For
Larysa Byrka, president of the Moldovan Red Cross, her country
“can surely be described as a demographic disaster. Migration
has affected every family, and we suffer both a brain drain
and a youth drain as a result.”
The first comprehensive assessment of migration management in
Moldova was published by the International Organization for
Migration (IOM) in 2004. It said emigration had reached “enormous
proportions” and was a “major concern” of
the government in Chisinau.
According to the 2004 World Population Data Sheet – a
study of population trends published by the Washington, DC-based
Population Reference Bureau – Moldova’s population
will fall from 4.2 million to 3.0 million in 2050. This is a
much more rapid decline than the average even for eastern Europe
– a region of universally declining populations.
Moldova is tiny, sandwiched between Ukraine and Romania. Since
the breaking away of its industrialized Dniester region and
independence from the USSR, it has struggled to create a viable
economy and decent living conditions for its people.
It remains the poorest country in Europe, despite rising economic
growth since 2000. The average salary is less than 100 dollars
a month, and 80 per cent of the population live were estimated
to live below the official poverty line as recently as 2001.
Proportionately, the dimensions of Moldovan emigration are staggering.
Estimates of Moldovans working abroad vary, but the unofficial
figure is 600,000. “We think that the number of people
working abroad could actually be as high as a million,”
Alan Freedman, IOM chief of mission, said.
“The first stage of mass migration began in 1993-4 and
was linked to the break-up the Soviet Union,” says Olga
Poalelungi, the director of the government’s migration
department. “During that period, people headed for Russia
– the traditional destination in Soviet times.
Its proximity and the absence of visa requirements made it very
attractive. The second wave in 1995-1996 was mainly to Turkey,
but strict migration rules made this difficult. Now people have
discovered countries like Italy, Portugal and Spain, and increasingly
Germany, the UK and Ireland. And here we are talking about young
people, who have a good education and speak foreign languages.”
As a result of a decade of exodus, the traditional family is
disintegrating: separation and divorce are common and children
often end up being cared for by relatives and neighbours, falling
prey to violence and exploitation.
The issue of the “feminization” of poverty is also
causing concern. Women have fewer economic opportunities than
men and they have been leaving out of a desire to better their
lives and those of their children. But in what is still an overwhelmingly
matriarchal society, this too often results in broken families
and abandoned children.
Quasi-gold rush
Moldovans working abroad send back at least 500 million dollars
a year – more than the state budget. They are the ones
buying luxury cars and building the three-storey houses springing
up all over Chisinau like mushrooms.
“I think of it as a kind of quasi-gold rush,” says
Freedman. “You hear that there is a pocket of wealth and
you start to share this information, and suddenly it creates
explosion.”
Then, in the shadows, there are the traffickers. “There
are lots of people in this country who are selling migration
as a dream, and traffickers use that,” says Freedman.
“Migration is seen as the only real option for economic
improvement and this works in the traffickers’ favour.
Moldova is the perfect environment for trafficking.”
In 2000-2001 the biggest destination countries for trafficked
Moldovans were in the Balkans. But now the traffickers have
shifted their attention towards the Middle East.
“Children who stay behind when their parents migrate may
be especially vulnerable,” says Veronica Lupu, who heads
the Moldovan NGO, Women for a Modern Society. The traffickers
bank on children not being looked after properly in Moldova,
so not wanting to go back there.
Fourteen-year-old Larissa was beaten by her father and had sought
refuge from him on the streets. One day she met a woman who
brought a false passport and took her to Odessa in Ukraine.
It’s impossible to guess what happened to her there –
she doesn’t say – but she admits to “begging”
not to be sent home because “I would just be killed by
my father”.
There is little awareness in Moldova of the victims of trafficking.
“Women and girls will never speak openly about what has
happened to them,” says Tatiana Allamuradova, head of
the “Contact” centre for Moldovan NGOs in the mainly
agricultural Gagauzia region. “People here are very conservative
– they are quick to label them as prostitutes.”
But trafficking is not caused by the “desire of girls
to become prostitutes but by that of traffickers to make money”,
argues Lupu.
“Most of them are children from disadvantaged families.
No one has any right to blame them.”
Ion Bejan, head of the government’s anti-trafficking office,
highlights another dimension to trafficking:
“Handicapped children and disabled people are of special
value for traffickers. When people see them on the streets they
feel sorry for them and give them money. A prostitute in Moscow
might make 300 dollars a day, while in Poland a handicapped
person can earn as much as 700.”
Marina, 35, thought she was in luck when she was offered a sales
job in Poland and told she could bring her two-year-old son,
who has only one leg. But the “agents” turned out
to be traffickers who planned to use the boy for begging.
“Every morning they scalded my son’s leg so it looked
red and inflamed”, she recalls. “If I tried to stop
them they beat us. I cannot forgive myself that my foolish hopes
for a better life has scarred my child’s body and heart.”
Go to any Moldovan village and you will hear essentially the
same story from children who say they last saw their parents
– who might be anywhere – two years ago, and last
spoke to them a year ago.
“During our summer campaign we went all over Moldova and
collected people’s stories,” says Freedman. “There
is a sense that what is normal is not a family that’s
together, but a family that’s apart. What’s normal
here is that parents are leaving, and leaving their children
behind.”
In the village of Chimishlya, 70 kilometres from Chisinau, I
meet two brothers: Maxim, seven, and 11-year-old Todor. “We
cannot remember what mum looks like but she had blonde hair”,
says Maxim. “She was beautiful”, adds Todor.
Maxim never smiles. Why? “I cannot”, he tells me,
without hesitation. The boys’ mother and grandmother went
to Italy more than a year ago, leaving them with their grandfather.
He is ill and poor and cannot provide for them properly. Their
grandmother sometimes sends food and a little money, but their
mother seems to have forgotten them.
“Only two of the pupils in my class live with both parents,”
says Todor’s teacher, Natalia Kele. “Children need
attention from their parents, and these children feel hopeless
and worthless.”
A lost generation
“The most worrying thing is that migration has an extremely
negative impact on family structure,” says Allamuradova.
“Most parents go abroad using borrowed money, leaving
none for their children.” In this environment, thousands
of Moldovan children are forced to confront harsh economic reality
long before they are ready. Some say they go to school just
for the free lunch.
“Our primary task is to assist the most vulnerable,”
says Larysa Byrka. “Today migration poses a challenge
and we have accepted it. We have submitted project proposals
to the Norwegian Red Cross on the problems of street children
and children from disadvantaged families. Hopefully, we will
soon be able to start work in psychological counselling, youth
events and media campaigning.”
At best, the population of Moldova is static; its people are
ageing. In the 15 years to 2015, the country will have lost
76,000 women of child-bearing age, according to a 2003 UN Population
Fund country study, while most families are restricting themselves
to one child because of poverty.
“You can find people in their twenties and thirties on
the streets of Chisinau,” says Alan Freedman. “But
not out in the villages. Basically, people from 16-50 simply
don’t exist because they have all left. It is like a war,
a lost generation.”
This article first appeared in ‘The Bridge’
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Left
behind: Todor and Maxim, who live with their 70-year-old
grandfather, cannot remember their parents
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Only
two out of 18 pupils in Todor's class live with both parents
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Moldova
is one of the poorest countries in Europe, with 80 per
cent of the population living below the official poverty
line as recently as 2001
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