On Location: Rostov, Russia

Fans Beware!

Entry by Kate Greer

I have never had a water bottle violated before—a first for me in Rostov, Russia, as was my first Russian football game! (Read: SOCCER.) As I was entering the stadium with my fellow classmates from RAJI, the Russian-American Journalism Institute, I wasn’t surprised to be asked to open my messenger bag for security guards. In post-9/11 America, we would certainly be asked to do the same thing. But then one of my new Russian classmates explained that I would have to leave the plastic, screw-on top to my bottled water at the gates.

"We are not allowed to bring in glass bottles—they are too dangerous," she said. Ok, I was in agreement about the potential for broken glass, but caps for plastic bottles? "This is so we cannot throw the bottles when they are full. They are heavy and can injure someone."

At this point in my introduction to Russian football, I began to feel nervous. Full plastic bottles as weapons? The idea had never even occurred to me. I sadly left my bottle cap at the stadium gate and realized I would have to buy another small Bon Aqua bottle to act as my Nalgene. Dahsveedahneeyah, functional water bottle.
We then had a whirlwind tour of the stadium’s perimeter as we waded our way through throngs of Russian football fans in blue and yellow jerseys, crunching on huge bags of toasted sunflower seeds. (The remnants of rejected shells littered the entire stadium floor.) It seemed that we had finally found the entrance to our seating section as we mounted some enormous, white steps when my water bottle and I met with yet another roadblock: losing the cap was not enough.

In addition to having my bag checked for yet a second (and then third) time, my water bottle was not finished with its shame. A Russian policeman was posted at each entrance with an oversized kitchen knife so that he could saw off the tops to all uncapped, plastic bottles. I still don’t have a clear understanding of why this further moderation was necessary—perhaps so even less liquid could be retained by the bottle while in midair? Or because the harder plastic rim at the top of the bottle could injure someone if it hit him in the eye? I can only speculate.

I eventually subjected my water bottle to the policeman’s knife, only after drinking a third of its contents because that was how much of the bottle he was removing. I then gingerly held the top of the now-exposed bottle, trying not to think about sunflower seed scraps and cigarette fumes wafting into my water.

After much pushing and being pushed we made our way to some terrific seats only a few rows up from the Moscow team’s goal (they won 2-0 on some cheap penalty kicks). As we settled in, I removed a handy travel wipe and tried to sanitize my half bottle so that I could still enjoy what was left of my water. My cleaning job even impressed some of my classmates so much they were willing to have a sip or two as well. Finding a sufficiently clean spot to rest my cup of water was a little trickier though—sunflower seed shells were falling like rain and I couldn’t hold it in my hands because I didn’t want to put my messenger bag on the stadium floor.

And just as 70 percent of the Rostov fans around us were lighting up their cigarettes and I was wondering how much humiliation my bottle and I would have to suffer—I am not a smoker—the men sitting behind us tapped me on the shoulder. Would I like some peanuts? Or perhaps some crispy sunflower seeds? Eventually I took them up on some peanuts and tried offering them trail mix and chocolate-covered hazelnuts in return. They declined, saying they were full of vodka and cigarette smoke, but the foundation of the friendship was laid. For the rest of the game, we had a back and forth repertoire of them saying things to me in Russian that I couldn’t understand and me doing the same in English, punctuated by lots of smiles.

I can’t say that I understand all the fine rules of soccer, of even that I was particularly interested in the game. I do know, though, that I made some soccer fan friends, and that my water bottle, or what remained of it, was left behind.

Photo Gallery

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Our Students

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Welcome to Year Three

Read about the 2005 Institute in action in our BLOG, updated regularly throughout the program.

Year three of the Russian-American Journalism Institute has just begun. Students from New York University arrived in Rostov after spending several days exploring St. Petersburg and Moscow. After several introductory seminars, Russian and American journalism students formed reporting teams. Over the coming weeks, these teams will be producing collaborative articles and broadcast pieces. Check back here for regular updates in our blog, photographs of the institute in action, and selected final projects.

In the meantime, feel free to peruse our archives for a look at the institute's previous two summers.

Below you'll find some selected stories from Year Two of the Institute. More from Year Two can be found here.

Sport, Money and Power

By Noria Litaker

Olga Selekheva didn’t have a choice about playing volleyball - the Soviet schoolgirl’s government demanded it.

“Everyone had to play,” the tall, mother of two said. “Nobody cared if you wanted to or not.”

The Men who Built Chernobyl’s Tomb

By Anna-Kaisa Walker

Oleg Sergeyevich Zolotukhin’s body is a battlefield. The burly former construction worker from Shakhty in southern Russia, 50, now slouches to his left side in a worn-out wheelchair, his paralyzed legs encased in track pants and sneakers. A long scar from thyroid surgery snakes up from his shirt collar. His speech is slightly slurred, but when he talks about the two months he spent in Chernobyl, he gestures animatedly with his good hand.

Faculty Year Two

Read about our faculty from year two of the Russian-American Journalism Institute. The faculty from year two included several faculty members from year one (not pictured here), including Professor Mitch Stephens, Professor Alla Bespalova, Professor Adrian Mihai, Professor Alexander Korechensky, and Professor Vitaly Vichenko. To read about the faculty from year one, please click here.

Photo Gallery

Students took time off from studying for a day at the Black Sea

A Black Sea pier

Black sea rocks

We're all easily entertained

Prettiest girl in Russia

Lenin gets all the chicks

"You like Russian electroclash?"

Yulia wants to be a cowgirl

Adam caught pondering

Professor Kurochensky

Professor Mihai scans the horizon for his next victim

Andrei and Tatiana

Yoohoo! Chipsy!

Mel, on the train to Moscow

Melissa films Andrei playing guitar

Russian lineup

History museum near Rostov

Small desk, brusied knees. History museum near Rostov.

The resort "Progress" on the Black Sea.

A few of our lovely and talented interpreters.

A view in Sochi, on the Black Sea.

Eh?

Yee-haw.

Meline Toumani

Meline Toumani is a writer in New York City. She has written features, commentaries and criticism for The New York Times, The Nation, Mother Jones, Ms., Alternet, and other publications. She earned her master's degree in journalism in 2003 in New York University's Cultural Reporting and Criticism program, and graduated from U.C. Berkeley in 1998 with high honors in English and a minor in public policy. This is Meline's second year working for the Russian-American Journalism Institute in Rostov-on-Don. In addition to spending time in Russia, she has traveled in Armenia, Czech Republic, England, France, Germany, Georgia, Greece, Hong Kong, Iran, Italy, Malaysia, and The Netherlands.

Steve Bryant

Steve is a writer living in New York. He graduated from New York University's graduate department of Journalism in December 2004, and from the College of William and Mary in 1999 with honors in English and a minor in anthropology. He works as a freelance writer and web designer, and as a frequent contributor to the New York Daily News. In addition to helping coordinate the Russian-American Journalism Institute in Russia, Steve has worked in Italy and traveled throughout New Jersey. Several times, actually. He doesn't want to talk about that.

Julia Savenkova

Julia Savenkova is a post-graduate student at Rostov State University in the School of Philology and Journalism. She is the managing editor of "Kaktus," a weekly magazine devoted to arts, culture, entertainment, and politics for young people. In 2003 she traveled to Ithaca College to study print journalism and teaching methods.

Year One

Broadcast Pieces

Chechens: Profiles in Life and Troubled Times
You will need Quicktime to view the following movies.

A Family's Story By Vasichan Mezhiev (Russian)

A Family's Story By T.J. Wait (English)

A Day in the Life: Being A Chechen By T.J. Wait (English)

A Soldier's Story By Sophie Shevardnadze with Julia Nosova (English)

From the Ground Up: A Church Tries to Rebuild
By Marcia Dadydova with Elizabeth Crowley (Russian)

МИТЧЕЛЛ СТИВЕНС

Митчелл Стивенс - автор книги "История новостей", обширной истории развития журналистики, которая была переведена на четыре языка и была признана Нью Йорк Таймс "Самой значительной книгой года". Его последняя книга, "Восхождение образа падение мира", исторический анализ текущей революции в коммуникациях, была опубликована издательством Оксфордского Университета. Профессор Стивенс также является автором "Телевизионных новостей", основного учебника по телевидению и радио, соавтор книги "Новостная журналистика". В последние годы написал множество статей по проблемам средств массовой информации и публиковался в изданиях, таких как Нью-Йорк Таймс, Лос-Анджелес Таймс, Вашингтон Пост и Коламбия Джорнализм Ревью. Недавно профессор Стивенс кругосветное путешествие, во время которого сделал доклад о глобализации для радиопрограммы "Marketplace" и для Интернет версии журнала "FEED" и писал заметки путешественника для "LonelyPlanet.com".

КРИСТОФЕР ХАРПЕP

Кристофер Харпер - почетный профессор школы коммуникаций Итака Колледжа города Итаки, штат Нью Йорк. Более 20 лет он работал в различных СМИ таких, как Ассошиэйтед Пресс (Чикаго), Ньюсуик (Чикаго, Вашингтон, округ Колумбия, Бейрут), Эй-Би-Си Ньюс и Эй-Би-Си 20/20 (Каир, Рим, Нью-Йорк). Он написал 4 книги по веб-журналистике и массовым коммуникациям. В 2001 году работал в качестве профессора от фонда Фулбрайт в Университете Адама Мицкевича в Познани, Польша, читал лекции в Японии и Израиле.

AЛЛА ГРИГОРЬЕВНА БЕСПАЛОВА

Окончила Ростовский Государственный Университет в 1979 году. В 1992 году защитила кандидатскую диссертацию "Формирование и развитие отечественных аудиовербальных средств массовой информации" под руководством профессора Корнилова Е.А. С 1979 года работала ассистентом, преподавателем, старшим преподавателем и доцентом кафедры истории журналистики факультета филологии и журналистики РГУ. Имеет большой опыт сотрудничества с Нью Йоркским Университетом, Дортмундским Университетом. После стажировки в Нью Йоркском Университете разработала учебный курс "Новостная журналистика", основанный на американских методиках преподавания, для студентов отделения международной журналистики. Также разработала и ведёт курсы "Эмпирические исследования современной российской прессы", "Мастерство отечественных публицистов". Организатор и исполнительный директор совместного проекта с Дортмундским Университетом "Эмпирические исследования местной прессы".

МАРША РОК

Марша Рок - продюсер, режиссёр, писатель и заведующая отделением телевидения школы журналистики Нью Йоркского Университета, сценарист и независимый продюсер документального кино, дважды завоевавшая премию Эмми. Её документальный фильм о женщинах в Северной Ирландии, "Дети беды: Истории Белфаста" завоевал многочисленные награды, среди них награду американского телевидения и радио и другие. Фильм был показан на многих фестивалях, в Ирландии, Северной Ирландии, Испании, Канаде и США. Один из последних фильмов профессора Рок - "Танцуя с моим отцом". В 1998 году сняла фильм "Обратно извне", посвящённый лечению от наркомании женщин. Рок сняла три основных документальных фильма про Ирландию и американцах ирландского происхождения: "Сыновья Дери"(1992), "Ирландцы не нужны"(1993) и "McSorley's New York", завоевавший премию Эмми в 1987 году. Она также завоевала Эмми за фильм "Поющие ангелы В Китае", хроники путешествия молодого хора из Кливленда в Китай в 1983 году. Профессор Рок является соавтором, вместе с Марлен Сандерс фильмов "Ожидая главного времени", "Женщины в телевизионных новостях"(1988).

ЭДРИАН МИХАЙ

Адриан Михай - координатор отделения телевидения щколы журналистики Нью Йоркского Университета, внештатный видеограф, независимый продюсер и мульти-медиа дизайнер. Был продюсером и режиссёром нескольких документальных фильмов, "E Pluribus Unum" (1994), фильм исследующий духовные переживания первого поколения румынских иммигрантов, когда они старались интегрироваться в различные слои американского общества; "Кто-то убил сфинкса (1995), фильм анализирующий общественные реалии Румынии после свержения режима Николае Чаушеску, сквоззь призму оперы "Эдип", поставленной в румынской национальной опере; "Перекрёстки" (1998), фильм описывающий программу подготовки выпускников Колумбийского Университета, созданный знаменитым американским режиссёром румынского происхождения Андреем Сербаном; "Бесконечное путешествие", документальный фильм о цыганах в Румынии. Профессор Михай работает внештатным оператором в различных телекомпаниях, таких как Блумберг, ВВС Америка, Австрийское телевидение и CNN. С 1996 года преподаёт у бакалавров и студентов магистратуры курс "Новости для интернета".

АЛЕКСАНДР ПЕТРОВИЧ КОРОЧЕНСКИЙ

Александр Петрович Короченский - доцент кафедры истории журналистики Ростовского госуниверситета, кандидат филологических наук. Обозреватель отечественной и зарубежной печатной и электронной прессы. После окончания отделения журналистики РГУ работал в печати. С 1982 года преподает при кафедре истории журналистики РГУ. В 1985 - 1997 гг. - заместитель декана филологического факультета РГУ по международным связям и работе с иностранными студентами. В 1992 - 2002 г.г. - директор Международного института журналистики и филологии (Ростов-на-Дону).

Вел научно-исследователькую работу и преподавал в зарубежных университетах - Гаванском (Куба), Нью-Йоркском (США), Силезском (Польша). Автор монографий "Пятая власть?" феномен медиакритики в контексте информационного рынка", "Этическое регулирование журналистской деятельности (зарубежный опыт)"; "Публицистика Хосе Марти. Идейно-мировоззренческая система творчества публициста-просветителя"; соавтор коллективной работы "История мировой журналистики".

Создатель первой в России общественной группы мониторинга СМИ и медиакритики и сайта МедиаРевю.

ВИТАЛИЙ МИХАЙЛОВИЧ ВИНИЧЕНКО

Родился 3 сентября 1966 г. В 1990 году окончил факультет филологии и журналистики Ростовского государственного университета и поступил в аспирантуру. В 1995 г. защитил кандидатскую диссертацию "Газета "Интернэшнл геральд трибюн" как тип глобального издания". В настоящее время - заместитель декана факультета филологии и журналистики по информатике и информатизации.

РОМАН ЧЕРНОВ

Роман Чернов в 2001 году закончил РГПУ со степенью магистра лингвистики.Преподаватель английского и немецкого языков. В настоящий момент аспирант кафедры истории журналистики факультета филологии и журналистики РГУ. Один из первых пяти участников совместного проекта с американской стороной.

Диссертационное исследование посвящено периодическим изданиям издательского дома TESOL. Стажировался в течение весеннего семестра в Итака колледже, США. Работает преподавателем на факультете. Сфера интересов: вэб-журналистика, ТВ-журналистика.

АРТЕМ ЕРЕМЕНКО

Артем Еременко - аспирант факультета филологии и журналистики Ростовского Государственного Университета. Степень бакалавра и магистра журналистики получил также в РГУ.

На данный момент он является редактором полосы, посвященной рынку недвижимости в газете издательского дома "Все для Вас". Параллельно Артем занимается вопросами предвыборных технологий, информационной аналитикой в области политики и бизнеса, участвовал в разработке сайта РАИЖ.

В 2001 году он участвовал в совместной исследовательской программе Ростовского Государственного Университета и Дортмундского Университета в сфере социологии журналистики.

В 2003 году Артем в течение весеннего семестра находился на стажировке в Итака колледже. Это позволило ему больше узнать о методах преподавания журналистики в США.

АННА КАПУСТИНА

В 1996 году поступила на отделение международной журналистики факультета филологии и журналистики Ростовского Государственного Университета и в 2002 г. получила диплом магистра. С ноября 2002 - аспирантка РГУ.

Работала внештатным корреспондентом в местных изданиях «Известия Юг», «Донская панорама», «Город N», проходила летнюю практику в отделе рекламы телевизионной компании «38-й канал». Летом 1998 г. проходила летнюю практику на Кипре в газете «Вести с Кипра». В 2001-2002 гг. работала в штате местной газеты «Академия».

В 2001 г. принимала участие в программе социологического исследования подростковой читательской аудитории, проводимой совместно факультетами журналистики Ростова и Дортмунда при поддержке ДААД.

В 2003 г. провела семестр в Колледже Итаки, США в качестве участника партнерской программы для молодых преподавателей между факультетами журналистики Ростова и Нью-Йорка. Разработала программу для таких предметов как «Современное радиовещание» и «СМИ и правительство».

ЮЛИЯ САВЕНКОВА

Юлия Савенкова — аспирант факультета журналистики Ростовского государственного университета. Она работает социологом в отделе маркетинга издательского дома "Крестьянин". Кроме того, Юлия является главным редактором молодежной газеты "Кактус".

В 2003 году она участвовала в образовательной программе подготовки журналистских кадров и в течении четырех месяцев обучалась теории журналистики и методам преподавания журналистики в Итака колледже, США.

СВЕТЛАНА ШЕЛЕСТ

Светлана Шелест родилась в г. Ростове-на-Дону. В 1997 окончила Ростовский государственный университет, отделение романо-германской филологии факультета филологии и журналистики по специальности "германская филология", языки специальности английский и немецкий.

По окончании университета была принята на должность преподавателя английского языка на отделение романо-германской филологии, где работает по настоящее время, и за шесть лет профессиональной деятельности принимала участие в различных межкультурных программах обмена и мероприятиях, проводимых университетом и факультетом в сферах филологии и журналистики. В 2002 была избрана к участию в крупном Российско-Американском проекте сотрудничества между Нью-йоркским университетом, колледжем г. Итаки и РГУ.

В 2003 успешно окончила семестровую программу обучения в школе коммуникаций им. Парка колледжа Итаки в составе группы молодых преподавателей/аспирантов из РГУ. По возвращении в Ростов-на-Дону принимает активное участие в подготовке и проведении летнего Российско-Американского Института Журналистики в качестве инструктора и ассистента старшего преподавательского состава.

РОССИЙСКО-АМЕРИКАНСКИЙ ИНСТИТУТ ЖУРНАЛИ

Российско-Американский Институт журналистики, совместная программа Ростовского Государственного Университета, Нью-йоркского Университета и Итака Колледжа, собрала вместе преподавателей, журналистов и лучших студентов из России и Соединенных Штатов Америки для эффективного обмена идеями в сфере преподавания журналистики и ее практики.

Создание Российско-Американского Института Журналистики дает возможность эффективного обмена журналистским опытом и идеями. Проект финансируется Государственным Департаментом США. В институте собрались вместе для работы преподаватели и студенты Ростовского Государственного Университета, Нью-йоркского Университета и Итака Колледжа. Программа направлена на то, чтобы улучшить качество преподавания и понимания в целом роли международной журналистики.

Пять младших преподавателей Ростовского Государственного Университета в 2003 году стажировались в течение 4 месяцев в Итака Колледже. Это позволило им больше узнать о методах преподавания журналистики в США. Летом того же года группа из четырех преподавателей и девяти студентов из Нью-йоркского университета и Итака Колледжа отправилась в Россию, город Ростов-на-Дону.

Институт действует в течение трех лет. Опыт академического обмена будет продолжен. Мы очень надеемся, что этот проект поможет нам больше узнать о методиках преподавания журналистики в обеих странах и расширить контакты в сфере журналистского образования.

Руководители проекта - Евгений Корнилов, декан факультета филологии и журналистики Ростовского Государственного Университета; Митчел Стивенс, профессор журналистики и массовых коммуникаций Нью-йоркского университета; Кристофер Харпер, почетный профессор школы коммуникаций Итака Колледжа.

Профессор Стивенс:mitch.stephens@nyu.edu.

Профессор Харпер: christopherharper@verizon.net.

About RAJI

The Russian-American Journalism Institute--a joint program of Rostov State University, New York University and Ithaca College -- brings together educators, journalists and advanced students from Russia and the United States to exchange ideas about how journalism is practiced and taught in both countries.

The Russian-American Journalism Institute provides an opportunity for the exchange of ideas about journalism in Russia and the United States. Funded by a grant from the U.S. Department of State, the institute brings together faculty and students from Rostov State University, New York University and Ithaca College and is intended to strengthen the curricula and to improve understanding of international journalism at the schools.

Five educators from Rostov State University traveled to Ithaca College for four months in 2003 to study journalistic methods and education. In the summer of 2003, a team of four faculty members and nine students from NYU and Ithaca College traveled to Rostov State University in Rostov, Russia. There, the U.S. faculty and students worked for one month with faculty and students from Russia.

In the Fall of 2003, two more students from Rostov attended Ithaca College. This Summer, we continue the program by bringing 13 American students to Rostov.

The three-year program will continue to provide exchanges of faculty and students between the United States and Russia. Ultimately, we hope that the institute will continue as a way to examine the journalistic and educational techniques of both countries and to expand contacts about journalism education.

The project directors are Mitchell Stephens, professor of journalism and mass communications at New York University and Christopher Harper, Roy H. Park Distinguished Chair of the School of Communications at Ithaca College.

Professor Stephens may be contacted at mitch.stephens@nyu.edu. Professor Harper may be contacted at christopherharper@verizon.net.

Some Photos from Rostov

Debarking the train from Moscow to Rostov

Interpreters are crucial to good communication

RAJI teachers

RAJI Graduation Day

RAJI Ithaca Students

RAJI NYU Students

RAJI Russian Students

Year Two

Sport, Money and Power

By Noria Litaker

Olga Selekheva didn’t have a choice about playing volleyball - the Soviet schoolgirl’s government demanded it.

“Everyone had to play,” the tall, mother of two said. “Nobody cared if you wanted to or not.”

And as she grew, playing turned from a chore into a passion for Selekheva. She excelled at the sport and in 1976 Rostov State University offered the 17-year old a spot at its school and on its volleyball team.

She took it.

For the next five years Selekheva attended class, trained and competed. She never spent a kopek for her room and board, her uniforms, the trips abroad for competitions and the summer coaching sessions.

“We didn’t pay for a thing,” she said. “We felt everyone took care of us.”
Yet as Communism crumbled in the late 1980s, so did the Soviet sports machine. The sports industry, like all others, was privatized and costs for training and equipment skyrocketed. A handful of free state-funded sports schools survived for elite athletes, but the foundation of Soviet sports system – affordable mass sport – has almost disappeared. And as a result, wealth is now an essential ingredient in the recipe for athletic access and success in the Russian Federation.

Selekhova knows this first hand – and she is wealthy.

Today she forks over 24,000 [$874.75]rubles each month for her son, Stasik Shvetsova, 16, to play tennis, something she never would have had to do before the fall of the Iron Curtain.

“In the 1990s the rent for an indoor court ways 50 rubles [$1.72] per hour and now it is 300 rubles [$10.31] per hour,” she said. “You usually need two hours to train by yourself and another hour with a hitting partner. And that’s not just once a week.”

Shvetsova, one of the top Russian teenage tennis players, practices six times a week.

The court time alone costs 5400 rubles.

The average salary per worker in the Rostov region in April 2004 was 4,794.5 [$164.76] rubles according to the Rostov Department of State Statistics.

“[The cost of training] is higher than our salaries,” Selekhova said. “Sometimes we have to cut down on the number of training sessions he has.”

And Shvetsova is one of the lucky ones.

A children’s racket at SportsMaster, a local sports store in Rostov, costs 735 rubles [$25.26], 15 percent of a single parent’s monthly income. And the racket doesn’t come with court time or a coach.

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The book, Highlights of Soviet Sport, printed in 1972, states: “Sport in a socialist country is a state concern and is structured according to the principle of amateurism.”

Under the Soviet Union there were state-run schools and sport academies and cities and towns funded local leagues with teams attached to schools, sports clubs or neighborhoods.

Sport was a mandatory part of primary and secondary education and national clubs Dynamo and Spartak Clubs gave hundreds of thousands of people the chance to take part in sports.

Membership into these clubs and academies was either free or easily affordable for the average worker.

All that changed when Mikhail Gorbachev became the leader of the U.S.S.R. in 1985.

According to a report by the International Youth Foundation, the pre-perestroika system of preschool and after-school education has almost been destroyed.
The report states that in 1986 membership at a figure skating or athletic club cost 1/12 the monthly income of a cleaning lady. Before affording sports clubs was never a financial problem for parents, now for the 25 percent of Russians who live below the poverty line, sport costs must compete with food and rent in family budgets.

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And that has left many children on the street rather than on courts and in gyms.
The only vestige of the affordable Soviet sport system that has survived are the free sports schools for gifted athletes.

In 2002 there were more than 4,000 children’s and youth sports schools in Russia, yet most have endured years of decreasing financial support from the government.

At a speech at Spartkiad, the Russian Youth games in Oct. 2003, Russian president Vladimir Putin said 150 sports schools are on the verge of closure.
The Special Children and Youth Sports School for Olympic Reserve No. 6 is one such school. Founded in 1960, the school trains 850 rhythmic gymnasts and trampolinists in one large gym that resembles an airplane hanger.

On a large foam pad coaches patrol rows of stretching girls barking orders and slapping at mis-turned ankles. There is no mercy.

Over on the trampolines an 11-year old with a round freckled face and hard blue eyes propels herself 20 feet in the air, twisting, somersaulting and then pushing off again. Every muscle in her body is taut and toned. Her coach and teammates spot her carefully.

“We haven’t gotten new equipment since perestroika,” said Irina Grigorievna Davidova, director of the school, as she motions at the floor exercise mat held up by plywood. “We don’t’ even have the necessary safety equipment for the trampolines.”

The reserve, which trains children after school, used to have two floors in the dingy yellow-brick building. Now the first floor is occupied by a women’s fitness center, rented out in order to make money for repairs upstairs.

“Every year we receive less money,” said Davidova.

Besides after school gyms like Olympic Reserve No. 6 there are educational sports schools where students attend class and train in the same building and colleges of Olympic reserve, which are like boarding schools, where children ages 14 to 17 study and train, said Vladimir Maksimovich Barshay, director of the Rostov Institute of Physical Education.

Yet the 2.5 million children that train at these schools is just a fraction of the total.

“As of today we can attract only 9.5 percent of children from six to 15 years old to the existing schools,” Deputy Prime Minister Valentina Matviyenko told ITAR-TASS news service in 2002. It is “an insignificant part” of all children, she said.

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With the disappearance of teams at schools and the scarcity of sport reserves wealth has become an essential ingredient in the recipe for athletic success and there’s is no better example than Rostov’s Varteres Samurgashev.

Samurgashev won the gold medal in the 63-kilogram weight class in Greco-Roman wrestling at the 2000 Olympic Games.

Today the 24-year old lives with his parents in Rostov and is preparing to defend his Olympic title in Athens next month.

The Samurgashev’s two-story brick house looks like it was plucked from an American suburb and plopped in the middle of Rostov’s decaying and worn buildings. Ivy grows on the front of the house’s façade and a well-tended vegetable garden grows in the large manicured lawn.

The entrance hall’s wallpaper is mirror. Samurgashev’s medals, trophies and plaques press in on the visitor from all sides. Inside the house’s spacious rooms are lined with wood paneling. In the living room sits a big flat-screen TV and a computer peeks out from a bedroom.

In the yard sits another house, it’s the one Samurgashev’s family re-modeled for him after the last Olympics.

The large one-story house is flanked by several new cars.

The money used to build these houses, also supports Samurgashev’s wrestling career.

Despite the fact that he is an Olympic champion and that the Russian national team pays for his coach, equipment and competition fees, Samurgashev cannot earn a living simply by wrestling.

He is able to train full-time and wrestle at the highest level only because his businessmen brothers support him financially.

“It’s hard to live on the money which you receive from sports, especially from wrestling,” the broad-shouldered Samurgashev said. “Other sportsmen have to find a job, but my brothers help me so all I have to do is wrestle.”

Unfortunately, Misha Kobaliya doesn’t have this luxury.

While Samurgashev relaxes after his workouts, Russian national karate team member Kobaliya is hard at work – coaching in between his training sessions.
“To go to competitions I have to earn money,” the 24-year old said. “At the same time I have to train.”

Because karate is not an Olympic sport, Kobaliya said, the government gives it little attention or money.

He regularly skips smaller tournaments because he cannot afford the travel costs.

“There are a lot of very good sportsmen, but they don’t have the money to train or to go to competitions in foreign countries,” he said.

Instead, these sportsmen quit playing to go to school or find jobs, he said.
Misha’s situation is not one unique to elite or adult athletes in Russia. “Because children from the lower class don’t have the money to pay for training, they stop doing it,” said Selekheva.

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The Russian constitution states that the “Federation shall finance … the development of physical culture and sport”

Yet, a 2002 a governmental decree estimated that eight to 10 percent of Russians regularly take part in sporting activities. In developed countries the percentage is 40 to 60 percent.

The decree also acknowledged that since 1991 the price of sports services increased and not as many people had access to sports facilities. As a result the health of the nation worsened and Russia dropped to last place on the World Health Organization’s life expectancy list for European nations.

The life expectancy for men in the country is 58.4 years and for women it is 72.1 years.

“A study showed that only 20 percent of our children are healthy. That’s about the same percentage of children that go to sporting schools,” said Vyacheslav Fetisov, the head of Federal Agency on Physical Culture, Sports and Tourism and former NHL and Soviet hockey star. “Meantime we have growing problems with drugs, alcohol and tobacco.”

In 2002 Russian president Vladimir Putin put Fetisov in charge of the monumental task of reviving Russian sport on all levels and rebuilding the decaying sports infrastructure.

“All citizens of Russia must have a chance to go in for sport,” Putin declared at a Dec. 2002 session of Presidential Council for Physical Culture and Sports.
The first steps in this process had been taken only a few months earlier.

In Sept. 2002 the federal government assigned 4 billion rubles to the development of physical culture and sport and 2.5 billion to finance sports competitions. It also gave to build 90 sport facilities with over 382.5 million rubles, twice as much as the previous year.

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Yet, two years later Selekheva has yet to see the federal governments increase in sports funding trickle down to the local level.

“The local government budget which is supposed to donate money for sport is only 300,000 rubles a year for all sports,” she said incredulously.

“When [my son and I] went to Moscow for the Russian championship tickets alone cost 8,000 rubles,” she said.

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Although the effects of government’s efforts may not be apparent yet, Fetisov is still determined to make sport accessible to every Russian once again.

“The Russian government is following a course of investments in the health of a nation,” Fetisov told ITAR-TASS in 2003. “Youth sport is in trouble here. It’s easy to complain about things. But when you complain you also have a duty to try and fix the problems when you are asked. That’s what I’m doing.”

The men who built Chernobyl’s tomb

By Anna-Kaisa Walker

Oleg Sergeyevich Zolotukhin’s body is a battlefield. The burly former construction worker from Shakhty in southern Russia, 50, now slouches to his left side in a worn-out wheelchair, his paralyzed legs encased in track pants and sneakers. A long scar from thyroid surgery snakes up from his shirt collar. His speech is slightly slurred, but when he talks about the two months he spent in Chernobyl, he gestures animatedly with his good hand.

“When the government needed us, we came,” he said. “We didn’t know the radiation was that dangerous.”

Of the collection of certificates and medals spread out on the living room coffee table of his spotless suburban apartment, there is one award Zolotukhin will remember with bitterness. The Order of Courage, a small brass crest hanging on a red ribbon, arrived on April 26 this year, the 18th anniversary of the Chernobyl disaster, with a booklet bearing the tightly curled signature of President Vladimir Putin.

“The government remembers us, but now they want to bring us closer to the end,” Zolotukhin said.

Nearly two decades after the worst nuclear accident in history, big changes are in store for the “Chernobyltsy” – the 600,000 young Russian soldiers, military reservists and fire-fighters called in, often without protective clothing, to clean up debris and build a concrete shield over Unit No. 4, the exploded Ukrainian reactor that spewed 190 tons of radioactive fuel into the atmosphere. Some are afraid a new set of welfare reforms introduced by Putin in the Duma this summer will strike a fatal blow.

“[The reforms] are murder,” Zolotukhin said. “This is the law that will kill us.”
Starting in 2005, monthly cash payments are slated to replace the free or discounted housing, cars, medicines and vacations promised to the Chernobyltsy in the early 1990s as compensation for their exposure to high levels of radiation. It’s a drastic overhaul of the Soviet-era social safety net for war veterans, the disabled and an estimated 100 million Russians who live on state assistance, according to the Moscow Times. The changes, say officials, are designed to streamline a bureaucracy riddled with corruption and inefficiencies.
But according to union leaders, the cash won’t be enough to save the lives of many workers afflicted by Chernobyl-induced illnesses.

“If this law passes, you might as well order me a coffin,” said Zolotukhin, only half joking. He worries that the 6,700 rubles he expects to receive every month under the new law – about $230 – won’t be enough to cover his living expenses and the kidney medication, painkillers and massages he needs to function. Two spinal surgeries have left him confined to a wheelchair for the past 12 years.

But he considers himself lucky – so far, he has no cancer, unlike a friend whose treatment could cost up to 5,000 rubles a month. “I don’t know how he’s going to make it,” Zolotukhin said. There is no conclusive evidence linking the Chernobyl disaster to widespread cancer increases, but the United Nations Scientific Committee on the Effects of Atomic Radiation found a slight increase in the incidence of leukemia and thyroid disease among a sample of clean-up workers who, like Zolotukhin, worked in the “exclusion zone,” a 19-mile radius around the reactor, in the first year after the disaster.

Those well enough to protest say they plan to make their concerns public. On July 27 in the city of Rostov-on-Don, 80 miles from the Ukrainian border and 40 miles south of Shakhty, 35 former clean-up workers will board a bus beneath the Chernobyltsy monument — a bronze statue of a man walking through flames holding his arm over his face — and travel two days to Revolution Square in Moscow, where they will rally with up to 13,000 demonstrators on the eve of the bill’s third reading in parliament.

It’s the Russian Chernobyl Union’s biggest protest ever, according to Alexander Petrovich Filipenko, the fiery chairman of the Rostov branch, one of the largest in the Russian Federation. For many members, Filipenko said, the loss of their benefits is the last straw in a battle for recognition that began even before the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991. “This problem has a long history,” said Filipenko. “It goes back to when the catastrophe took place.”

Western reports blamed the Soviet government for the country’s delayed reaction to the Chernobyl disaster. For three days following the explosion that released 100 times the radiation of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, news outlets were silent, leaving 3.2 million people in Europe and the former Soviet Union unaware that they had been contaminated, according to the BBC.

Zolotukhin said he was told to report to the Shakhty military draft office at once with his passport. Finally shipped out in June of 1987, he arrived in Chernobyl by bus. “There was no electricity, and it was dark in the city,” he recalled. “When we passed people in strange helmets, my heart started thumping.”

For six hours a day, Zolotukhin and colleagues waited on-site in a bunker near the destroyed reactor. They worked in shifts of 20 minutes at a time building the concrete “sarcophagus,” with no protective gear except for masks that covered their noses and mouths. They carried personal dosimeters, and according to Zolotukhin official records say they experienced only low radiation levels. He said is sure, however, that he received at least 100 millisieverts total, the equivalent of 1000 chest x-rays, five times the maximum annual dose permitted for nuclear power plant workers, according to the International Atomic Energy Agency.

“The authorities lied to us,” said union member Leonid Petrovich Kaminsky. “They wrote down smaller figures than the equipment showed.”
It wasn’t until 1991 that the Chernobylsty received their official status, along with a glossy certificate with a portrait of Lenin on it. “We thought we had solved our problems, and we were entitled to decent lives,” Filipenko said.
Wresting long-overdue benefits from the backlogged Russian social services bureaucracy, however, has so far been a fruitless task. In 2000, 90 union members staged a hunger strike in Shakhty that lasted more than 200 days, said Vladimir Alexandrovich Manikin, head of the Shakhty local. Union members unsuccessfully filed civil suits in 1995, 1997 and 1999, and in 2002 they appealed to the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg, France. The court recognized the Chernobyltsy’s right to full compensation – but according to Filipenko, the Russian government has still not paid up the more than $500,000 it owes the Shakhty group.

“The constitution guarantees that the harm inflicted on citizens by the state should be compensated by the state,” Kaminsky said. “We’ve sacrificed our health and got nothing.”

Government officials have repeatedly assured the population that the new reforms are nothing to fear. In a July 18 statement Social Development Minister Mikhail Zurabov said the state plans to preserve medical, vacation and travel privileges for the eligible population next year. President Putin remarked last month that social spending would increase from $1 billion to $6 billion a year for the disabled.

But Zolotukhin, Filipenko and others aren’t convinced. Few Chernobyltsy have read through the bill’s 600 pages of proposals, Filipenko said, and most believe their monthly payments will be eaten away by inflation before they finally get them. “The government is trying to present what it would like to see as the reality,” he added. “They pushed this bill through the Duma in a package with 155 other laws, hoping it would go unnoticed. It was a huge political blunder on their part.”

The Chernobyltsy remain optimistic, however, that Putin will listen when they stage their protest. “The President sincerely believes this law is good,” said Filipenko, a onetime prominent member of the United Russia Party. “If he learns that people are so unhappy with the law, he will make changes.”
The only thing left to do for Zolotukhin, his wife Lyuba and teenage daughter Svetlana is wait for the final vote scheduled sometime next year. Meanwhile, fear and confusion remain. “The government keeps telling us everything is going to be alright,” he said. “But they can pass any law they want. Only they will benefit.”

“We protected the whole of Europe,” he added. “Now we can’t even live peacefully.”

Borderland

by Jason Boog

ROSTOV-ON-DON (RUSSIA) Hundreds of soldiers stroll down the leafy sidewalk on Pushkinskaya Street everyday, enjoying the pedestrian mall that crisscrosses this southern Russia capital. They wander past concrete dividers that border neat-trimmed grass, flower gardens and outdoor cafes with plastic patio furniture.

This street was named after a poet, but warriors dominate—two military bases, two military academies, a regional recruiting station, and the headquarters for the Great Don Cossack Army all lay within walking distance. Civilians mingle with a sea of uniforms, boy-soldiers in camouflage, officers in crisp dress, and off-duty recruits in khaki civilian clothes and sunglasses to hide their eyes.

Last week President Putin fired two high-ranking officials from the North Caucuses military region, the umbrella institution that controls the southern Russian military, all the way to Chechnya. Newspapers reeled off names, rumors, and replacements, but little else. The firings came just six months after the Ministry of Defense began a massive overhaul of the Russian army, turning the Rostov region into a laboratory to test a system of contract soldiers.

This city of 1.2 million people stands in between caught between Moscow power-games, proud warrior Cossacks, and the war BLAH miles away in Chechnya. Rostov grew up beside the Don River, a centuries-old shipping route and crucial frontier during times of war—both Putin’s firings and the military reforms prove that the city is a crucial frontier in the future of the Russian army.

A few blocks away from Pushkinskaya, kitty-corner to a grade school, lies a sprawling red brick building guarded by teenagers with machine guns. The Southern Region Recruiting Station was the first station to recruit contracted soldiers since the Ministry of Defense announced the reforms last December.

Colonel Valery Tolmachev has a smooth flattop haircut and a cautious smile. He’s the Vice-Military Commissar of Rostov Region, and explained the military restructuring simply: “People were eager to serve as contracted soldiers, even women came to sign up.”

Last January, his station began to take applications in a new recruiting drive for professional soldiers. The military now hopes to convert half the army into contractors by 2007. For years, the army found soldiers under a mandatory conscription law, drafting soldiers for two years from a pool of 1.2 million young people between 18 and 27-year-olds in Russia.

The policy change also lowered the mandatory service requirement to one year. Since then, Tolmachev estimated that contractors compose 25-30 percent of the whole army. These new soldiers can earn up to 20,000 ($600) rubles a month.

So far, the change mostly affected “commandants,” military outposts in highly dangerous conflict areas. For instance, contract soldiers in the 42nd Motor Rifle Division earn 15,000 ($500) rubles a month for service in a Chechnya hotspot—almost 10,000 rubles more than the average, drafted recruit. The colonel called this kind of high-risk pay “coffin money.”

Private Vilisky helps guards this recruiting station, dressed in a lumpy bulletproof vest and camoflage. He saw many people come through to sign up for the contract program, and he praised their patriotism. “Not serving is like hiding behind your mothers’ skirt,” he said.

The reforms also opened up the Russian army for a variety of ethnic groups and foreigners. Tolmachev noted that a few Russian-speaking soldiers have been hired from the Ukraine, Belarus and other republics of the former Soviet Union. The move also pleased many Cossacks, a proud ethnic group living in the Rostov region.
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Inside the Rostov headquarters of the Great Don Cossack Army, rows of training photographs decorate the skinny, dim hallways. The pictures show children training in Cossack military schools: little boys in greasepaint and camouflage, teenagers scrambling up walls; recruits riding horses, kissing flags, or practicing karate moves.

A giant blue yellow and red Don Cossack flag dangles in Vladimir Voronin’s office, decorated with the Cossack army’s seal—a white stag leaping with an arrow buried in its belly.

“Cossacks are more eager to serve than other people,” explained Voronin, the Commander of the Directorate of Ideology and Propaganda of the Great Don Army. His plastic glasses perched on the end of his nose, and his hair sprouted in all directions—an unruly, moussed buzz cut. “For me, alternative types of service are almost like an alternative sexuality,” he said. “Normal men serve.”

Last year, his office recruited 608 Cossack soldiers for the Russian army. Of those recruits, about 100 soldiers signed three-year minimum contracts to serve in the 42nd Motor Division in Chechnya.

Voronin praised these new contract soldiers: “Cossacks respect the traditions of people in the Caucuses region. The military is uncomfortable that we have success there and their official troops don’t.”

The Cossacks settled this region in the 16th century, living beside the fertile Don River. For centuries, that kept an uneasy relationship with generations Czars and Soviet leaders—guarding southern borders over centuries of warfare. During World War II, they fought German tanks with horses, rifles and sabers.

Dmitry Tziganok, a retired colonel and military expert, called the Cossack contractors “clowns.” He worried about the tactical benefits of such a breed professional soldiers: “Soon, both sides will have equal professional skills, and in a battle like that, both sides will lose about half their men.”

Tziganok directs the Institute for Political and Military Analysis in Moscow, and they have monitored contract soldiers closely this last year. THINK TANK STAT

Major Boris Azarkhin supervised the recruitment drive from Cossack headquarters this year. His short-sleeve dress shirt had the Cossack crest stitched on the breast, an emblem of St. George sticking his spear through a dragon’s neck.

Azarkhin explained his proud attraction to the military: “Cossacks are an ethnic group raised up by history, but for modern Cossacks, our main purpose was to protect our country.”

He praised contract service for improving the lives of Cossack soldiers. The 42nd Division, for instance, represented “the best soldiers the Cossacks can offer.” These soldiers live in the middle of a war zone, learning the territory for future engagements.

The Major hoped that someday the outpost would grow into a full-fledged military base, with schools for soldiers’ children, parks, and housing projects for all their families. “Then the soldiers won’t have any headaches like caring for their families,” he explained, “they will only care about serving better.”

Stanislav Velikoredchanin, a Russian civil rights’ lawyer, disagrees with the Cossack army’s optimism. He had a shaggy beard, and wore shorts and battered sandals during an interview in his living-room office.

In the case of the Cossack contractors, Velikoredchanin feared that these new soldiers would make the situation worse: “They have traditions, but they should remember that life goes on. A Cossack saber is more decoration than weapon. This is a modern war, and we need professional soldiers in the conflict.”

Velikoredchanin also spoke of looming problems within the army itself. In 1999, he published the book, ABC’s for Recruits, a 400-page textbook on the loopholes and inaccuracies within Russian draft-law. He specializes in military cases; he’s defended many soldiers in cases of military hazing, contract disputes, and helped new recruits avoid mandatory service.

According to the standard Cossack contractor agreement, these professional soldiers will receive a minimum of 1,500 roubles a month, all the way up to 5,000 roubles a month for officers. Benefits include food for the recruit, 50 percent of housing costs, free transportation within the district, and free medical treatment.

Under this basic agreement, pension benefits work on an odd sliding scale: 10 years of service earns five months’ pay, 15 years earns 15 months’ pay and 20 years earns 20 months’ pay.

Last year the lawyer visited a contract soldiers’ strike in Rostov. “The main problem in the military is financing,” he said. “Anybody would be happy with 15,000 rubles, but they actually get a lot less. The army promised them big money, but many were not paid.”

Velikoredchanin believed that a shortage of recruits and the Chechnya conflict have changed the army for the worse. “Since Perestroyka, soldiers have grown up in a new environment. Everybody with higher rank is god and everybody with lower rank is a slave.”

Tziganok retired from that same Soviet army before working at his Moscow institute, and thinks that Putin’s military firings were a necessary “show of power.” “The army needs to be centralized, with one chief—then order will be restored,” he said.

Velikoredchanin served in the Soviet army from 1961-68, and claimed that the Soviet army used to pay soldiers a decent wages with family benefits. “Officers used to be noble people. But in times of military action, generals don’t think about quality, they just want more recruits. This fills the army with some bad parts of humanity.”
***
Svetlana Arsenyevna Lozhkina chairs the Rostov Region Committee of Soldiers’ Mothers. Her job is taking action for the recruits that fall prey to those “bad parts of humanity.” Her office is nestled on the bottom floor of Tolmachev’s recruiting station; she works in a cozy office plastered with newspaper clippings about boys hurt, lost, or killed over the last 10 years of military action in Russia.

Lozhkina spent little time debating the army’s finances. “We don’t need a contract army,” she said, “what we need is a selection process, something to measure professionalism and morality in recruits. I’m not saying all officers are bad, but all officers should be selected.”

Lozhkina dug out a sheaf of letters from underneath the notebooks sprawled on her desk. She had tired wrinkles around her eyes, but scooted her chair closer when she spoke. “I don’t keep track of numbers, but at least seven people come in here each week during the summer. Many more people come during the fall recruitment drive.”

She read a few passages from the stack of letters from soldiers stationed near Chechnya, mimicking the gruff, brave tone of a soldier while she read. Private Vilady alleged that two soldiers were infected by hepatitis during routine flu shots and that officers beat soldiers hard enough to rupture organs.

He concluded: “We don’t care what we have to do, we’ll do anything to get out of this hell.”

Lozhkina folded the letters back into her folder, and said, “From the beginning of the war, we’ve told the government that we need more rehabilitation centers for soldiers, but we still don’t have enough. We aren’t trained psychiatrists!” She paged through last year’s complaints in a five-inch thick notebook; she carefully printed the name, address and situation of every soldier on a crinkly green page. She’s filled over half of the ledger so far.

This committee formed in 1989, created by mothers of Russian soldiers that died in conflict. Lozhkina worked with the group for 15 years, filling dozens of ledger-books with more stories from drafted soldiers.

While he wouldn’t comment on the extent of dissent within the Russian Army, Colonel Tolmachev noted that the army is plagued by “intellectual poverty.” Too many of the best and brightest manage to escape service, filling the ranks with bad leaders.

Tziganok doesn’t place much stock in this theory. He believes the army should be composed of equal parts recruits and contracted professionals, and supports the traditional draft. “The son of a street cleaner and the son of a general should both serve. That’s their duty to their country,” he concluded.

***

One lazy night on Pushkinskaya, a couple soldiers mingled with their friends from high school that managed to beat the draft. Street cleaners dressed in orange plastic vests smoked cigarettes in the breezy nighttime, while rich kids parked their cars on the sidewalk, blaring hip hop music out open windows.

A pop ditty played on a transistor radio in one café, a song about the military that has grown curiously popular over these last few months. Leonid Agutin sang, backed by his cheesy rock and roll orchestra:

“I must serve like everybody
The train will take us to the border
Cheer up boys, we’re all soldiers now.”

The song never explained what “border” means; maybe the frontier between Russia and Chechnya, between boys and men, between gods and slaves, between the thousands of recruits in Rostov and the politicians in Moscow. And then the cheery song wound down, and more soldiers strolled away down Pushkinskaya.

In a Russian Orthodox Redoubt, Catholics Report the Sin of Bias

By Gretchen Weber

Weak sunlight filtered through barred windows as family members, bearing video cameras, crowded around a baby girl named Maritsa and her godmother. In front of an unfinished wooden altar adorned with tissue paper and wildflowers, a priest poured holy water from a plain silver pitcher over the infant's head, while worshipers watched from overflowing pews.

The recent baptism was the 17th performed by the Rev. Mikhail Nutskovski since the Ukrainian priest arrived last September in this primarily Orthodox city in southern Russia to serve at the Roman Catholic Church of The Last Supper. But while the church claims more than 150 members, the baptisms, as well as all other services, take place in a small, chapel with low ceilings in the basement of the rectory.

The city's Roman Catholics gather underground because the main church building remains unfinished. Set among the trees in a large suburban park, the red brick structure has stood silent and unattended since 2000, when city authorities ordered the Catholics to halt the construction they had four years earlier. The reason remains in dispute.

Nutskovski said the work stoppage is one item in a long list of roadblocks that local and national authorities, in league with the Russian Orthodox Church, have used to prevent the spread of Catholicism throughout Russia in what some Catholics call a campaign of discrimination. Numbering about 600,000, Catholics are a distinct minority in this country of 143 million.

''We feel a very unfriendly attitude toward the church from the authorities here,'' Nutskovski said. ''They are so hard to understand. They say we can't build because we don't meet requirements, but how can we fix the problems if we can't build?''

Local officials tell a different story. They say Nutskovski is a troublemaker who is trying to build a church without city approval while hiding behind allegations of discrimination.

''This is the tricky game of the Catholic Church here,'' said Vitaliy Brezhnev, the Rostov regional government official who handles religious relations. ''They like to create scandal.''

A rift between the Vatican and the Russian patriarchy has existed for centuries. In the past year and a half, the tension has escalated.

As communism and the Soviet Union's official policy of atheism fade further into the past, many faiths have made inroads into this almost exclusively Orthodox country. In January 2002, the establishment of the first four Roman Catholic dioceses in Russia provoked accusations from an Orthodox official that Catholics were trying to poach members.

This spring, the creation of two dioceses in the former Soviet republic of Kazakhstan sparked more criticism and hardened the position of the head of the Russian Orthodox Church, Patriarch Alexy II, against a papal visit to Russia any time soon.

The Church of the Last Supper, which is designed to seat 3,000, towers above the rest of the two-story compound. But the paint-splattered front entrance is locked, and the doors sit three feet above the ground with no stairs climbing to meet them. Dilapidated wood scaffolding leans precariously against the bare concrete front of the building, and piles of sand and trash litter the front yard.

Nutskovski said local officials have threatened to evict the church from its present location, land that was donated by the regional government in 1992 as reparations for the original church, which was burned down by Stalinists in 1952.

But the priest said his biggest fear is that he will be forced out of Russia. Since January 2002, six Catholic priests have either been deported or denied reentry. One was Nutskovski's predecessor, the Rev. Edvard Mackiewicz, who left in September for a trip to Poland and never returned. He was stopped at the Poland-Belarus border by Russian guards, declared a persona non grata, and denied reentry.

Brezhnev, the Rostov government official, said Mackiewiczwas not allowed to return to his parish because he was a troublemaker and said he suspected that the other five exiled priests were ''lawbreakers.'' While the Russian government calls the six isolated cases, Nutskovski views his required quarterly visa renewals with apprehension.

''There is a permanent risk every day that I can be sent away from Russia,'' he said. ''As a senior priest, I planned to be here for several years, but now I must worry every three months.''

A parishioner, Vladislav Donskoj, 72, said he believes Mackiewicz was denied reentry because the charismatic priest attracted newcomers to the church.

''If a person becomes very active and attracts the attention of authorities, he will have trouble,'' Donskoj said from the church's gravel courtyard, surrounded by piles of expensive bricks waiting to be laid. ''The government doesn't like non-Orthodox religions.''

But the pastor remains cautiously optimistic about the future. Nutskovski said he hopes a recent meeting between a Vatican ambassador and a representative from the Rostov governor's office may help smooth relations. ''The main goal is to explain to people that they shouldn't be looking for differences among themselves. Instead, they should be seeking common ground,'' he said. ''I hope the officials will soon understand that the Catholics here are Russian citizens.''

The overflowing Sunday crowds in the underground chapel and the frequent First Communion and baptismal ceremonies point to a resilient base of followers here.

As the baptism came to a close, parishioners prayed aloud in unison. Some closed their eyes and repeated the familiar words by heart. Meanwhile, the infant, dressed in her new baptismal gown, slept peacefully in her mother's arms.

Russian Nurses Try to Make Ends Meet

For the patient, this bedside transaction was a welcome - and expected - part of her week-long hospital stay. The additional expense for the medical supplies was not a hassle and did not add a significant expense to her 2,000-ruble bill, or about $66 U.S.

"During the moment of the child birth procedure, you can agree to anything," she said. "It was a very little thing."

For hospitals feeling the strain of budget shortfalls, the enterprising nurse offers services and equipment the hospital cannot hope to provide. For the nurse, the additional income is necessary for survival for a professional making about $50 a month.

Yevgeny Skastcho began her career as a nurse in 1976. Now working at the Health Diagnosis Center in Rostov-on-Don, she is the head supervisor for all the nurses at the center. Though she has almost 30 years of experience, her salary stands around $1,200 a year. She makes up the difference through gifts and tips from grateful patients.

"Medicine is not like a calling but a way of life," Skastcho said. "For so many years, I got so little salary that the work was based on caring, not for the money."

Skastcho said it is common for nurses to suggest that they should get the equivalent of a tip from a patient for services provided, even for those that are considered part of a regular hospital visit.

She also said nurses supplement their income by becoming private nurses for specific patients. For example, she said, nurses may stay by the bedsides of patients during the night or give home visits when not working at their regular jobs.

Other nurses earn money by having a degree in another area. Elena Tarnovestkaya, who graduated from Rostov State University Nursing College in July with a specialization in cardiology, said she became a nurse because of family tradition.

"I went [to work at a hospital] in spite of money because I like working with people and treating people," Tarnovestkaya said. "I know that it's the least paid profession in our country so I decided to get training in a second subject."

In Tarnovestkaya's case, she will study journalism. For Galeana Bodagova, she was a nurse for two years while studying to become a doctor of endocrinology. She, too, follows in the footsteps of past generations, since her parents and her grandparents were doctors.

As a nurse, she worked at City Hospital 8 for about $20 a month. After experiencing the challenges of trying to make ends meet at the end of the month, she said she understands why some nurses would sell medical products and services at the bedside.

"It is the only way for them to get any money because they have children and sometimes no husband," she said. "We can't blame them."

As for Chernenko, she said her stay at the hospital was a comfortable one. After the birth of her child, she gave gifts to the medical staff in thanks.

"When you stay there, the nurse at the child birth room, she is the only one you see for the week," Chernenko said. "It goes without saying that you give them gifts and presents."

Cossacks Try to Re-create Their Culture

By Joe Geraghty with Julia Markina

For more than 70 years the Cossacks of Southern Russia suffered brutal repression at the hands of Soviet leaders. Now descendants of those Cossacks are leading a revival of their ancient culture, relying on memories they say are imprinted on their souls.

"My grandfather was a real Cossack, and now I am living his heritage," said Segei Mogutin. "He lived in the Cossack land and so we must learn his history and the history of our people."

Mogutin and nearly 150 other young men are students at the General Baklanov Cossack School in Rostov-on-Don. Immediately after the Communists fell in 1991, Cossacks began to dream of one day operating a special school that would teach their children the traditions of the Cossack nation. After several years of planning, the school opened its doors in 1996.

Though nobody at the school today was alive in the days when Cossacks were a serious force in Russia, students and teachers feel a deep connection to the Cossack tradition of service to country and relentless self-improvement.

"The tradition is deep with in our souls, not in a book somewhere," said School Manager Ludmila Ivanovna Poluyan. "The history survived in the mind and it depends on the soul."

In ancient days the Cossacks acted as an army for the czars. They pledged loyalty to the royal family and vowed to protect their Motherland, Russia, against the dangers it faced. In Soviet times, and particularly under Joseph Stalin in the 1930s, the Cossacks were repressed because their traditional power was viewed as a serious threat.

Now the Cossack school prepares boys between the ages of 11 and 17 not only for military service, but also for jobs in a wide range of professions. Graduates have gone on to be doctors, lawyers, economists and also soldiers in the Russian army, Ivanovna said.

"We of course have strict discipline, but the boys are educated in more than just how to fire a rifle," she said. "When there was the collapse of the Soviet Union, there was an intense desire for knowledge of our tradition, and not just knowledge of the sword."

Ivanovna said today 24 percent of the more than one million Rostov residents identify themselves as Cossacks.

The school covers all the traditional subject areas, including mathematics, language, science and history. In addition, elective courses are offered in everything from hand-to-hand combat to ballroom dancing.

The boys get a chance to show off the dancing skills they've learned at the annual ball hosted by the school. Though no girls attend the Cossack school, Mogutin said that does not present a problem.

"The Cossack man has always been good with women," he said with a grin. "In the past he had success when they came to his village, now it is the same at our ball."

The boys at the school also perform a certain amount of menial landscaping labor each year, though it is work they are honored to do. Every boy makes an annual visit to the site outside Rostov where hundreds of Cossacks were executed by Stalin's secret police. There the boys tidy up the memorial and pay their respects to their ancestors who suffered so greatly.

"We have a very long history, and we cannot forget any part of it," Mogutin said.

Doukhobors: The Last Generation?

By Maria Kolesnikova

We tried to find the Doukhobors of Russia. But the search for this Christian sect that opposes war turned out to be no easy task. Surprisingly, few Russians knew about them despite the fact that author Leo Tolstoy made their case known to the world less than 100 years ago.

The most frequent answer we received from Russians was: "The name sounds funny. It may be some evil house-spirit." Or even better: "Doukhobor sounds like doushegoub (murderer). They are evil, I'm sure." One lady knew about them. 'They are all gone now. To find them you should go to Canada.'

An estimated 15,000 Doukhobors live in western Canada and roughly the same number in Russia.

But we set out to find the Doukhobors in Russia. Our destination was Petrovka, a village in the Tselina region, about 100 miles southeast of Rostov where 4,000 Doukhobors were permitted to resettle in 1921. The Doukhobors established 21 villages in Tselina, which were consolidated into 11 in the 1950s. Now the Doukhobors can be found in six villages and Petrovka has the biggest Doukhobor population. The rest of the inhabitants are Russian Orthodox, Armenians and Turks, who were forced out from Uzbekistan after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Farther into the country the asphalt road becomes a dirt road and we get into a 'traffic jam' when cows blocked our way. By the time we got to Petrovka the dirt road had turned to mud.

Our guide, the regional administrator Lyudmila Nikitina looks disapprovingly at our sandals as she's putting on her rubber boots. As we splash through the mud she tells us that Doukhobors still make up almost a half of the village's population of 350 people. Rural areas are on the decline and many people leave them. 'It's not as good as it used to be,' she confesses. 'Young people can't find jobs here and they have to leave."

The peculiar look of the houses returns us to the Doukhobors. The houses have porches with columns in the front of their houses. And they also have sheds and hen houses under the same roof with the house itself. Yet no one builds houses in the Doukhobor-style nowadays. Some of the houses are well-kept; some are shabby; and some are deserted. The streets seem empty with only two or three middle-aged ladies digging in their gardens. There are few children and men.

We come to one of the ladies. "You are a Doukhobor, aren't you?" we asked. She seems proud. "Yes, I'm a pure-blood," she replies. She invites us to her house to see a typical Doukhobor interior: three rooms smelling of ripe apples with papered walls. "It's more fashionable today than white-washed as prescribed by tradition," she explains. The house has painted floors, wardrobes, a television and lots of embroidery inside.

Our hostess's name is Tatiana Yuritsina, who works as a social worker. "Doukhobors are the nicest, the most hospitable people. Now there are many refugees--many people of different religions here. But we have no trouble with them," she says.

Tatiana confesses though, that life is going its way and the Doukhobors are changing. "We used to live without fences. Besides, many people are leaving this area because of unemployment. And the young, they don't want to follow Doukhobor traditions. For instance, my daughter. She's 25, and she won't listen to me, won't stick to the tradition." Tatiana says her generation is probably the last of the true Doukhobors because only the older people still follow the traditions.

Many of the Doukhobors also marry Russian Orthodox. For example, Tatiana's husband Vasily is a Ukranian, whom she met in Rostov and brought back to her village. "I don't mind Doukhobors. They are people, just like everyone else," he says. "And the religion isn't important in the long run. You have to believe in God and not to sin. That's all."

The Museum of Doukhobor Culture and Worship is our next stop. It was set up several years ago by Doukhobor believers of Petrovka and is also used as place of worship. The Doukhobor ladies are already waiting and welcome us in with their traditional hymn. They are dressed in long skirts with fancy aprons decorated with embroidery, colorful blouses and white kerchiefs, and they are dying to share the history of the Doukhobors with us.

Russian Doukhobors are used to trouble with the authorities, they say, since the birth of this religion in the 1600s, having survived several centuries of persecution and three major resettlements. They were moved to the border between the Ukraine and Russia under Alexander I and then along the Georgian border with Turkey. There the misfortunes of the Doukhobors culminated in 1895, when, following the teaching of their religion, they refused to go to fight in the war with Turkey and burned their weapons in a symbolic protest.

The furious czar ordered that the Doukhobor families be scattered throughout Georgia, sending the father to one village, the mother to another and their children to yet a different village. The Doukhobors pleaded for help and it came from Quakers in the United States and from the Russian writer Leo Tolstoy, whom Doukhobors call affectionately "our father."

Tolstoy used the money he received from publication of his book "The Resurrection" to pay for a group of 7,000 Doukhobors to move to Canada. Other Doukhobors, remaining in Georgia, came to Tselina in 1923 to become parents of our hostesses. The last part of the Doukhobors returned from Georgia in 1999 and settled in the Bryansk area southwest of Moscow.

Lyudmila Borisova, formerly the director of the museum, tells us that the correct way to call them is not Doukhobors, but Doukhobortsy, or "spiritual wrestlers." It was considered an offensive name the Russian Orthodox gave them, but the Doukhobors use the name proudly. Originally they were called Ikonobortsy, or icon fighters," because they didn't believe in icons and thought priests were unnecessary for talking to the God. 'That's why we don't baptize our children. But we do believe in the Bible and follow all church holidays."

They still remember a visit of Canadian Doukhobors several years ago. "It was fun. We started remembering our ancestors and where they lived and found out we were relatives. Now I have relatives in Canada, and many other Doukhobors, too," says Lyudmila Dorokh, another one of the women. "Nobody from here left for Canada, but many left for bigger cities where they can find jobs. The Doukhobors are scattered throughout Russia. We are losing our identity as a community and the Doukhobor culture here will be gone in several years."

There are some attempts to save that culture. The Canadians gave $200 to repair the museum. Regional authorities provided a tape recorder to have a record of Doukhobor psalms. "We are trying to preserve the Doukhobor culture, which is unique. Once a year we bring children from the local school to this museum for a history class to tell them about the Doukhobor faith and traditions. I wish we could do more before it's too late," says Lyudmila Nikitina, the regional administrator.

The Doukhobors here claim to be the biggest Doukhobor community in modern Russia and this may well be true. But these women worry that their community and others may not survive-that they may be the last generation of the Doukhobors in Russia.

Doukhobors: The Last Generation?

By Gretchen Weber

Three hours southeast of the Russian city of Rostov-on-Don, the paved road ends. What lies ahead is muddy and rutted and when you leave your car and begin walking down the wide, grassy avenue you notice the small wooden houses, brightly painted and tucked behind rickety gates and under fruit trees. All have shallow porches, propped up with columns, and their front windows are adorned with shutters in vibrant colors and blocky patterns. Small yards are alive with the chatter of farm animals and the brilliant green color of vegetable gardens.

But the visible life outside the old homes only temporarily masks the decline occurring in this community. The village of Petrovka, the last Russian outpost of the pacifist religious group, the Doukabors, is disappearing. With 350 residents (less than half of them Doukhobors), no telephone service and a bus that connects to the outside world only once a week, Petrovka is rapidly losing its young people, and with them, the Doukhobor future.

"The really sad thing is that their culture is disappearing," said Lyudmilla Nikitin a local government administrator. "Most children and grandchildren don't follow the religion, and these people are getting older and gradually forgetting things."

A religious group founded on anti-war beliefs, the Doukhobors have been persecuted and exiled throughout their history for their dissenting ideals and practices. In addition to their opposition to war, the Doukhobors also reject man-made ceremony within the church. Their name means "icon fighter."

Sent to the Caucasus mountains in 1841 from northern Russia, the Doukhobors resisted conscription and in 1895 resorted to burning a pile of guns in their refusal to fight in the Tsar's army against the Turks. Harsh repercussions caused the groups to seek aid for relocation and in 1921, the community split. Some went to Canada, a trip funded by Leo Tolstoy who had become sympathetic to Doukhobor ideals and their plight. The rest came to the wild steppe country outside the city of Rostov-on-Don and founded Petrovka.

On a recent weekday, six middle-aged and elderly Douhobor women gathered in a traditional house they maintain as a simple museum to share their beliefs with curious visitors. Dressed in long, hand-woven skirts embroidered with bright flowers and decorated with lace bands, the women sat against the wall on a hard wooden bench. Each wore a white lace scarf on her head, tied at the chin. They took turns singing traditional songs, their voices earnest and open as their harmonies echoed off the walls of the small room.

"We have always lived in a close community, even before communist times." said Lyudmilla Balsova, the informal leader of the group. "If one person had three dresses and another had only one, the first would give one to the other."

Five of the six women have lived in the village since birth. The sixth, called a "newcomer" by the others married a Petrovka man and moved here 40 years ago.

"Doukhobors speak to God directly," said Lyudmilla Dora. "We have no priests. Here every person says his own prayer."

The women took turns saying their individual prayers aloud and concluded their service with a song of the Ten Commandments. While they sang, each shook hands, bowed and kissed the others in a choreographed pattern. Then they all bowed and touched the floor three times - the first a prayer for King David, the second for all who have died in wars and the third for all the Christians in the world.

Sunday prayer meetings in Petrovka usually draw about 12 people, and the average age is between 65 and 70, the women said.

"Many people have left to find better living conditions, so we are mostly retired people here," said Balsova. "We are the last generation of Doukhobors"

In the past, the Doukhobor community drew their livelihoods from the local collective farm. Under communism, the workers at the farm were guaranteed a year-round salary, basic healthcare and childcare. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, machines slowly replaced many of the workers, but the final blow to the region's economics came with privatization of the land in the early 1990s. Now, say the locals, the proprietors of the farm hire only seasonal labor and anyone seeking stable work must look elsewhere. Only pensioners are able to remain in Petrovka, and their children and grandchildren are living their lives outside the close-knit Doukhobor community.

"Our people are becoming closer with regular people everyday," said Balsova. "More and more we are melting into mainstream culture."

Nikitin, the local administrator, said that there is a local movement to preserve the culture and traditions of the Doukhobors before it's too late. She said the government recently purchased a tape player to record the songs and prayers of the women, and that they are trying to raise money to maintain the museum. The aging community also works to keep ties with their relatives, the Doukhobors of Canada.

"As with many things in Russia, it's only when something is disappearing that you start to appreciate it," said Nikitin. "We are trying not to repeat this mistake."

Rostov Likes to Buy on Time

By Elena Getmanova

Express credit is a new service for Rostov, but still it has become exceedingly popular. Indeed, it is much more easier to buy some goods, paying only 20 to 30 percent of the entire price and to pay the rest through installments over six to 12 months.

The interest runs about 25 to 30 percent-relatively high in comparison with the United States. But the process for receiving credit is quick and relatively easy to do in about 30 minutes.

Today, many shops in Rostov offer a wide range of goods, which people can buy on credit. There are different types of appliances, video and sound systems, furniture, tickets for a group tours and even the cars. There are several ways to buy goods on credit. First, the client can make payments directly to the store. In this case the customer pays 50 percent of the entire price to the store, and the remainder of the payments are divided over the next six or 12 months. Also, the interest is included in the cost of payments. The trading network Quadro provides this service.

Another option includes an arrangement with a bank, which sends the money to the store the same day. Under this process, the consumer pays 20 percent of the cost as a down payment. The remainder-together with the interest-is divided in payments over six to 12 months. The client then pays a fixed sum to the bank every month. The total interest for using this form of credit runs about 30 percent. This service is available from trading networks such as Eldorado, M-video, Don-tech and many others that work with the banks such as Russian Standard and Central O.V.K.

"Such a system is very convenient for everyone," said Vladimir Maskajev, the vice director for economic security of the Central O.V.K. bank. "The client has the opportunity to use the goods, paying for them at the same time."

In order to obtain credit at the Central O.V.K., for example, the client needs to meet a number of conditions. The client needs to prove his or her identity with a passport or an identity card. Then the client fills out a form, which includes a variety of information such as legal residency in Rostov, details about the workplace, telephone contacts, monthly income and an estimate of the value of personal property. The most important condition is that the monthly income should be more than the average cost of living, which is now 1,774 rubles.

Credit exists only for the people older than 20, women older than 55 and men older than 60. Most of those who seek credit are between 25 and 40. "Young people are more progressive and they have more trust to the banks than the elder generation," said Elena Malashevskaia, the credit manager of the Central O.V.K. "Besides the income of young people mostly does not let them to buy, for example, the freezer at once."

Svetlana Filippova bought a washing machine on credit. "After buying a washing machine I have much more free time," she said. "Before I had to choose a whole day for washing by hand and now I can sleep and see the dreams about the sea. I know that I could not keep the whole cost of the machine, but it is not difficult for me to pay only 1,000 rubles every month, while the machine is in my flat."

Of course, it is up to everyone to decide whether to keep money or to buy goods on credit. But express credit has been attractive to many people. Now the customers have the opportunity to buy goods without using a considerable part of their income.

Rostov Likes to Buy on Time

By Jessica McCoy

Amid rows of high definition televisions and washing machines, freezers and home stereo systems, people wander slowly and gaze at the merchandise in M-Video. The store specializes in home appliances and electronics, items that tempt many people but only are affordable for only a few in Rostov.

But tucked into the back of the store behind the sea of electronics stands one attraction that appeals to a wider audience: the credit advisor. At this store and several others in the city, people are able to purchase items on a credit plan that allows them to pay for goods over a period of time.

The idea of spreading payments out over six months or a year is a new one in Russia, where the practice was established only about a year and half ago. M-Video offers the most common type of credit, called "express credit."
" The whole process is 30 minutes. The client goes to the cashier and pays the minimum sum, gets his goods and goes home," said Helen Malashevskaja, a credit clerk at M-Video.

For people whose salary does not allow them to pay the entire price of an item at once, this option opens up new opportunities.

"Mostly young people buy things on credit," Malashevskaja said. "Young people are more progressive and young people have more trust in the bank."

But older people often prove more skeptical of the new credit possibilities.

"The older generation often lost their money in banks, so they have not such great trust as young people." Malashevskaja said.

Svetlana Filippova, 25, took advantage of the opportunity credit offers to purchase a washing machine. Priced at 12,500 rubles, or about $420, the washing machine would have been out of Filippova's reach without credit, she said.

The cost of the washing machine represents about four times what she earns each month as a police investigator.

"I would have to have gone for months with no money for food, clothes, my flat," Filippova said. "Now, the sum of the credit is not so great, so it is no so hard to pay. There is money for the living and the credit."

Bank manager Vladimir Maskojev sees the same opportunities for those using credit.

"A person has more opportunities with this credit,? Maskajev said. "With his monthly credit, he only pays a little bit so his income is in his hands."

Maskojev supervises the credit process at the Central O.V.K. bank. At the bank several requirements exist to obtain credit. These include proof of a permanent job, a steady income, a permanent residence in Rostov and a mimumum age of 20 years old.

People can apply for credit at certain banks or stores. The rates and requirements vary slightly by establishment. The usual process involves choosing an amount of credit, making an initial payment and then dividing the remainder into monthly sums with interest added.

Annual interest rates run approximately 27 to 30 percent--far higher than installment plans in the United States.
Maskojev said that since the bank began offering credit a year and a half ago, the number of applicants has been steady. In the past three days, 85 people received credit at the bank--a trend that Maskojev described as average.

"When people start buying on credit, the circle of money is better for shops, trade unions and the bank," said Maskojev. "It is better for all, and everybody likes it."

The RAJI class schedules were created by the RAJI coordinators and the staff of Rostov State University. They struggled to provide a framework that allowed ample time for in-class discussion and reporting fieldwork. Time was also allotted for guest speakers from local publications, and for longer weekend excursions to places of national and historical interest.

Schedule, Year One

Download Schedule, Year One

Schedule, Year Two

Download Schedule, Year 2

Schedule, Year Three

Will be posted soon...

Cindy Chwe is a graduate student at New York University's Department of Journalism, concentrating on broadcast and documentary filmmaking. After finishing her undergraduate studies in Comparative Literature and German at Columbia University, she has pursued her joint interests in human rights-related work and the documentary form. She hopes to practice a kind of journalism that combines the imperatives and pleasures of political engagement and visual storytelling.

Elizabeth Crowley is a senior at Ithaca College, majoring in journalism with a minor in history. She served as the managing editor and chief copy editor for The Ithacan, the student newspaper at Ithaca College. She also worked at The Ithaca Journal as a copy editor. She will spend the fall semester in Washington, D.C., and plans to attend graduate school in history after graduation in spring 2004.

Maria Davidova graduated cum laude in 2002 from the School of Philology and Journalism of Rostov State University with a master's s degree. She is a teaching assistant in the Department of Mass Communications of the School of Journalism. The courses include Theory and Practice of Producer's Work, Production of Commercials and Television Direction. She has worked for the television company Expovim. She currently works for the television company Don TR as an editor and producer. Ms. Davidova won an award in 2001 at an all-Russian festival for her report, Fair Coverage. She has produced and directed a variety of television projects. She plans to complete her doctorate of philosophy at Rostov State University.

Monica DelaRosa is completing her master's degree in broadcast journalism at New York University where she is also a teaching assistant in the department. She graduated cum laude from American University in Washington, D.C., with an interdisiplinary degree in political science, law, economics and communications. Before NYU, she worked at a communications firm in Europe and later as a new media producer and writer in Philadelphia and Los Angeles. Her professional interests include long-form features and documentary film.

Joseph Geraghty is a senior journalism and history major at Ithaca College. He has spent much of the past three years working at The Ithacan, the college's weekly student newspaper. In the upcoming academic year he will serve as editor of the paper. His participation in the Rostov institute and other international travel experiences have opened Joe's eyes to all the different styles of journalism practiced throughout the world.

Elena Getmanova received her bachelor's and master's degrees in international journalism from the School of Philology and Journalism at Rostov State University. Both of her dissertations dealt with the history and typology of Russian journalism. She will continue her education in journalism and this year will take her entrance exams for the post-graduate program. She has worked as a freelance reporter for Veecherny Rostov, Moscovsky Komsomolets-yug and as a media planner for the advertising group VGIK-Art.

Oleg Kitaev graduated from the School of Philology and Journalism of Rostov State University in 2002 with a master's degree in journalism. He is currently a columnist in newspaper Vsyo dla Vas, focusing on real estate coverage. Also, he is involved in digital journalism and Web-design projects, like KinoVideo, MediaReview and creating the Web site for the Russian-American Journalism Institute.

Maria Kolesnikova teaches in the departments of Romance-Germanic Philology and Mass Communication Media of Rostov State University. She graduated cum laude from the Romance-Germanic Department, took a postgraduate course in journalism and defended her doctoral thesis, “Online Periodicals: A Typological Aspect,” in January, 2003. Her research focuses on the Russian online periodicals and the language of the present-day newsmedia. She contributed to the RSU ezine www.relga.ru for four years.

Marieta Kumpilova comes from Maykop in the Adygheya Republic of Russia. Since 1999 she has attended Adygh State University in the Department of History. She has worked as a journalist at Adygh Republican Television. In 2001 she traveled to the United States as part of a student-exchange program.

Louisa Madalova graduated from Chechen State University in 2003 with a degree in journalism. She works as a school psychologist and also at the Chechen Broadcasting Company as an editor and on the radio.

Julia Markina is a graduate of North Ossetian State University with specialities in journalism and English. She is a graduate student in the School of Philology and Journalism at Rostov State University. Her dissertation focuses on The New York Times.

Jessica McCoy is a sophomore at Ithaca College where she studies journalism. Her past involvement in journalism includes reporting and editing at the student newspapers at Ithaca College and her high school. She enjoys camping and hiking, writing, volunteer work and social issues. Although she loves exploring new places, this is her first real trip overseas. She is excited about the opportunity to work with Russian journalists and the chance to further understand life in this part of the world.

Vasichan Mezhiev is a graduate of the Department of Journalism of the School of Philology at Chechen State University in Grozny. He has worked as a reporter at the Chechen State Television and Radio Broadcasting Company. He serves as news editor at the company.

Julia Nosova is a graduate student in the Department of International Journalism at Rostov State University. She also is a second-year student of the Free Russian-German Institute of Journalism. She has worked for a variety of media, including print, broadcast and digital. She hopes to continue in the field of documentary television, focusing primarily on social issues in Russian society.

Anastassia Serdyukova is an instructor at the School of Philology and Journalism at Rostov State University. She teaches English for journalists and philologists and she has concentrated on the peculiarities of the British and American mass media and instructing her students in writing and analyzing newspaper articles. She is working on compiling a English-Russian vocabulary of mass media terms for journalists and philologists. She graduated with honors from the School of Philology and Journalism in 2002.

Sophie Shevardnadze, a native of the country of Georgia, graduated with a bachelor's degree in journalism and film from Emerson College. She is a graduate student in broadcasting in NYU's Department of Journalism. Ms. Shevardnadze has produced two documentaries.

Meline Toumani is a graduate student in the Cultural Reporting and Criticism program at New York University's Department of Journalism. Her writing has appeared in the New York Times, Mother Jones and other publications. As senior editor at GreatSchools Inc. she wrote extensively about public education in California, and at KQED Public Radio and Television she developed a media literacy curriculum for K-12 teachers. Meline graduated from the University of California at Berkeley in 1998 with high honors in English and a minor in public policy. In her free time Meline is a performing vocalist and has arranged choral music for various ensembles.

T.J. Wait graduated from the University of California at Berkeley in 1999 with a bachelor's degree in sociology and is now earning a master's degree in journalism at New York University. T.J. has worked as a copywriter and a freelance reporter for news newspapers. Before coming to the Russian-American Journalism Institute T.J. completed a six-month internship at ABC News' magazines and WABC. One of his goals at the institute is to complete a documentary about Chechen refugees.

Gretchen Weber is a graduate student in NYU's journalism program. Originally from the Boston area, she received her undergraduate degree in anthropology from Yale in 1996. She has worked as a reporter for the News York Daily News and KQED, San Francisco's National Public Radio affiliate.

Corynne Steindler is an undergraduate student New York University, majoring in journalism with a minor in gender and sexuality. Her writing experience includes contributing articles to NYU’s student newspaper and magazine. She hopes to pursue a career in magazine and freelance writing in New York.

Jason Boog is a graduate journalism student at NYU. In 2000, he graduated from the University of Michigan with a B.A. in Literature. He worked two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Guatemala before coming to New York City. After graduation, he will write in places where people speak Spanish. His writing has appeared in Newsday, Manhattan South, Villager and Newtopia.

Anna-Kaisa Walker is a graduate print journalism student at New York University. A native of Montreal, Canada, she earned a bachelor's degree in history from the University of Toronto in 2002. She recently wrote a short piece for Playboy magazine, and a feature that appeared on the cover of the Reader, a Canadian weekly. This is her second and most memorable trip to Russia.

Karl Palsgaard is a 3rd year journalism student at Ithaca College in Ithaca, New York. He lives in Athens, Georgia. He likes babies, puppies, apple pie and dancing. Word. He knows a lot about obscure things sometimes maybe, and claims he can find his way back home to the American South regardless of wherever in the world he is. He promises his parents that he won't stay in Russia long enough to "go native," but just long enough to write his weight in postcards. Thankfully, he only weighs a quarter-pound. Now, if he could only find postcards...Karl Palsgaard is in his third year at Ithaca College, where he studies convergence journalism. He works as News Director at 92 WICB, the campus station, and occassionally writes for the campus newspaper The Ithacan. Karl loves writing ledes and talking to people who don't speak English. He will miss Russia for its Russians, cherry juice and benches on the Pushkinskya.

Kate Sheppard is a junior journalism and politics double major at Ithaca College who grew up on a vegetable farm in southern New Jersey. At the age of 12, she orchestrated a protest at her elementary school. Later, she moved on to political campaigning
while trick-or-treating, but decided that she was better suited for the Fourth Estate. She is the editor of Buzzsaw Haircut, a student-run magazine, a researcher at Philadelphia Weekly and a staff writer at the Bridgeton News. She enjoys the color brown, road trips, salt-free saltines, and revolutions, not least excluding the Dance Dance Revolution. She will be studying in Nicaragua and El Salvador in the fall. The RAJI has taught her that there is no corruption in Russia. Nyet.

Liisa O'Neill is a junior at New York University pursuing majors in Journalism and Politics and a minor in Art History. She's interested in magazine journalism and interned at Interview Magazine, a pop culture and fashion magazine.

Melissa Aguirre is a student in the journalism department of New York University. She is determined to pursue a career in broadcast journalism. In Rostov she is reporting on the HIV/AIDS epidemic.

Michael Calderone is completing an M.A. in Journalism at New York University. He holds a B.A. in English from Rutgers College and has worked on the staff of Artforum/ Bookforum. Articles have appeared in the Brooklyn Rail, Clamor, Maximumrocknroll, The Villager, and several online publications.

Noria Litaker is a junior journalism major at Ithaca College with minors in Spanish and sports studies. During the fall of 2003 she served as the assistant sports editor for Ithaca’s student newspaper, The Ithacan. Previously, she served as a staff writer and copy editor for the paper and covered the men’s soccer, men’s
swimming and diving and softball teams. Last summer, Noria was the publications intern at the Women’s Sports Foundation.

Varunan Ananda is a senior at New York University, double majoring in Economics and Journalism and double minoring in Mathematics and Politics. As a Pre-Law student, he spent his junior year interning at a Park Avenue media law firm that represents The Associated Press, The New York Times, Hearst Corp., and CBS, among others. Prior to attending law school, he intends to pursue a brief career in the financial services industry, perhaps as a financial analyst or financial writer, while freelance writing on the side.

Ashley Matthews is a graduate student of journalism at NYU. She earned her BA from Texas Lutheran University in Seguin, Texas, home of the World's Largest Pecan. After she earns her master's degree, she hopes to join the Peace Corps so she can save the world and avoid paying her mounting student loans.

Riva Froymovich is an aspiring "professional" writer, like many, but also hopes to double as a countdown show pundit to fulfill her hunger for entertainment news. She eagerly follows national political discourse in an attempt to stay informed and be a pretentious New Yorker, her one and only home. As a journalism major, politics and urban studies minor, she spends many a hour hunched over her computer. But all work is not her motto, which is why she chose to adventure into the depths of Russia. Riva worked as copy editor of a national Norwegian newspaper, where she also moonlighted as The American journalist, similar to our positions in Rostov-on-Don, and interned and freelanced for In New York. She also has interned for Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s Media Analysis Office, loves ice cream and apples, walking down Pushkinskaya Street, and enjoying the company of fellow journalists and media enthusiasts.

Elena Gracheva is a fourth year student at Rostov State University and she works for the radio station “Echo Rostova”. She has freelanced for a number of local publications.

Nastya Shvetsova I am a 5th year student at Rostov State University in the International Journalism Department. I am a
3rd year student of the Russian German Institute of Publizistik. I write for the youth magazine “Vash vibor” (your choice) and write pr-articles for traveling agencies. From 1998 to 1999 I was an exchange student in the USA.

Karina Shatalova I am a 5th year student in Rostov State University department of international journalism. I work at a local publishing house as a reporter and the editor of one of the newspapers.

Kirill Rozanov is in his third year at the Saratov State University. He has worked and freelanced for a number of local publications.

Yulia Manukian I work as a journalist and photographer for Rostov's youth city newspaper “Kaktus” and for a magazine called “Vash Vibor” (your choice) and as an interpreter sometimes. In June 2004 I graduated from the Rostov State University. Officially I’m an international journalist. In May 2001 and 2003 I participated in the international student festivals in Germany. In 2001-2002 I was an exchange student at the Missouri University, USA, and since 2002 I have been a student of the Russian German Institute of Publizistik.

Margarita Chernysheva is a fifth year student at Rostov State University, majoring in international journalism. She loves English and German and freelances for local newsmedia. She has a very definite plan for what she’ll do when she graduates, but keeps it secret.

Nadya Kolesnicova was born in 1981 in Sochi. In 1999 she entered the Sochi branch of the St.Petersburg Pedagogical Institute (now Sochi State University of Tourism and Recreation). In 2001 she transferred to Rostov State University Romance and the Germanic Department. Nadya Graduated in the summer of 2004. The same summer she entered RAJI, not having any previous journalistic experience save for one article published in 2000 in the local newspaper.

Natalia Doroshenko is a postgraduate student at the Stavropol State University. She works at the journalism department of Stavropol State University and freelances for local news outlets. She loves reporting and dancing.

Anastassia Pyary teaches at the Stavropol State University and freelances for local publications. As much as she enjoys RAJI and reporting with Americans, she still misses her husband and her baby.

Tatiana Gerashenko is a reporter from Saratov. She loves journalism, taking photographs and the Black Sea.

Irina Chizhikova is a journalist and postgraduate student at Krasnodar State University. She is inquisitive, go-getting and cheerful. She loves red color.

Zalina Suanova is a broadcast reporter from Nalchik, Kabardino-Balkarian Republic. In RAJI she will be a print student, just for a change.

Mitch Stephens

Mitchell Stephens is the author of A History of News, an extended history of journalism that has been translated into four languages and was a New York Times "Notable Book of the Year." His latest book, The Rise of the Image, the Fall of the Word, is a historical analysis of our current communications revolution and was published by Oxford University Press.

Professor Stephens is also the author of Broadcast News, the most widely used radio and television news textbook, and the co-author of Writing and Reporting the News. In recent years, he has written numerous articles on media issues and aspects of contemporary thought for publications such as the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post and the Columbia Journalism Review.

Professor Stephens recently completed a trip around the world during which he reported on globalization for the public radio program "Marketplace" and the webzine Feed. He also wrote essays on travel for LonelyPlanet.com. His commentaries have aired on National Public Radio's "On the Media." Professor Stephens also has been a consultant to the Newseum.

Chris Harper

Christopher Harper is the Roy H. Park Distinguished Chair of Communications at Ithaca College in Ithaca, New York. He worked for more than 20 years for a variety of media outlets, including the Associated Press (Chicago), Newsweek (Chicago, Washington, D.C., and Beirut) and ABC News and ABC 20/20 (Cairo, Rome and New York). He has written four books on digital journalism and mass communications. Harper served as a Fulbright senior scholar in 2001 at Adam Mickiewicz University in Poland, and has lectured in Japan and Israel.

Alla Bespalova

Alla Bespalova graduated from Rostov State University in 1979. She finished post-graduate studies in 1992 with a doctorate degree in journalism. She presented and defended her thesis "The Formation and the Development of Domestic Audio-Verbal Mass Media" in Rostov State University under the supervision of Professor Evgeny Kornilov.

Since 1979 she has worked as a teaching assistant, lecturer and assistant professor of the Department of History of Journalism of the School of Philology and Journalism. She serves as head of the Department of International Journalism.

Professor Bespalova has extensive experience with New York University and Dortmund University. After training at NYU, she created a course "Reporting" based on American journalism education for the students of the Department of International Journalism. Also, she created courses "Empirical Research of the Modern Russian Press " and "Skill of the Domestic Publicists." She is also the organizer and executive director of a joint project with Dortmund University.

Marcia Rock

Marcia Rock is the director of the graduate program in broadcast journalism at NYU. She has produced a number of documentaries, including Daughters of the Troubles: Belfast Stories. The documentary won multiple awards, among them the American Women in Radio and Television Grand Award and Documentary Award and The Association of Women Journalists, Vivian Castleberry Award for Television. It has been shown at numerous festivals and has aired in Ireland, Northern Ireland, Spain, Canada and on PBS stations throughout the United States.

Professor Rock's latest documentary is Dancing with My Father, an intimate look at marriage, divorce and how adult love is shaped by what a child learns at home. In 1998, she produced Back from Beyond: Women Abuse and Drugs, profiling a new drug treatment program specifically designed for women addicts. In 1994, she produced City Originals: Women Making It Work.

Rock has produced three major documentaries on Ireland and Irish Americans: Sons of Derry (1992), No Irish Need Apply (1993) and McSorley's New York, which won a New York Emmy in 1987. She also won an Emmy for The Singing Angels in China, a chronicle of a Cleveland youth choir's trip to China in 1983. Professor Rock is the co-author with Marlene Sanders of Waiting for Prime Time: The Women of Television News (1988).

Adrian Mihai

Adrian Mihai, the broadcast coordinator of NYU's Department of Journalism, is a freelance videographer, independent producer and multi-media designer. He produced and directed several documentaries, E Pluribus Unum (1994), a film that investigates the spiritual milieu of first generation immigrants from Romania as they become integrated into the various folds of the American society. Someone Has Killed The Sphinx (1995), is a film that offers an analysis of Romanian social realities after the overthrow of Nicolae Ceausescu's dictatorship--as seen through the staging of Oedipus at the Romanian National Opera House, Crossroads (1998) looks at Columbia University's Graduate Acting Program, which was created and steered by renowned Romanian-American director Andrei Serban, E Biagoresqo Drom / The Endless Journey is a documentary about the Rroma/Gypsy communities of Romania. Professor Mihai works as a freelance cameraman for various news organizations, such Bloomberg, BBC America, Austrian TV and CNN. Since 1996, he has taught undergraduates and graduates in "Electronic News Gathering."

Alexander Korochensky

Alexander Korochensky teaches journalism at Rostov State University. He is the author of the monographs: The Fifth Estate?; The Phenomenon of Media Criticism in the Context of Content Market; Ethics of Journalism: the Foreign Experience; The Journalism of Jose Marti; and co-author of the monograph The History of World Journalism.

Professor Korochensky has served as visiting lecturer and researcher at Schools of Journalism of La Universidad de La Habana (Cuba), Silesian University (Poland) and New York University.

Vitaly Vinichenko

Vitaly Vinichenko received his master's degree in journalism from the School of Philology and Journalism at Rostov State University and was awarded his doctorate in journalism in 1995 for research devoted to the history of the International Herald Tribune. He serves as the deputy to the dean of the School of Philology and Journalism for information technologies.

Roman Chernov

Roman Chernov graduated from Rostov State Pedagogical University in 2001 with a master's degree in linguistics in English and German. Chernov is currently doing post-graduate studies in the Department of History of Journalism of the School of Philology and Journalism of Rostov State University. His dissertation will focus on the analysis of periodicals concerning teaching English as a second language.

He was one of five instructors who studied at Ithaca College in the spring semester of 2003. Chenov works as a teacher in the School of Philology and Journalism at RSU.

Artem Eremenko

Artem Eremenko is a post-graduate student in the School of Philology and Journalism of Rostov State University. He earned his bachelor's and master's degrees at RSU. He serves as editor of the real estate section of the newspaper Vse dlya Vas. He also works as a researcher on pre-election campaign techniques and data analysis in the spheres of politics and business.

In 2001 Eremenko took part in an exchange program between Rostov State University and Dortmund University in the field of journalism and sociology.

He spent the spring semester of 2003 at Ithaca College, studying American methods of teaching journalism.

Anna Kapustina

Anna Kapustina received her bachelor's and master's degrees from Rostov State University in the School of Philology and Journalism. In 2002 she entered post-graduate study at the university. She has worked at several local newspapers, including Izvestia Yug, Donskaya Panorama and Gorod N and as a freelance correspondent at the local television station, The 38th Channel, in the advertising department.

She also worked at the newspaper Vesty s Kipra (Nes from Cyprus) on Cyprus in 1998. In 2001-2002 she worked on the staff of the local newspaper Academia.

In 2003 she spent the spring semester at Ithaca College as a participant of the partnership program among the departments of journalism of Rostov State University, New York University and Ithaca College.

Svetlana Shelest

Svetlana Shelest graduated in 1997 from Rostov State Univeristy in the Department of Foreign Languages of the School of Philology and Journalism, where she majored in English and German.

Since graduation she has been employed as an English language teacher in the same department. She has been involved in intercultural exchange programs and activities run by the department and faculty in the fields of philology and journalism.

In 2003 she successfully completed a semester training at the Roy H. Park School of Communications of Ithaca College. Upon returning to Rostov she has been involved in preparation and running the Russian-American Journalism Institute as an instructor and assistant to senior faculty.

Pleasure is the Absence of Pain in Russia

Entry by Jason Boog

Yesterday, my Russian partner and I went to the military recruiting station so we could drum up a couple statistics for our story. This fresh-faced kid in a lumpy bulletproof vest took us up to the top of the building and we met an honest-to-god colonel with stars and such on his shoulder straps.

Our interview lasted about 30 seconds, and it was so rudimentary that I translated all by myself: “No. Sorry. No. Statistics something-or-other, no. Sorry. No. Thank you.” Elena zipped her mouth closed and squinted through her librarian-glasses; my Russian journalist buddy had contracted my American impatience and self-righteousness like those strains of chicken flu that everybody worries about catching in foreign countries. “We need to get a piece of paper with a stamp,” she said.

So we walked across the street to a grim waiting room with a row of reception-windows, each one closed up behind wood shutters; Elena knocked and a bored lady told us to use the special phone and call a special number to get the piece of paper with a stamp, and we went across the room to a rotary phone encased in a maroon plastic bubble, obviously a prop from some Soviet-era sci-fi movie; so then Elena dialed, and a person told her another number to call, which we did, and then that person told us to call back later; we waited another hour in straight-backed chairs staring at the closed reception desk shutters, but finally the person answered on the other end of the special phone and told us that they would call the Colonel in the morning and set up a meeting about the statistics the NEXT morning—“Why didn’t you just call me from your office?” asked the man on the other end of the special phone, and I almost knocked myself unconscious head-butting the oak door that led upstairs, trying to bust my way through to his office so I could explain why in the international language of kung-fu death and destruction.

A Rostov University professor told me a Russian joke in Spanish the other day; my Spanish is better than his English, even if his English stomps all over my Russian. The joke is a bit ragged in translation, like a piece of paper with a stamp passed through seven different people on the other end of a special phone: A wolf took a stroll through the woods one day, and he happened upon a rabbit pounding his hand with a hammer. “What in the world are you doing, Rabbit?” asked the wolf. “I’m making pleasure,” said the rabbit. “How could you be making pleasure?” cried the wolf, “You are pounding your hand with a hammer!” The rabbit looked up and smiled, “Sometimes the hammer misses, and then I feel pleasure.”

No country on earth grows up with fairy tales like that, so grim, doomed, sublime, anti-Zen and un-American, and that makes me feel pleasure. For instance, I was writing this story on a breezy European sidewalk park-bench, but I still managed to be neurotic in the middle of all this peacefulness. The sky started to sprinkle on my writing book. “Please don’t rain,” I mumbled. And it did not rain.

That’s how I figured out that I’m just one of those anxious and doomed people that will pound themselves anyway. But I’ll tell you, when the rain stops or you finally get the paper with a stamp, everything comes up lovely—that’s the secret of this country where wolves philosophize with rabbits instead of eating them like they do in America. I came a long way to figure out that I’m happiest when I’m mixed up, overwhelmed and pounding away. I’ve got piles of good stories about Russia now, and I’ll never put down my hammer.

Exist no Potatoes Here

Entry by Kate Sheppard

It's really quite a study in cultural differences here. There have been many small encounters, but the one that makes for the best story was our pursuit of food today.

We arrived at the first cafe we spotted on the Don today, a pleasant looking place shaped like a pirate ship, with waitresses dressed as buccaneers. After consulting Riva, the one girl in our group who speaks Russian, we discovered that there weren't many food items on the menu, but there was pizza. We asked the waitress for pizza. She returned several minutes later.

"No pizza," she explained to Riva.

So, we decided on chicken and french fries.

"No chicken," she returns with.

"No?" asks one of our instructors, Adrian, making chicken-wing-flapping signals to accompany the question.

"No," she responds, mirroring the wing-flapping.

So, as there is no food here, apparently, we move on to the next cafe. With 12 people, this is not only a sight for most of the Russians, but it's also a pain if you're trying to navigate and make decisions. Nonetheless, we arrive at the next cafe, a green-tented establishment on the water. There are a few people here, but none of them appear to have actual food.

"I don't trust any place where no one has food," one of my groupmates mumbles offhandedly.

The sole Russian speaker again attempts to translate for us. They have a Russian meat and potato dish, french fries, a pork dish. We order six meat and potatos, one pork, and three french fries. The waitress writes it down and disappears under the "cabin" of this boat thing.

She returns and explains to our resident language speaker that you cannot order only french fries. You must order a main dish. "It is not permitted," she says, roughly translated. So, we offer to tag the fries onto our meat and potatoes. This seems like a perfectly reasonable thing. But the waitress explains that you cannot have fries with a potato product. It makes no sense. Why would you want more potatoes if you already have potatoes? "It is not permitted," she
says, roughly translated. Now, to me, the girl who orders a baked potato with a side of fries, this is inconceivable. But, it is not permitted, and we cannot convince the waitress that this can be done.

The waitress quietly speaks to Riva about the situation.

Riva looks up, dissappointed and weary.

"She says we should just go to McDonald's."

What I've Learned in Russia

Entry by Ashley Mathews

I learned that ordering and receiving French fries in Russia may involve tears and begging, and even then the waitress might say, “If you want French fries so much, go to McDonald’s.”

In Russia, every source is like dealing with the New York Department of Sanitation. If you don’t have a stamp, a seal, a receipt, a shot of vodka and letterhead you’re not getting anything from anyone anywhere ever.

I learned that no matter how cute you think the stray dog, “Scruffy,” might be, “Scruffy” doesn’t think you’re cute back. Scruffy’s new nickname is “Bitey.”

Russian vodka will burn a hole in your throat, put hair on your chest and scrape the skin off your knee. In that order.

Even Easy Questions are Hard to Ask in Russia

Entry by Noria Litaker

A couple of days ago my partner Karina and I, as well as our interpretor Katya hopped on a bus and headed for an interview. What the pair had failed to mention was they didn't know exactly where the were going. After getting off the bus "in the right district" we started to wander in what seemed like the right direction. I went along for a few minutes and then asked curiously, "Are you sure we're going the right way?" They looked at each other and exchanged a brief flurry of Russian. "Can we please ask someone where the school is?" I said hesitantly.

Again I heard rapid-fire Russian. "We don't want to ask anyone," Karina told me. "We're afraid."

"Are you kidding me?" I exclaimed in my head. Unforutnately, after having begged them to call sources earlier in the day, my cultural and journalistic tolerance had totally abandoned me. "We have an interview in 20 minutes and we don't know where we're going," I exploded. "One of you has to ask. I would if I could, but I can count my Russian vocabulary on two hands."

Finally, Karina worked up the courage to ask a sweet-looking older woman where the sports school was and she gave us perfect directions.

Just before we arrived at the school Karina turned to me and said, "I'm being so brave today, maybe someday I'll call Putin."

I hope she does.

From Russia, With Love

Entry by Varunan Ananda

My most memorable experience in Russia thus far came from an interview I conducted with a pair of local, Rostovite skinheads. At the end of my interview with these gentlemen, in which we sat down and discussed their ideologies over a few beers, my final question for them related to how they felt about being interviewed by a reporter who wasn't white. They apparently didn't mind, telling me that I came to Russia intending to stay for a short time, would soon return to America, and would not end up "spoiling the Russian nation" by marrying a Russian girl. To that, all I could do was smile and think, "Well, it’s a good thing I didn't tell them about Sveta!" Cheers, comrades!

"It's Russia"

Entry by Liisa Rebasoo

“It’s Russia.” Everything here seems inexplicable, but if you’re Russian it makes perfect sense. Interviewing a music journalist about CD piracy, I realized my American naivete became a block when trying to understand the Russian way. As the journalist sat there fiddling with his lighter and lighting a new cigarette seconds after he finished his last, he laughed before responding to each of my questions. I wasn't understanding the complexity of the music industry, asking more and more questions to bring clarity, and finally he said, “You can’t explain this to a foreigner.” My Russian journalist partner sat there, laughing because she already knew it all, while I drooped my head, wondering how to organize in my head the web of corruption that seems to surround everything. It’s not corruption though, it’s Russia.

I say this not to paint a blackened picture of this country. Like my interpreter said, the phrase "It's Russia" isn't meant only for the negative aspects of Russia that makes our lives as American journalists hard, but accounts for all facets of Russian culture that an American can't understand and a Russian just can't explain.

As an American, I won’t ever accept or understand the simple daily elements of life here that reflect a history of struggle, corruption and distrust. Somehow, despite the cultural divide, and most of the time, a lingual divide, I've found common life ideologies with the Russian friends I've made.

Photos from RAJI Classes

Professor Kurechensky lectures while Masha translates questions for Irina Aroyan, a Russian journalist who is suing Russian pop star Filip Kirkorov.

Varunan and Yulia take notes in class.

A Russian war correspondent tells the institute about his experiences reporting in Chechnya.

"Arr, I'm an angry Romanian!" Adrian apes for the camera during class.

Rostov Theatre Tries to Usher In New Jazz Age

By Liisa Rebassoo

The articles below, the first assigned by the Institute professors, were reported and written during one day in Rostov. The purpose of the assignment was to introduce American students to the difficulties of reporting in a foreign country, and to aquaint Russian students with American deadline requirements. Students were required to find a newsworthy event on their own, and were then assigned an interpreter if necessary.

A sharp tink and the huge panoramic screen went blank, as the five people in the audience snickered and looked around, wondering what had happened. In the dark theater, some stood and stumbled on the uneven planks of the aisles, trying to grope the hard wooden seats and avoid the nails and staples precariously poking out. The red leather seat coverings hung off in strips, a faint reminder of the fallen power that built this national monument, a theater housing the fourth panoramic screen built in the Soviet Union in Rostov, Russia.

When the Rossiya—the Russian word for Russia—movie theater opened in 1959, buses filled the streets carrying people from all over the Rostov region, selling out the 950 seats.

“Every movie here was a bang. People begged for tickets,” said Ilya Rivoshlikoff, 72, the main engineer of the theater since its construction. Speaking very passionately, he sheepishly hid his hands behind his back and the missing fingertip he lost while working in the basement of the theater.

Today, the theater shows movies weeks later than the newer theaters, and its meager audience consists mainly of stragglers from the city park, next to the theater. Out of the five in the theater on a rainy Thursday night, none had been to the theater before and had wandered in from the rain.

One wanderer, Dimitry Lozynsky, 24, said he preferred the Kino Max, one of the newer theaters in town, noting more comfortable seats. His friend, Svetlana Chernyavskaya, 20, added that in the Rossiya, “the seats were very tough and very uncomfortable and I could feel the nails.”

Krivoshlikoff has been waiting month to month for the rumored renovations. He blames the jazz orchestra that plays at the theater, saying that since the early 1990s when it started playing at Rossiya, it has usurped all the money from the theater, hindering any attempts at renovation.

Olga Korjova, the Second Director of this educational and concert center, finds this claim absurd, and insists that renovation will start in one month, financed by an undisclosed private investor.

“I think this will be the most popular place in Rostov,” said Korjova, explaining that the movie hall will be updated with the most modern equipment. This includes replacing the bulbs, which are currently Soviet made and with poor life expectancies, these bulbs are responsible for the screen going blank in the middle of movies. They will be replaced with the more expensive German and Italian bulbs, which Krivoshlikoff said are used by the modern theaters in the city.

The renovation also includes building a jazz club on the second floor, where there is currently a hall that hosts jazz dances by candlelight on Friday and Saturday nights. Kim Nazeretov’s municipal Big Band, one of the best in Russia, started playing in the upstairs rooms in 1963.

This continued until 1990, when the musicians drifted away from Rossiya, but the jazz tradition of the building was reestablished in 1994, when jazz musicians from all over Russia began coming to play at the theater. It’s begun to even attract American artists, including songstress Melba Joyce, and an upcoming visit by the Yellow Jackets in March 2005.

Korjova, a jazz pianist and vocalist herself, hopes to strengthen the jazz tradition in Rostov, where the first jazz educational department in Russia was established in 1974.

“We’re trying to show that we are independent from and better than Moscow,” said Korjova when speaking of the prospective future for Rostov jazz culture. The center offers jazz history and piano lessons to members of the first children jazz band, started in 1995 and named after Kim Nazaretev, which teaches 450 students at its two locations.

Leaving the theater, patrons pass a huge statue outside the theater marking the spot where Rostovites rallied in 1917 to support the Communist party during the Bolshevik Revolution. The theater, once an escape for people in the region through difficult times, has now become a hint of hope amidst an uncertain future.

Modern Theatres Leave Rostov's Oldest Cinema Behind

By Ashley Matthews

ROSTOV-ON-DON, Russia -- Every morning, Rostov-on-Don's oldest movie theater, the Rossya, sleepily pries open its doors to greet the day. But, more often than not, the people of Rostov walk by without a glance, the ticket counter remains deserted and its 750 seats abandoned.

"We cannot even speak of competition with newer theaters because we're so old," said Ilya Krivoshlikoff, who has been the theater's head engineer since it opened in 1959.

The Rossya's tattered red vinyl seats, dingy curtains and warped floor boards speak little of its better days, more than 45 years ago, when it boasted the most advanced technological equipment available, two bands to perform concerts and the only panoramic movie screen in the region.

"When it opened, it was a very big event," Krivoshlikoff said, peering out from under a tangle of salt and pepper eyebrows. "People from all over the Rostov region came here to watch movies -- the street was full of buses that brought people."

Now, the Rossya has fallen by the wayside, as privately owned facilities challenge the government-funded theater. The newer theaters' flashing lights and plush seats serve as a beacon to young Russians who are eager to embrace modernity and progress.

"I have never visited the Rossya -- I do not want to," said Gopoboblev Dimitri, a 19-year-old student. "I have been told that the building is very old."

In an effort to attract more viewers, the Rossya's movie tickets cost less than half of the price of a ticket to a showing at a newer theater. The theater's location at the entrance of one of the city's major recreational areas, Gorky Park, seems to be all that's kept it afloat through its difficult years since communism fell.

"We were just strolling and we saw that they were playing a good movie," said Diemetri ___, who was one of five viewers at a Thursday night showing of a popular American action movie. "It's very old, and it needs reconstruction, and we could feel the nails in the seats. But, we may come back someday. The old theater doesn't frighten us."

Despite the movie theater's failures, Olga Korjova, the Rossya's director, said the theater's jazz band enjoys tremendous success, consistently selling out of tickets for weekend concerts days before the performances.

Korjova said an unnamed private investor is prepared to breathe new life into the theater, donating enough money to renovate the facility's interior and add a restaurant and apartments to house traveling musicians.

"I think it will be the most popular place in Rostov," Korjova said, with a dramatic sweep of her hand. "It will be very wonderful."

Krivoshlikoff also hopes the renovations will rejuvenate the theater to which he has dedicated much of his life and the tip of his right finger, which he cut off with an electric saw many years ago, when he was constructing equipment in the building's basement.

"I love it very much, that's why I don't retire,'' Krivoshlikoff said. "I earn only 700 rubles a month, but I created this theater -- it is like a child to me."

Russian-American Journalism Institute

Highlighted Articles

Please peruse some of our students' best work completed during the institute.

In a Russian Orthodox Redoubt, Catholics Report the Sin of Bias

By Gretchen Weber

Weak sunlight filtered through barred windows as family members, bearing video cameras, crowded around a baby girl named Maritsa and her godmother. In front of an unfinished wooden altar adorned with tissue paper and wildflowers, a priest poured holy water from a plain silver pitcher over the infant's head, while worshipers watched from overflowing pews.

Continue reading "In a Russian Orthodox Redoubt, Catholics Report the Sin of Bias"

Russian Nurses Try to Make Ends Meet

By Elizabeth A. Crowley

When Natasha Chernenko needed multiple injections before the birth of her child, the Russian hospital couldn't provide a catheter for intravenous drugs. But a nurse who wanted to supplement her small salary sold Chernenko a catheter and a few sterile syringes the nurse had bought at a nearby pharmacy.

Continue reading "Russian Nurses Try to Make Ends Meet"

Cailtin Shamberg

Caitlin Shamberg is a graduate student at NYU studying broadcast journalism. After graduating from Vassar College with a degree in English, she worked as a film festival programmer in San Francisco. She aims to produce long form documentaries.

Adam Ellick

Adam B. Ellick is a Visiting Professor from Ithaca College. He spent four years in Eastern Europe and Russia, where he launched EllickNewsLink, a freelance news service selling content to media outlets in North America, Europe and Asia. His stories have appeared in USA Today, Philadelphia Inquirer, Jerusalem Post, Rollingstone.com, ARTnews and dozens of other publications. Today he is a Fulbright Scholar based in Jakarta, where he researches the professionalism of Indonesian journalism. In 1999, he was awarded the Pulliam Journalism Fellowship at the Indianapolis Star and earned a B.A. from Ithaca College in Journalism.

Maria Kolesnikova

Maria Kolesnikova teaches in the departments of Romance-Germanic Philology and Mass Communication Media of Rostov State University. She graduated cum laude from the Romance-Germanic Department, took a postgraduate course in journalism and defended her doctoral thesis, “Online Periodicals: A Typological Aspect,” in January, 2003. Her research focuses on the Russian online periodicals and the language of the present-day newsmedia. She contributed to the RSU ezine www.relga.ru for four years. In 2003 she traveled to Ithaca College to study print journalism and teaching methods.

Anastassia Serdyukova

Anastassia Serdyukova is an instructor at the School of Philology and Journalism at Rostov State University. She teaches English for journalists and philologists and she has concentrated on the peculiarities of the British and American mass media and instructing her students in writing and analyzing newspaper articles. She is working on compiling a English-Russian vocabulary of mass media terms for journalists and philologists. She graduated with honors from the School of Philology and Journalism in 2002. In 2003 she traveled to Ithaca College to study print journalism and teaching methods.

A Stranger in a New Land

Enry by Joe Geraghty

I was shocked by the absence of other tourists in Rostov. In our month there
we met just two other Americans. This was my first travel experience where
I've truly been a complete outsider and it was an interesting way to spend
four weeks. I certainly got a sense of what it feels like to be an outsider
and, though I was sometimes uncomfortable with my status as a foreigner, I
certainly learned a great deal.

The people of Russia were some of the most friendly I've ever encountered.
The folks we passed on the street often stared us down and seemed shocked to
see Americans in their city, but the people I met going out on interviews
were genuinely friendly people who were intrigued by the sight of an
American and wanted to show me just how hospitable they could be.

The language barrier was sometimes a difficulty but more often simply
presented an interesting challenge. I was never completely unable to
communicate with a person I needed to talk to, it just sometimes took a bit
more hand gestures to get ideas across. I also realized over the course of
the trip just how difficult it would be for a Russian who speaks no English
to come to America. While there was limited English available everywhere I
went in Russia, I can't imagine finding Russian on a menu in anywhere in
Chicago.

Some Thoughts

Posted by Jessica McCoy

I really got a lot out of this experience, both on a professional level
and a personal level. Reporting stories in a new place and new
journalistic climate showed me that the American way of doing journalism
isn't the only way and in some cases may not be the best way. Working in
Russia required a new tenacity for securing worthwhile interviews, which
gave me an appreciation for journalists reporting in this type of
environment.

This was my first trip overseas. I feel so grateful that I had this
opportunity to get outside my everyday life and really do something new.
In many ways, Russia is a totally different world from the one I know.
Russia lacked some of the stability and order that life in the U.S.
depends on. For the first time I realized that more people in the world
live in situations closer to Russia's than to mine.

That's what was so amazing about being there. Seeing how people live and
struggling to understand their hows and whys: how they think, how they
live, why they are happy or unhappy. For me, that was really the essence
of this trip -- learning about a different aspect of what it means to be
a person. Journalism requires an appreciation for people and living.
This experience encouraged my own appreciation.

Searching for a Dying Culture

When we left for Russia I looked through a variety of stories about Rostov-on-Don, the base for the Russian-American Journalism Institute. One story particularly interested me: the Doukhobors, a Christian sect that opposed wars and had been persecuted by virtually every Russian ruler for the past 150 years. My search for the Doukhobors was on--a search that proved almost as interesting as meeting the Doukhobors themselves.

The problem was that virtually no one in Rostov had heard about the Doukhobors in recent years. The Rostovites knew that the Russian author Leo Tolstoy had supported their rights at the beginning of the twentieth century. But one of our Russian students, Maria Kolesnikova, and Professor Alexander Korochensky found out the trail turned a bit cold.

The most frequent answer we received from Russians was: "The name sounds funny. It may be some evil house spirit." One person replied: "Doukhobor sounds like doushegoub (murderer). They are evil, I'm sure." One lady knew about them. "They are all gone now. To find them you should go to Canada."

An estimated 15,000 Doukhobors do live in western Canada, but roughly the same number live in Russia.

Finally, we located a woman who knew about the town of Petrovka about 100 miles southeast of Rostov. She called the local government supervisor--the only person nearby who had a telephone.

She drove with us to find Petrovka. When we arrived a torrential rain had just finished. The main street had turned to mud. In the village of 350 people, there are no telephones. There is no bus service. The nearest doctor is 25 miles away.

At a small house in the middle of town, a group of six women met us in traditional Doukhobor costume--long skirts with elaborate embroidery, colorful blouses and white scarves. For nearly two hours, they talked with us about their religion, their prayers, their songs, their history and their sadness that the Doukhobors may not survive as a culture for much longer.

"We have always lived in a close community, even before communist times," said Lyudmilla Balsova, one of the women told our group of professors and students. "If one person had three dresses and another had only one, the first would give one to the other."

The Doukhobors oppose war. They burned the weapons Czar Nicolas II sent them to fight the Turks at the end of the nineteenth century. As a result, the czar broke up families, sending the father, the women and children to different towns.

The Doukhobors oppose the use of icons for God--a frequent practice in the Russian Orthodox faith. There are no priests. All of the prayers and songs were memorized until 1905 when a prayer book was compiled. The Doukhobors follow all Christian holy days and the Bible. Their formal prayer centers on praise for King David, sorrow for those who have died in all wars and hope for all the Christians in the world.

Unfortunately, only about 12 people attend Sunday prayer meetings in Petrovka, which has the largest concentration of Doukhobors in one town at about 200. Also, the average age stands at between 65 and 70 as young people have left the struggling agricultural areas.

The local government and the town have tried to preserve elements of the Doukhobor culture through the small museum and by tape recording the songs and prayers. But the women worry that they might be the last generation of the Doukhobors in this part of Russia.

Photo Gallery (Year 1)

Snapshots from the Institute: Classroom, field reporting and our trip to the Black Sea, including our overnight train ride.

An Unforgettable Moment

Entry by Joe Geraghty

Natalie Petrova was distraught all day. Now, at 4 p.m., tears welled up in her eyes and it appeared that her worst fears would be confirmed. The Americans would not be able to stay for dinner.

We had met her earlier in the day at her tiny apartment in Kaminsk. This was our second trip to the town about two hours outside of Rostov and our second visit with Natalie. The first visit, a week earlier, had begun with a huge meal of borscht, potatoes, cucumbers, beef and too many other foods to list.

This time, though, we were on a tighter schedule and we were unable to eat her delicious food when we arrived in Kaminsk. Instead, we headed to the dilapidated house of a Chechen refugee family. Tanya, the matriarch of that family, served us an enormous meal of beef, dumplings and assorted vegetables. We stuffed ourselves in an effort to show her just how much we appreciated her traditional hospitality.

The result, unfortunately for Natalie, was that we were completely full by the end of the visit and the prospect of pots full of borscht, beef and beets was simply too overwhelming to contemplate. Still, she asked in plaintive tones if perhaps we would be able to stop at her apartment and enjoy some of the spread she had prepared.

We sat in the van debating whether we should go with Natalie and eat or not. Vishan, a Chechen student, argued that the expense of keeping the van in Kaminsk the extra hour was simply not worth it. TJ and I, the two Americans whose visit was arguably the biggest excitement Natalie could expect in her life for the next week or two, discussed whether we could afford the roughly $20 we would have to spend to stay and eat delicious but dangerously filling borscht with her.

We looked deep in our hearts and our wallets and decided we could cover the price of the van. We told the driver we’d keep him another hour and pay him whatever he wanted. He drove off to Natalie’s place and her face lit up with joy. At last, after a day full of fretting, she would get to serve us the food she had prepared.

When we entered her humble, one-room home, we realized just how important our visit was. The table, which she had to borrow from a neighbor, was set up. Her three chairs were placed around it, with three more seats to be found on her combination bed/couch that sat right next to the table. Bowls, plates and pots full of food covered the top of the table and it was obvious that, had we not come, she would have sadly climbed the stairs back to her apartment and dolefully returned the dishes to their cupboards, alone.

As it was, she dashed around the room making sure we were comfortable, then ran to the communal kitchen down the hall to heat up the food she had prepared for our visit earlier in the day. The smile on her face as she served us was worth the cost of the van ten times over.

TJ, ever the video student, asked Natalie to say something about our visit into his camera. She stood there with a look of sincere gratitude and told TJ and me that we were the first Americans she ever met in Kaminsk, and the first journalists ever to listen to the stories of Chechen refugees in the city. She thanked us with all her heart and told us that neither she nor anyone else we had spoken to that day would ever forget us.

Despite all the hassles and difficulties we’ve faced and will probably continue to face, that moment made my entire trip to Russia worthwhile.

From Idea to Reality

Entry by Mitch Stephens
I first came to Rostov-on-Don in 1994, to begin -- hesitantly -- an exchange of ideas on journalism education with the faculty and students of Rostov State University. Our communication has improved considerably since then. Almost three years ago, professors from Rostov State came up with an idea for a Russian-American Journalism Institute. We fleshed it out. We won a State Department grant. Now we're here, week three -- experiencing the the always surprising transformation of idea into reality.

Nine advanced American students and four American faculty, from NYU and Ithaca College, have been working with an equal number of Russian graduate students and faculty (The participants include two Chechens and one young woman from the republic of Adygea), plus five Russian instructors trained under the grant this spring at Ithaca College.

There have been some frustrations: interviews fall apart here with even greater frequency than back in the States; wariness of journalists and TV cameras is, perhaps, more intense; various cultural hurdles have had to be overcome. Nevertheless, the Institute has been a remarkable success. Profs. Chris Harper and Marcia Rock have been teaching, with great industry, classes on American-style print, television and digital journalism to the Russian students, who have been eager to learn. The American and Russian students themselves have led discussions on journalism ethics. Fascinating debates have broken out on “positive” versus “negative” reporting, on the search for “scandal,” on the importance of an engaging opening to stories. The plan was for everyone, faculty and students, to listen, to consider and to learn. I believe that has been happening.

But the Institute’s greatest success (besides our three-day visit to the Black Sea) may turn out to be its experiment in “team reporting.” The idea was to send American and Russian students out to report together. We have done more of this than originally contemplated (and, consequently, less classroom instruction, less talking about teaching). And it has worked better than we imagined. Russian and American advanced students, in pairs and somewhat larger groups, have reported together on stories including: the problems of Chechen refugees in Rostov (the largest Russian city near Chechnya), the recent success of the local football team, the difficulties being faced by a local Catholic church, the changing status of day care in post-Soviet Russia, a profile of the richest man in town (who now runs that football team), the return of Circassians to Adygea, a nearby republic in the Russian Federation. A longer television documentary on young Russian businessmen is underway.

The students have had some disagreements: Are the questions too impolite? Why can’t we be more aggressive? Are we focusing too much on the problems? Are we relying too much on friends and relatives? It was intriguing to watch an American, Russian and Chechen student, who were working together on a TV script, debating whether it was correct to describe Rostov police as “harassing” Chechens when they pick them up to check their credentials. (The word was dropped as too subjective.) But friendships have certainly been made; good journalism is being done; and learning, on many levels, is certainly going on, particularly as we discuss Russian and American versions of the same story.

As a professor, it has been a delight to watch the students exchanging story ideas, selecting individuals to interview, drafting questions and, when the arrangements don’t fall through, conducting those interviews – all together. The Russian students, most of whom will be teaching at the university level, are getting a taste of how journalism is taught and practiced in the United States. The Americans, students and faculty, are obtaining an intensive introduction to Russian journalistic practices and Russian life.

I leave on July 3. The Institute will continue under the direction of Profs. Harper, Rock, Mihai, Kornilov, Bespalova, Korochensky and Vinichenko through July 11.

Memories Long Past

Entry by Christopher Harper
Every time I come to Eastern Europe I have an enduring memory that is difficult to erase. In 1962 I recall Mrs. Roberts's class in sixth grade at St. Bernadette's School in Lakewood, Colo. At least three times a day the principal would announce over a loud speaker system that every student must drop to the floor and roll under his or her desk. It was the Cuban missile crisis, and somehow adults thought that we sixth graders would survive a nuclear attack if we hid under our desks.

When I asked one of my Russian colleagues here in Rostov about those events, she said she knew nothing at the time of what almost became a nuclear war between the Soviet Union and the United States. Only years later did the Russian government reveal what had happened.

Today, however, a group of 19 American and Russian students at the Russian-American Journalism Institute only know about those tense times from history books. In fact, only a few were even born during the days of the Cold War. Therefore, the students do not have some of the conceptions and misconceptions that we older Americans have about Russia.

Each American student has worked with a Russian student to prepare print and television reports. There are some problems with communication, primarily because only one of the American students speaks Russian, and two of the Russian students speak limited English. Nevertheless, the collaboration among the American and Russian students has been truly fascinating.

So far, the Russian students have pointed out that the Americans tend to focus on more negative stories than the Russians would. The Americans sometimes think the Russian students have some difficulties asking tough questions to interview subjects. The Russians maintain, however, that the Americans ask questions that may be considered too personal or perhaps impolite.

One interesting discussion centered on the different storytelling techniques of the two groups. The American students have become familiar with a variety of storytelling techniques, including the inverted pyramid, the Wall Street Journal style and others. On the other hand, the Russian students tend toward a more chronological form of storytelling--a method Americans use only for reconstruction of significant events such as the attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon on Sept. 11, 2001.

When we compared two versions of the stories--one by a Russian and the other by an American--the Russians generally liked the American style better. It was more interesting and caught the Russians' attention.

A fascinating discussion occurred about a speech given to all of the students by the local head of the union of journalists. The Russian students focused on the leader's explanation of how the organization worked and its desire to attract more young reporters into its ranks. The Americans focused on the leader's admission that some journalists accepted money to write positive stories without stating that the articles were actually advertising.

The Russian students argued that the leader could file a lawsuit against them for libel because no one had a tape recording of the event. In court, the Russians said, they would have to prove that he actually had made the statement. Without the tape recording there would be no proof.

So far, the Russian-American Journalism Institute has been a wonderful exchange of ideas on how two countries and their journalists can disagree with neither threat nor fear. That's a significant change from what occurred during much of my lifetime when the leaders of the Soviet Union and the United States often used threats against one another and the people of both nations often lived in fear of what those leaders might do.

Journalism in Russia

Entry by T.J. Wait
After our arrival in Moscow and a three-day whirlwind tour of the city, we’re already finishing our second week at the Russian-American Journalism Institute in Rostov On-Don, Russia. We’ve completed a number of print stories including one about buying on credit, an article about a Cossack school and a piece about the conflict between the Russian Orthodox and Catholic Churches.

The broadcast students began editing their first stories: One is about Chechen refugees, another is a profile of a soccer team owner and one on the problems of Russian soldiers re-entering society. So far our biggest challenge has been the language barrier (not surprisingly). Getting in touch with contacts, conducting interviews – all of these situations become much more complicated when all questions go through a translator. One never knows how good (or bad) the interpreter really is.

Some interesting factoids about Rostov: It’s the capital and largest city (home to over 1.5 million people) in Russia’s southern region, and is the military headquarters for the armed forces in the Caucuses, which means many of the Russian soldiers fighting in Chechnya come through here. It’s also a very diverse place – Armenians, Caucasians (of the Caucus region in Russia), Asians, and of course, Russians, live here peacefully.

Meanwhile, the American students from NYU and Ithaca College continue to learn more about Russia and it’s very different style of journalism. In a session this week one of the Russian students complained Americans are too “scandalous” and “negative.” For the Americans the problem seems to be that the Russians are not “digging” deep enough, and that their reporting takes a “PR” approach.

Overall the exchange of ideas continues to enlighten us all (at least we hope) and we’re excited about our experiences in the coming weeks…