Tsveti Ilieva: “Maturity Means Overcoming the ‘Roma’ Stigma”
Tsvetana Ilieva is from Yambol but also from Sliven. She graduated from the American University in Bulgaria with a degree in Journalism and Psychology. She is a TSA* scholarship recipient. This conversation with her is part of a series of interviews aiming to showcase the stories of change among young Roma supported by TSA to pursue and successfully complete their studies at AUBG.
Who is your hero and source of inspiration?
When I was little, I really looked up to my cousin. She was one of the first in our family to continue her education at a university, and now she’s a doctor. When I was a child, she was in high school, and I knew how much effort she put into her studies. At the same time, she was full of life and had a wild spirit. She was my role model—not just for education and going to university but also for how she lived her life. I admired her determination; nothing could stop her. She openly embraced her Roma identity and never hid it from anyone. She grew up in a Bulgarian neighborhood, where all her neighbors were Bulgarian, but that never made her shy away from who she was. I wanted to be like her—free and fearless.
What kind of family and community did you grow up in? What are your memories of your neighbors from the Roma district?
My parents are ordinary people. My mother has a high school education, and my father completed primary school. I have an older brother who also has a high school education. In Yambol, we ran a small family café. During the summers, my father would go to Italy to work in the fields. He started working abroad in 2007 and 2008, and eventually, he began traveling for work in the winter, too. Over time, my mother and brother also started working abroad. Gradually, more and more families from our neighborhood left the city to seek opportunities in other countries.
Because of that, my parents were often away, and I spent a lot of time alone at home. My mother used to say that I practically raised myself. By the time I was four or five, I could already read in both English and Bulgarian. She always told me I was a very bright child, that I had to go to university, that I should become a lawyer. When you hear something over and over again, you start believing it. So, I always knew I would pursue higher education. I spent a lot of time online, making friends from different countries.
At the same time, we lived near the Roma neighborhood "Rayna Knyaginya." My grandmother would come from Sliven to take care of me, and sometimes my aunt would do too. My grandmother is the sister of the lawyer Rusi Golemanov from Sliven. Even though my family took care of me, I still felt my parents’ absence—there were gaps that neither my grandmother nor my aunt could fill. But I never blamed them. They did what they had to do; they didn’t have another choice. They worked abroad out of love and responsibility, to support themselves and us. But growing up without your parents around is tough. I know many children today are going through the same thing – living on their own while their parents work in another country.
I also struggled with how I saw myself versus how others perceived me. My grandmother spoke Romani, but she always spoke Bulgarian to me, so I never learned Romani myself. I understand that my family doesn’t fit the stereotypical image of a Roma household—we are working people who have always provided for and taken care of our children. The truth is, so were most of the people in the Roma neighborhood. They worked incredibly hard – sometimes juggling multiple jobs. More and more of them were settling down, starting families, and buying new homes.
"I want people to recognize the intelligence of the Roma, their dedication to working hard for their families, hoping to be happy and accepted one day."
What is your most cherished memory from your school years—one you want to hold on to?
The moment I stopped hiding who I was and truly accepted myself. There was a time in high school when I struggled with self-acceptance. I compared myself to the other girls in my class and wondered why I wasn’t like them—why my family wasn’t like theirs, why we were different. I kept searching for answers to questions that weighed on me—why was I born into this family? Why was I born Roma? For a brief moment, I didn’t want to be who I was. I turned away from myself. From my identity. I was young. Looking back now, I regret having those thoughts.
Over time, I realized you can’t run from who you are—you can’t erase your family or your roots. The most important thing is to learn to accept and love yourself, no matter where you come from, where you were born, or what your ethnicity is. Because if you don’t accept and love yourself, no one else will. And yes, it takes time—especially when the very things you need to embrace are the ones most people reject.
When did you first realize you were different from other children?
I have a memory I’ll never forget. I was six years old, getting on a bus, heading toward an empty seat. A girl from my preschool class looked at me and said, “Oh, a gypsy!” followed by other words I don’t remember. I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I told my teacher. Then I told my mother. She said, “Yes, she’s right—you are Roma. But she shouldn’t have called you that in front of everyone.”
That was the first time I realized I was different. From that moment on, I knew I was Roma. Later, I started noticing the deeper differences—the way we lived, our traditions, the way people in our community interacted compared to the rest of society. I think every Roma child has a memory like this. And it’s important to talk about it—because too often, there’s a sense that we simply accept this kind of treatment without questioning it.
"Standing up to anti-Roma statements, you need confidence and solid reasoning."
How did you end up at the American University in Bulgaria?
I always knew that after high school, I would continue my education. In my final years of school, I started looking for opportunities, convinced I would study abroad. But as time passed, my family began struggling financially. When I realized they couldn’t afford the future I had imagined for myself, I started losing hope.
Then, my grandmother told my mother about TSA. My mom had heard of it through Kalina Vasileva. I reached out to her, and she helped me enroll in the English Language Institute (ELI) course at the American University in Bulgaria—organized by TSA to prepare Roma students for university admission.
When I saw the email, I thought, I have to go. And the moment I stepped onto the AUBG campus, it felt like a whole new world had opened up before me. I had an idea of what university life might be like, but as I stood there, I thought, This is where I belong. It was my first big dream come true.
How did the environment at AUBG differ from your high school experience?
The people. I still keep in touch with some of the friends I made during the ELI program, even though it’s been over six years. Everyone there was much more open-minded and accepting.
I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m Roma, even in high school. But when I shared this with classmates, many didn’t believe me. To them, the idea that the smartest girl in class could be Roma didn’t fit their expectations. Or they assumed I couldn’t be Roma because my mother has lighter skin. Their reactions were always a mix of surprise and disbelief. Of course, I had a few close friends—three or four classmates—who accepted me for who I was. But overall, I could feel the difference in how people treated me. This became even more apparent in my last two years of high school when I started speaking about my identity more openly.
I was especially close to my English teacher from 8th grade—she was like a second mother to me. I loved and respected her deeply. One day, we went out for coffee, and during our conversation, I casually mentioned something about "us Roma." After that day, she distanced herself from me. She completely cut off contact. It wasn’t the first time I’d experienced something like this, but I never expected it from her. I thought that by the end of high school, people would be more open-minded. I also assumed that the kind of acceptance I found in ELI would exist in my school, but I guess my expectations were too high.
What were your first steps and key moments of growth at AUBG?
The only thing I knew about AUBG before applying was how expensive it was. So when I finally got the acceptance email, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I had been anxiously waiting, checking my phone every few minutes. My grandmother was with me at the time, and she kept reassuring me, “Of course, they’ll accept you! How could they not?” But I wasn’t so sure. When I finally saw the email, I felt pure euphoria.
Studying at AUBG completely changed my worldview. My first year was mostly about adjusting. During my second year, I wasn’t really involved in extracurricular activities, and I regret that now. I could have been more social—connected more with other students and professors, joined different clubs. The networking opportunities there are incredible. The people you meet introduce you to others, and that kind of exposure keeps expanding your perspective. It shapes you into a different person and opens up so many new opportunities.
By my third year, I made the most of everything. I got involved in volunteer work, joined clubs, and participated in as many activities as I could. That year was pure adrenaline—it was the peak of my university experience. If I had gone to a regular Bulgarian university, my world would have been much smaller, my perspective much more limited. AUBG introduced me to amazing people who will always be part of my life.
What challenges did you face during your studies?
The biggest challenge was balancing academics, student life, and my social life. Often, I had to sacrifice one for the sake of the others. I barely had time for myself, my family, or my loved ones.
I wouldn’t say I faced discrimination because of my ethnicity. Most people at AUBG have open minds. However, in certain courses, I encountered students who made negative comments—simply because they didn’t expect to have Roma students among them. I witnessed some strange statements, and when I did, I spoke up. I felt the need to respond and explain why those assumptions were wrong. Unfortunately, most of these remarks came from Bulgarian students. I never heard anything like that from international students, who make up a significant part of AUBG’s community.
One situation happened in a Psychology and Media class during a discussion about media representation. We were learning about different levels of representation in the media, and one student claimed that the Roma community is well-represented in Bulgarian media—often in a positive light. I strongly disagreed. The reality is that we’re still at a stage where Roma people are either pitied or hated—there’s rarely a neutral or balanced portrayal. The discussion quickly escalated into a heated debate between me and this student, to the point where the professor had to step in and de-escalate the tension.
Another incident happened in a Semiotics class. We had to create a video about self-identity. One student did his project on his identity as a Bulgarian. At one point, he showed an image of Roma people and said, “I’m not racist, but I do not want people from a minority to become the majority in my country.” That was the moment I spoke up. Some of my friends also reacted. But he kept defending his point, saying things like, “They just keep having children and do nothing else. They don’t pay taxes,” and so on. I honestly didn’t expect something like that to happen at AUBG, but it did. Thankfully, the professor handled the situation well and shut it down immediately.
"To describe a situation objectively and capture the full context, there need to be Roma journalists. The fact that the are so few is a sad reflection on Bulgarian journalism."
Standing up in front of your classmates and engaging in such a sensitive discussion takes courage, especially since it comes with risks. Many Roma students might have avoided that confrontation, choosing instead to position themselves as an "exception"—as if these issues don’t apply to them. This is an example of how one person can shift an entire discourse, even in an academic setting. What did that cost you, and why did you choose to respond?
Back in high school, there were times when I stayed silent instead of speaking up. I think my lack of reaction came from fear—fear of being singled out, of everyone turning against me, of not having any support from teachers or classmates. Some of my teachers back then also held negative stereotypes about Roma people, so I knew I couldn’t count on them.
Speaking up requires courage. Confidence. But also knowledge. You need to be sure that even if you’re alone, you can stand your ground and prove the other person wrong. Even if no one supports you. Even if you don’t have a safety net. You need to know the truth—because you are living proof that their assumptions are false.
Maybe I was more outspoken at university because I was confident that these prejudiced opinions were in the minority. I knew that most students didn’t think that way. At AUBG, I never felt afraid to stand up for myself.
But I also learned that if you respond with the same aggression that they attack you with, you won’t achieve anything. If you genuinely want to educate someone and change their perception, you have to approach them with patience and a calm tone. I understand that some of these students had never been exposed to a different narrative about Roma people. If the media has always portrayed us through negative stereotypes, how can they know any different? It’s a systemic issue. We need to have some level of understanding for these people—but only to a certain point. Because ultimately, this system needs to change.
I’ve realized that when you explain things in a measured, rational way—using real-life examples, solid arguments, and data—people are much more likely to listen and reconsider their views. I’ve made it my goal: if I can change even one person’s mindset at university, that can create a domino effect.
How do you see yourself now compared to when you finished high school?
I feel like a completely different person. University gave me confidence—being surrounded by like-minded people, engaging in meaningful discussions, and having productive debates helped me grow. High school years are a bit more carefree.
At first, when I received my acceptance letter, I was really worried about the tuition fees. Anyone would be. The only option for me and my family was to take out a loan and then repay it—most likely by working long hours on student work programs abroad. And honestly, I’m not sure if things would have worked out. Thanks to TSA, both my family and I are in a much better position. If they had to cover my education, we would probably still be paying off that loan today. Now, as I search for a job, I feel at peace—I don’t have debt hanging over me. That gives me the freedom to focus on my personal and professional growth.
What direction are you taking in your career?
I thought I would have it all figured out by my third year. Then I told myself that by my fourth year, things would become clearer. After that, I thought I’d know for sure once I graduated. But I’m still searching for my place.
I majored in Journalism and Psychology. Initially, I leaned towards journalism. But then I realized the state journalism is in today. So now, I’m looking for opportunities in creative fields, particularly in copywriting. Right now, I just want to get on my feet so that I can give back in some way—because I know how much I’ve been given.
“You don’t need to be in politics or work for an NGO to give back to the community that shaped you.”
How can someone in your field give back to the Roma community?
I feel like there’s a common belief among educated Roma that they must abandon everything else in order to give back to their community and contribute to its development. But in reality, you can follow your passion, do what you love, and still find a way to set an example of what commitment looks like for those in the Roma community who have had the opportunity to get a university degree—especially with the support of programs designed for Roma students. If you work in IT, you can contribute financially. You can volunteer your time. You don’t necessarily have to go into politics or work for an NGO to give back. There are many ways to make a difference.
What are the main challenges facing journalism in Bulgaria? What made you put aside your goal of becoming a journalist—at least for now, I hope?
There are many obstacles for any young person trying to break into journalism or the media sector. The path is difficult and far from welcoming.
According to the Press Freedom Index by Reporters Without Borders, Bulgaria ranks quite low, meaning that the freedom to practice good journalism in the country is significantly restricted. Even I feel a certain fear—that if I write about issues that truly matter to me, if I publish the truth, something could happen to me. Of course, this mainly applies to serious investigative journalists. But when you read about journalists being attacked or harmed, that fear creeps in.
The lack of press freedom is a systemic issue. I hope that in five years, after I gain some experience and confidence, I can contribute to finding a solution to this challenge.
How do fake news and the post-truth era affect journalism?
More and more people trust no one. They don’t believe the news, and they don’t believe journalists. Sometimes, this distrust is justified. A portion of those who call themselves journalists are corrupt, working on paid assignments rather than reporting the truth. Meanwhile, the journalists who genuinely fight to bring the truth to people are drowned out by the corruption within the country and the system.
Where do you see the solution to this problem?
First, it’s important to define what we mean by journalism. Are we talking about the passive transmission of information, without context or critical analysis—just passing along whatever was given to journalists? That’s the function of a classic transmitter. Sure, some media outlets may focus solely on relaying information. But there can also be media that publish critical opinions and in-depth analyses—not to manipulate or influence, but to provide context and inform the audience.
A journalist has a responsibility to maintain neutrality and objectivity. Journalism is not about bringing in someone who shares your views and just nodding along, saying, “Yes, yes.” It’s about presenting different perspectives—and making it clear that they are different perspectives. The reason for today’s polarization is that we only see one side of an issue, just told by different speakers.
At university, I learned that all viewpoints should be discussed. This is the essence of pluralism, which is at the core of media freedom. Even if I personally dislike a guest or their opinion, I must still make sure they have the opportunity to speak. As a journalist, I have a responsibility to ensure that information—whether I agree with it or not—reaches the audience.
What would be the ideal way to represent Roma people objectively in Bulgarian media?
I don’t know if there’s a single solution. The road ahead is long, but we’ve already started down that path. I can see changes in how the Roma community is portrayed in the media compared to ten years ago. We’ve moved past the lowest stage of media representation—where there was either no representation at all or purely negative portrayals.
That said, we are still far from where we need to be. And often, when young Roma are featured in the media, they are portrayed as “exceptions.” For example: “This sweet girl can’t afford her education. She’s not like the other Roma girls. She’s different.” But why? Why wouldn’t she be like other Roma girls? How do you know that other Roma aren’t like her?
I don’t think there’s a specific step-by-step plan for improving the objective media representation of Roma people. It’s something that happens over time. But I believe that in recent years, young people are no longer afraid to speak up, to defend their opinions, and to stand up for themselves.
“Young Roma are often portrayed in the media as ‘exceptions’ – but they are not.”
Young people are tired of seeing this cycle of hatred, closed-mindedness, and conservatism toward the Roma community. Young people are not afraid anymore. And that gives me hope. Because the first step to real change is overcoming the discomfort of being yourself.
Where is the place of Roma journalists?
To describe a situation objectively and capture the full context, there need to be journalists of Roma origin. The fact that this is even necessary is a bit sad—for Bulgarian journalism and for Bulgarian journalists. I sometimes get the feeling that even the good, well-intentioned Bulgarian journalists don’t have enough experience with Roma people and the Roma community. And I think they don’t fully realize how powerful the narrative they create about Roma people is in shaping the perceptions of ethnic Bulgarians.
What are the three words that come to most people’s minds when they hear "Roma," based on your experience? And what three words would you like people to associate with Roma instead?
Phrases like “hardworking people who cherish their traditions and customs” are rarely heard. Instead, the dominant associations are “minority, uneducated, and lazy.”
But I would love for people to see more of the intelligence within the Roma community, their willingness to work hard for the well-being of their families, and their desire to be happy and accepted one day.
The interview was conducted by Ognyan Isaev, Program Director at the "Trust for Social Achievement" foundation.
Since the beginning of the 2015/2016 academic year to the current 2024/2025 academic year, the "Trust for Social Alternative" foundation has supported 16 Roma youth who were accepted at AUBG. Of them, 9 have graduated successfully. Some of them continue their studies in master's programs, while others are already successfully employed in Bulgarian or international companies.