galati, so that I could continue studying in Bucharest at the School of Sociology and Social Work. I had discussed with a few colleagues about my desire to quit school, and they all advised me not to do it. They offered to help me, but their offer was unacceptable to me, because it could only feed the demons that took reign over me. As a last resort, they went and talked to one of the professors who was very close to his students and they explained the situation to him, asking for help.

“Hello, Gelu. My name is Marian Preda and I am the Vice-Dean. I have heard many things about you, and I would be glad if we could meet and talk. When can you come by my office and let me discuss some things with you? I need your help!”.

“Seriously?”, I told myself, “why should the Vice-Dean call me to help him? What could I do to help him?”. Of course, I accepted to see him and the following day we were face to face at an encounter which would change my life.  

“You know, Gelu, I have heard a lot about you. Look, I am doing some papers and reports about the situation of Roma in Romania and I need someone to help me validate some hypotheses and write with me. I hear you are a very good student and I would be glad if we worked together!”

“Respectfully, Sir, you haven’t worked with me before, so how do you know about me?”, I asked with a certain unease.

“Gelu, there are many people keeping an eye on you and who trust you”, he said smiling “so I have enough information to have reasons to believe that we could create a strong team together. So, are you in?”

I could not refuse. That man had invested something within me, something I needed to go on: recognition of my academic capabilities, support and trust. We started working together and the results of our work were a few articles and studies in the area of social inclusion.  

Vice-Dean Professor Preda supervised my degree, masters and doctoral thesis, and in the speech I delivered after the public presentation of my doctoral thesis I thanked him for everything he had done for me, asking him, rather rhetorically, “what he had seen in me”. His whispered answer, provided looking down, still haunts me: “What mattered!”.

For me, my teachers were people who understood their mission of seeing the potential of every student and trying to provide the academic and emotional support needed, so that I could enjoy who I truly am.

Over the past few years, as part of the programmes supported by the Council of Europe and European Union (INSCHOOL Project) and UNICEF Romania (Quality inclusive education package | UNICEF Romania), I have been working with tens of schools in promoting the concept of  quality inclusive education. This concept can be defined, in layman’s terms, as the system that develops and hones the maximum potential of each child considering his/her particular traits. We explain to teachers, parents and students that an approach focused on the students’ needs means that we need to give up the generalisations and stereotypes which make us act based on social labels that we were taught to apply to ethnic, religious, social and/or cultural communities. To see the universe that each child has in front of his/her eyes, by believing in his/her strength to fight all limitations and succeed. We are trying to explain to the people we are working with, that change starts with each individual, and that we need to teach those that will continue our bloodline to respect one another, just as they themselves would like to be respected. We strive to explain that a person is born good, and that it is society that degrades the inherent good in people, emphasising the fact that tomorrow’s society will be a result of how it is being developed today.

When I later return to visit the schools we have worked with, I am glad to see that the people have understood our philosophy and the situation of those communities is changing for the better, and that each child enjoys the diversity of  the “other”.  It is then that my sense of optimism is again renewed.

This is because each person can be taught to respect those around us, if we set it as a goal, and we act together to achieve it.

*This document was produced with the financial assistance of the European Union. The views expressed herein can in no way be taken to reflect the official opinion of the European Union.