August 30, 2024 –
Isabelle de Pommereau
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Stories and ideas
Caption: Aurika and Ion Bugniak, farmers in Rîșcova. Photo by Isabelle de Pommereau
In just eight weeks (October 20th) Moldovans face a crucial choice in a doubly pivotal election: whether they will re-elect the pro-European President Maia Sandu and decide on the country’s move towards the European Union. This referendum could reshape Moldova’s future, embedding EU integration as “the strategic goal” in the constitution.
Polls show President Sandu leading against a fragmented opposition. This is despite Moscow’s disinformation campaigns, especially those targeting the Russian-speaking Gagauz community and in the Transnistrian enclave, which has been occupied by Russian troops since 1992.
But beyond the numbers, how do ordinary Moldovans envision their future amidst the neighbouring war and economic challenges? To gauge the national mood, we spoke to citizens from various regions.
In Rîșcova, near the capital, a farming couple discussed how the war had rekindled old traumas and split their family. In Chișinău, two returnees shared their vision of a “European future” for Moldova. In Hîrtop, a cultural worker fears that aligning with the EU might commercialize local culture and may abstain from voting in the referendum as a sign of protest. In Volintiri at the Ukrainian border, a mayor fighting corruption and Russian influence feels bolstered by Sandu’s anti-corruption and pro-EU stance. In Cricova, a fourth-generation winemaker sees EU integration as the only way to promote Moldova – and its wines and economy – on the world stage. In Orhei, the former Mayor Ilan Shor’s pro-Russian legacy still lingers, with some recalling his lavish spending on the city, as well as his role in bringing residents out to an anti-EU demonstration.
As the election approaches, Moldova stands at a critical juncture. The country has so often been a front line in the struggle between Russian and European power. Despite the ambivalence many Moldovans feel about the European path, there is hope that this autumn’s election, as Russia’s war in neighbouring Ukraine enters its third year, could pave the way for economic growth, independence and democracy in Europe’s poorest country. It might also deliver a blow to President Putin’s ambitions to reassert control over former Soviet territories from the Baltic to the Caspian seas.
Rîșcova
Ion Bugniak. Photo by Isabelle de Pommereau
“It’s been 30 years since independence, but it feels like we’re still stagnating – we keep hearing about moving toward Europe but things don’t seem to change much… Most politicians stick money in their pockets.”
“Of course everybody’s scared [of the war in Ukraine]. We are peaceful people, and are not good at preparing for war, not ready at all.”
Ion Bugniak, farmer
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“If we were to decide, I’d have good relationships with both camps – Russia and the European Union.”
Aurika Bugniak
Since Moldova declared independence, Aurika and Ion Bugniak have worked tirelessly to transform their farming practices.
In this quiet farming village an hour from Chișinău, most villagers live off their cows or potatoes while others leave to work abroad in construction and cleaning. They leave behind empty homes.
Agriculture has always been Moldova’s backbone, but the legacy of the Soviet Union looms large. Once known as the “Soviet Garden”, Moldova was a testing ground for chemicals designed to maximize crop yields.
Fertilizers, pesticides and harmful chemicals were used particularly heavily here, leaving behind contaminated soils and a lingering odor that Ion, now nearing 60, remembers vividly.
It is perhaps as a reaction to the Soviet-era heavy reliance on chemicals and its related-contamination issues that Aurika made it her mission to go organic. A former kindergarten teacher, she knew instinctively that pesticide use was harmful to her children’s health. With the help of a local environmental NGO, Ecovisio, she learned about more environmantally safe farming methods. With Ecovisio’s help, she made her house more energy efficient, and she has taken her grandchildren to clean up illegal dumpsites, teaching them about waste sorting.
Aurika and Ion had high hopes when Maia Sandu took office, especially dreaming that a waste infrastructure would finally be put in place to make the village cleaner. But that has yet to be materialized. The village school, with just 50 pupils, may not be able to afford to heat its classrooms this winter.
“It’s been 30 years since independence, but it feels like we’re still stagnating,” says her husband on a late afternoon. He and his wife are sitting next to the family house, which is painted green and blue. Ion was born there. Three years ago, his mother was buried there too. “We keep hearing about moving toward Europe but things don’t seem to change much.”
Aurika Buniak, farmer in Rîșcova, with one of her grandsons. Photo by Isabelle de Pommereau.
Ion believes in the EU but wonders if Moldovan politicians are up to the task. “Most politicians stick money in their pockets,” he says. “Maia Sandu seems different, like she genuinely wants to make a difference, but I’m not sure her team is as hard working.” In reality, he is not entirely sure about what to expect from the EU. Even the prospect of subsidies leaves him cold. “We are not used to being given stuff.”
As the afternoon passes, the couple plays cards with their grandson, who lives next door. As the conversation drifts from the EU to the war, Aurika and Ion Bugniak grow silent, and a bit emotional. They seem to be torn between aligning more with the EU or staying close to Russia.
Aurika thinks of her daughter, who settled in Moscow years ago with a good job in the textile industry. The war has strained their relationships. “We cannot see each other, talk freely,” says the 59-year-old Phones, she suspects, are tapped. “When I ask her about the war, how she’s coping, she quickly changes topic.” Will turning to the West widen the gap further? Will it make it even more difficult for her to see her daughter and her two children?
Then there is their son, who stayed in Moldova and built a house for his family next door. He works in the solar panel industry but was ready to flee to Romania with his family when the first bombs fell in Ukraine. Deep down, she feels that the EU will mean safer future and a better chance for her grandchildren to study. “We want to be part of Europe,” she adds. “Maybe those who left will come back.”
Compounding Aurika’s ambivalence is a latent fear that she has lived with since 1992, when Moscow bombed Transnistria, where she grew up, and soldiers shot her sister’s husband in the head, paralyzing him for life. Aurika left Transnistria in 1987 when she got married but her three siblings still live there. That fear resurfaced on February 24th 2022, when bombing woke them in the night.
“Of course everybody’s scared,” says Ion. “We are peaceful people, not good at preparing for war, not ready at all.” He speaks outside their home, which has been in the family for more than 150 years.
“We don’t have anywhere to hide if we’re invaded. During the Second World War there were partisans in the forest, Ukraine had mountains, the sea, a capability to fight back. We had nothing.”
Aurika sighs: “I’m a bit torn, and it’s not up to me to decide. If we were to decide, I’d have good relationships with both camps,” referring to Russia and the European Union.
Chișinău
Ana Popa. Photo by Isabelle de Pommereau
“From the choices we have, [EU membership] is the better option we have, but it is not ideal. I also see the downsides of the EU… I think it’s important to have a critical view on everything, including the EU and the West and not just say I want to be part of the West.”
Ana Popa, cycling activist, 32
Chișinău, Moldova’s capital is both the heart of Maia Sandu’s pro-West policies and a stronghold for pro-Russian sentiment. But for cycling activist Ana Popa, who returned to her homeland six years ago after growing up, and studying across the EU, the “pro-West” or “pro-East” labels do not quite fit.
Popa’s activism had given her a more nuanced take on the EU. Like many Moldovans, Popa had left the country as a child when her father took a job in Iași, Romania. After studying cultural management in Wroclaw, she’d returned to Chișinău as part of a her master’s project on grassroots civil society in Moldova. She had planned to stay for just a short while. But what she found in Moldova made her stay. She arrived in 2018 during a turbulent time. An anti-corruption politician had won the mayoral race, only to see the election results annulled, sparking widespread protests.
Drawn to a group of peaceful demonstrators in Chișinău’s central park, Popa found herself immersed in political debates and creative resistance. “It was an incredibly productive environment at a time when few dared to publicly criticize the government,” she recalls. “I got sucked in.”
For the first time, Popa felt a real connection to Moldova. She decided to stay, becoming part of a wave of returnees working to create change from within. During the pandemic, she founded the “Chișinău Bike Alliance” and pushed for the city’s first bike lanes – a victory that was realized last year.
Though she identifies as European, Ana Popa has grown to cherish Moldova’s unique culture and traditions. Her support for EU membership is cautious, tempered by concerns about its impact on Moldovan identity. “From the choices we have, [EU membership] is the better option we have, but it’s not ideal,” she says.
“I think it’s important to keep a critical view on everything, including the EU and the West and not just say I want to be part of the West.”
“Moldovans tend to be overly enthusiastic about the EU,” she says. But is Moldova ready for the “wild capitalism” that might come with EU integration? What will happen to small farmers? Could the European path destroy what is authentic here? She is concerned that Maia Sandu’s neoliberal tilt could push Moldova into an economic model that it is not equipped to handle, one that could marginalize small farmers and erode local traditions. “Our economic minister talks about bringing Uber and H&M to Moldova, but that’s not a positive thing for everyone.”
After decades abroad, it took time for Popa to reconnect with her native country and appreciate its uniqueness. Now, six years later, she is committed to contributing to the country’s growth – but not at the cost of losing what makes Moldova, Moldova.
Hîrtop
Ruanda Alexandru Curca. Photo by Michael Danner
“For us the EU is presented as the top of the Himalayas. If you reach the EU, life should be like a dream: in the mouth of every public servant, you can hear “EU, EU!” But that is artificial propaganda.”
“It’s a myth to believe that entering the EU will solve all our problems, without us applying those principles and values that we are talking about in our daily work.”
Ruanda Alexandru Curca, 36, cultural worker in Hîrtop
The tiny village of Hîrtop feels far away from the capital, geographically and mentally.
It has gone through tough times since the collapse of the USSR. Many homes in this village of 1,000 sit empty. But Rusanda Alexandru Curca, who was born here 36 years ago, knows that in the hardest times, something always helped people cope: culture.
Amidst the hardships of the early post-transition years in particular, the village’s cultural centre glued people together. “It was so hard to survive, but then you had this space where you met with people, creating, playing and acting,” says Curca, the head of the Center for Cultural Projects Arta Azi. She remembers when the 350-seat theatre was booked all the time.
“For our mental health it was very valuable.”
After COVID-19 wreaked havoc across Moldovan rural communities, Rusanda Curca with a colleague from another village created , a rural platform to promote access to art and culture in the most marginalized communities. There were creative workshops, concerts, performances, documentary film screenings and community dinners, with professional artists visiting the villagers.
She brought back Art in the Neighbourhood when Ukrainian families flooded the village in the winter of 2022, taking refuge in Hîrtop before travelling west. That is how refugees and residents ended up cooking, playing, restoring homes, and watching films together. “It was such a great space for dialogue, we were making friends, meeting elsewhere,” says Curca. “That made it easier to be in dialogue with neighbours and representatives of the village.”
But, over the past years, she says she has seen the Sandu government invest less and less in “human capital” and, as she sees it, letting down people like her, the social activists and cultural workers that foster an independent cultural sector in the most remote of Moldovan villages.
She knows that Moldova should head West, and not East, yet she is worried about what she sees as Maia Sandu’s neoliberal tendencies. Her pro-western orientation, she fears, goes along with a tendency to “bring culture into the field of business”. Her experience is that Sandu’s minister of culture “is not seeing the value of culture”.
Over the past decades, life has got better for villagers. Roads are paved and infrastructure is getting a facelift. But with less investment in human capital there is no effort to fight Moldova’s number one issue: the brain drain caused by its most talented young people looking for a better life elsewhere.
She says she feels the Ministry of Culture has “prioritized commercial projects and reduced funding for independent arts projects” like hers, and that is hurting the fabric of village life. But people like her, she says, “are the people doing social work, facilitating the integration of refugees, giving access to culture, education and critical thinking.” She is also wary about a climate in the ruling government of “distributing money to relatives, friends, and to super problematic commercial projects”.
EU accession could accelerate such trends and she is thinking of boycotting the referendum and the presidential elections, as a sign of protest towards what she sees as undemocratic actions by the government. “If you are saying on each TV station, “We want the EU, we want the EU, we want EU!” and the EU is about values, democratic principles, just exercise those principles, don’t just preach them.”
“For us the EU is presented as the top of the Himalayas. If you reach the EU, life should be like a dream: in the mouth of every public servant, you can hear “EU, EU!” But that is artificial propaganda.”
“It’s a myth to believe that entering the EU will solve all our problems, without us applying those principles and values that we are talking about in our daily work.”
In Hirtrop, as in many other places, she feels that the mood is shifting and that “some of the society is thinking that Russia can help us and Putin is good,” she says. That worries her.
“This is the failure of the actual government, the lack of understanding that you have to invest in culture and education if you want to have social cohesion, solidarity and well-educated citizens.”
Volintiri
Mayor of Volintiri Igor Hincu. Photo by Yulia Surkova
“I know the agents of the pro-Russian parties. They will be very aggressive, but we are ready.”
Igor Hincu, 51, mayor
Igor Hincu’s loyalty to Maia Sandu was solidified the night that Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine sent hundreds of refugees fleeing to his village, barely seven kilometres from the Ukrainian border. The settlement is so close that you can sometimes hear Russian missiles pounding Odesa.
When Hincu took office five years ago in this eastern Moldovan farming village, he inherited crumbling infrastructure: no public sewage, unpaved roads and mostly garden toilets. Economic despair had hollowed out the village, leaving abandoned homes and a depleted workforce. Volintiri, which now has 2,000 inhabitants, has lost half its population in a decade, according to the latest census, released only weeks ago.
Hincu’s victory over a pro-Russian candidate was built on a promise to end decades of clientelism and corruption he said had hindered change. He knew Moldova lacked the funds for major infrastructure projects, so he took a grassroots approach –– writing grant applications, launching small initiatives such as installing garbage bins at the local market, and urging residents to stop dumping trash on the streets, in the forest, anywhere.
The election of Maia Sandu gave him hope. Her focus on Russia and corruption as threats to Moldova’s sovereignty echoed his own goals. “Since independence there’s been no presidency we’ve been more proud of,” says the mayor. In his office, a picture of a Ukrainian border guard telling a Russian warship to “go away” hangs next to the Moldovan flag. Hincu also shows, proudly, a pro-EU referendum flag.
The war in Ukraine tested Volintiri. Over 300 Ukrainian families found refuge in the village, sparking both generosity and jealousy. Why did Ukrainian families receive newly restored homes while they struggled, some locals asked. Hincu repeatedly reminded them that the refugees were not just a burden – they were breathing new life into the shrinking village.
Russian propaganda encouraged resentment against the refugees. “People get their news from TikTok, and often it is Russian propaganda,” he says. “It divides society.”
“We have a lot of work to do. We must continue to support Ukraine and Ukrainians and continue to explain to our people what propaganda is,” Hincu adds.
This fall, Hincu won a second term against at least one pro-Russian candidate, but he knows that pro-Russian forces are working hard to spread misinformation. With elections approaching, he expects their efforts to intensify.
“I know the agents of the pro-Russian parties,” he says. “They will be very aggressive, but we are ready.”
What is the best weapon against Russia’s lies? Igor Hincu believes that it is to vote and secure the possibility of EU membership in his country’s constitution.
Cricova
Ion Luca, founder of Carpediem, a small winery in Cricova. Photo by Isabelle de Pommereau
“What happens in Ukraine shows us clearly that we are at the border of the civilized world. I remember the year of the collapse of the USSR. I can see clearly that the Iron Curtain is coming again. We want to be on the right side.”
Ion Luca,41, founder of Carpediem
Thanks to the EU, Ion Luca, a fourth-generation winemaker, achieved what his father and grandfather could not. He has not only crafted exceptional wine but now also sells it to the world’s top markets.
In Moldova, winemaking has always been crucial. Luca’s father played his part. After studying oenology, he was assigned to one of the USSR’s biggest wineries that was based in Cricova. It was established by Stalin in 1952. Until his retirement five years ago, he helped supply the USSR, and later Russia, with table wine when “Russia was the only market Moldovan wine had.”
The Moldovan wine business thrived until, using wine as a political tool, Vladimir Putin in 2006, and then again in 2013, banned Moldovan wine imports in order to punish Moldova’s westward orientation. But this blow turned out to be a blessing in disguise, prompting Moldovan winemakers to reinvent the industry. They diversified production, improved the wine’s quality, and targeted EU markets more than ever before. “Until 2006, Germans never had the chance to taste Moldovan wines,” he said. “People didn’t know about Moldovan wines, but Russians did.”
“Shifting was hard, but it changed everything,” says Ion Luca. His father’s generation focused “on supplying, not competing”. Now, they also also had to learn about market diversification, marketing strategies and risk management.
Luca had an edge. He was one of the first Moldovans to be trained in winemaking at a vocational school in Germany honing his skills at a small winery, and in school. He learned not only how to make wine but also how to successfully market it.
Back in Moldova, he helped establish similar vocational wine schools in his country and lobbied for legislation supporting small wineries. Then, he founded Carpediem next to his parents’ house in Cricova. Carpediem now sells to 14 countries and has won numerous awards.
Small wineries like his have contributed to making wine Moldova’s second largest export sector after IT, according to Luca. “Both can be door openers to EU accession,” he says. “Wine represents tradition, IT the future.”
He knows that EU membership will enable a country few people know to build on this success, thus boost Moldova’s global profile and help shed its title as Europe’s poorest nation. He says that brain drain makes it so difficult for him to recruit talent. Freedom of movement, he says, has to go “both ways – not just people leaving.” “Not knowing Moldova is the main problem,” he says.
But beyond wine, EU membership has an existential dimension for Luca. It is a shield against war and dictatorship, and a chance to “finish our Soviet history.”His family’s painful history with Stalin’s deportations looms large. In 1949, Luca’s great grandfather, his wife and their nine children were deported to Siberia. His wife and five children perished. His great grandfather returned to his home in Orhei after Stalin’s death. But with the family property occupied by Red Army soldiers, he had no choice but to farm the land for them.
Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine sparked fears that Russian tanks would roll into Moldova next. “We have no tanks, jets, no military, they need two days to conquer Moldova,” he says.
“What happens in Ukraine shows us clearly that we are at the border of the civilized world.” Born in 1983, Luca remembers the collapse of the USSR vividly. “I can see clearly that the Iron Curtain is coming again, and we want to be on the right side.”
Orhei
The Vartely estate in Orhei. Photo: Katarzyna Boruta
Unlike the struggling village of Volintiri, Orhei – a major urban hub just 45 kilometres from the capital – feels like it puts its wealth on display. With its polished streets, luxury banks, and a brand-new aqua park, Orhei is a city that flaunts its modernity. On its streets, Russian is the dominant language, and among the Russian-speaking third of the population, the mood is decidedly pro-Russian and anti-EU.
One reason – for the relative wealth, and the anti-EU feelings in this city of close to 30,000 people – has to do with the city’s former mayor, Ilan Shor. This controversial businessman entangled in a massive banking fraud scandal, has become a key player in Moscow’s efforts to destabilize Moldova. In spite of having fled to Israel, his influence in Orhei lingers.
“Shor did a lot for this town – he built roads, improved infrastructure, and gave the town a very nice aqua park,” says Silvia Rosca, a sommelier at Chateau Vartely, a sprawling estate home to one of the country’s largest wineries. This establishment also had to reinvent itself after the Russian embargo.
But the perks did not stop at infrastructure. Shor offers free entry and ice cream at the aqua park for children, while also taking care of their parents and grandparents by “giving people money, feeding them, busing them to protests in the capital”.
Last year busloads of Orhei residents were mobilized to fuel anti-EU and anti-Maia Sandu demonstrations. This autumn, those same buses are expected to bring people to the polls.
“I don’t like it,” says the sommelier.
Speaking at Chateau Vartely’s main office in Chișinău, marketing manager Alina Fortunatova is pragmatic about the situation. Yes, she says, the Orhei region’s political leaders lean toward Russia. However, she argues that “it’s not about being Russian, western, or even North Pole-oriented.” In Orhei, she explains, people are driven by economics, not politics. The same is true for other regions, such as Bălți in the north, she says.To a large extent the same is true for the region of Gagauzia in the south.
“Whoever brings money and opportunities to Orhei will win, regardless of their political alignment,” Fortunatova says.
Shor, she points out, was not always pro-Russia. “He was not Russia oriented at all, until the war,” she says. “But now he sees his chance with Russia, and Russia sees their chance with him. There is no one else in Moldova that they can use in this game, so they chose Shor.” She calls it “very cheap politics”.
Fortunatova predicts that Shor will play this card up until the October elections. “We might see some turbulence,” she says, “but I believe common sense will prevail.”
For her, the stakes are clear: she will vote yes to both questions, on giving Maia Sandu a second term, and allowing for Moldova to continue its efforts to join the European Union. “For me and my company, the EU is crucial.”
Chateau Vartely’s main markets are Romania, the Czech Republic and Poland. It is now selling to other places in Europe, including the Netherlands, Iceland, Belgium and the Baltic countries.
As the elections approach, Fortunatova expects Russian propaganda to ramp up, but she remains confident. “I’m not nervous. I don’t see it swaying public opinion as much as they’d hope. The Moldovan people have more understanding and common sense than to fall for it.”
Countryside and the capital
Obayda Assaad, a French mathematician, left the city of Lille after completing his PhD to start fresh in a Moldovan village with his wife and small son. For two years, he has been carving out a niche for himself as a genuine organic farmer, shunning the monoculture that dominates the region. Some of the crops he has introduced are crops never seen in Moldova as he brings over seedlings from France.
Assaad does not miss the European Union. He believes that his Moldovan village is a better environment for his son to grow up in. But, keenly aware of farmers’ heavy reliance on pesticides, he concedes that “this isn’t the type of agriculture we want.” If anything, EU membership could be a potential catalyst for healthier farming practices. Yet Assaad knows the local mood. “There are a lot of Russians here and they are not going to turn their back on their country,” he notes. He explains: “People earned much more when they sold their produce to Russia.”
At 30, Assaad values tradition and family, qualities he tends to associate more with Russia than Europe. He is clear that he would vote “No” in the referendum. “Even if Moldovans are poor, they have a freedom that they wouldn’t have anymore” in the EU, he believes.
In his village, Rîșcova, politics feels distant. “Many people still have a Soviet soul,” he says, while the EU is seen as a “city thing”, often idealized by those who do not fully understand it.
Obayda Assaad, a French mathematician who started a new life in the small village of Rîșcova with his wife Felicia and their son. Photo by Katarzyna Boruta
One Moldovan who knows the European Union well – and does not idealize it – is Ion Chirch, an engineer in Chișinău, just an hour from Obayda Assaad’s farming spot.
After six years working in construction across Italy and the UK, Ion and his wife returned to Moldova to raise their son. Leaving after college for Europe had been about money, but they always intended to return. “Moldova is our land, our parents, our language,” says the 28-year-old. “That’s why we came back – to give our son a European future.”
Ion is eager for his country to be part of the European Union family but knows the journey will be long. A telltale sign of why came recently: when he bought a house together with his wife in Chișinău, they were asked to deflate its value to avoid taxes – a stark reminder of Moldova’s ongoing corruption. “I believe in Maia Sandu, but I’m sceptical about her team,” he says.
Moldova, Europe
Russia has long sought to extend its influence over the small, landlocked country of Moldova by sowing discord between Chișinău and the dissident regions of Transnistria and Gagauzia. It has pressured Moldova to sever its ties with Europe, by cutting gas supplies and banning farm products and wine, among other tactics. Now, as Moldova leans on the West more than ever amidst fears that Russia’s invasion of neighbourhing Ukraine could drag it into conflict, Russia’s meddling has intensified.
With Moldova’s upcoming presidential election and referendum on EU membership getting closer, concern is growing that pro-Russian candidates, exploiting Moldovans’ frustration over skyrocketing prices and the strain of the refugee crisis, will ramp up propaganda efforts and portray Russia as a guarantor of economic support and stability. “I’m a bit afraid of what’s coming,” admits winemaker Ion Luca. “Their main effort will take place just before the elections. They’ll use unlimited resources to sway the vote.”
Certainly, the war –– and the upcoming elections –– have intensified decades-old internal divisions in Moldova. The Sandu government has been more aggressive in combating Russian propaganda by blocking certain TV channels and illegal financial flows. German Chancellor Olaf Scholz’ visit to Chișinău on August 21st is the latest sign of the West’s staunch support for the president and her bid for EU accession.
While Moldovans remain divided over whether the EU can be a panacea for their country’s many challenges, including entrenched corruption, there’s a growing sense among ordinary Moldovans that a remake of the Soviet Union cannot be the solution.
The October election is pivotal. It will decide whether Moldova wants to head East or cement its Westward path. The road to the EU will be very long, but enshrining the option of EU accession in the constitution is crucial. Once it is in, no one can take it away.
Isabelle de Pommereau is an independent journalist writing for international news outlets such as The Christian Science Monitor, Alternatives Economiques, and New Eastern Europe. Based in Frankfurt, Germany, she often writes on issues around the transformation of countries of the former Soviet Union.
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Chișinău, disinformation, EU enlargement, EU-Moldovan relations, Maia Sandu, Moldova, moldova politics, Russian interference
Source link : https://neweasterneurope.eu/2024/08/30/voices-from-a-changing-moldova/
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Publish date : 2024-08-30 07:00:00
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