I hand delivered seven Hofer cards yesterday evening and this morning. To give a better idea of who we are collectively helping, and their individual stories and challenges as they seek a new path in Austria (and beyond) in the aftermath of Russia’s war on Ukraine, I share them with you. I have changed all their first names to protect their privacy.
Andrei and his wife fled occupied Kherson region, via Crimea and Russia, and now live in a refugee hotel in Vienna, at least temporarily. They have applied for Canadian visas, which is the rationale behind allowing them to stay in temporary housing for more than three days. We meet in front of a central Starbucks in the early evening. I am on my way to take my youngest to the orthodontist. Normal mother things which you take for granted in peacetime and now feel very surreal. My daughter arrives as Andrei and I are talking, and asks me for money, in English. He looks at me, surprised she does not speak Russian. I explain who I am. This usually draws a bit of surprise. Andrei has years of experience working in building maintenance and also is an expert in installing solar panels in buildings. I light up when I hear this, explaining Austria is home to many companies which specialize in this, and they are always in need of workers with his specific skill set. I suggest searching for the companies, and applying directly to them, rather than looking for job openings, as it’s quite a niche product. I explain many of the companies are perhaps in the countryside, and you could look for local housing once you find a job. Andrei understands the limits on legal work, the law which makes it impossible to legally earn more than €110 per month while living in free housing provided by the state. He listens, curious to learn more. He mentions Canada, I agree it is perhaps the better long-term option. He has relatives in the west of Canada. Great, I nod. Maybe you can work here for a bit, save up some money, and go when your visas arrive? He is very grateful for the help, extremely polite, and later that evening already sends me a photo of the groceries he bought with the card.
Next I meet Olha. She is a doctor from Ukraine. Years ago, she spent three months working on an exchange in the AKH (Europe’s largest hospital, in Vienna). She speaks German, although says it will take her a bit to brush up on the medical terminology. She is here with her husband, who is handicapped, and their son. She is very keen to work as a medical translator, and I get rather excited explaining to her just how great the demand is now for medical translation. Many refugees in need of medical care came to Austria specifically for that purpose. I explain that although most cannot afford to pay for translation, some can. I share a Telegram group where refugees look for translators, and write how much, if anything, they can compensate for the appointment. Olha and her family are in a large dorm in Vienna. The one with the food photos I shared a few days ago. They arrived about a month ago. They lived for months before in western Ukraine before they left, waiting on paperwork. Olha strikes me as a very determined, educated person who will leave no stone unturned as she tries to build a new life for her family here.
Kateryna arrives next. She too is living in a large dorm in Vienna, but one of the better ones. Better in the sense that residents share communal kitchens, and can cook for themselves, and therefore receive over €200 per month in state support, rather than just the €40 pocket money when you are “fed”, as are Olha and Andrei. I ask Kateryna if it is true, what I heard from her neighbours, that for some reason in the month of October they all received less money, with no real explanation for the discrepancy. Yes, she nods, smiling slyly, perhaps surprised I had already heard about it. I ask if there are free rooms. She nods. But how to apply for them? We both roll our eyes. It is the strangest thing, on the one hand, everyone says there is no housing in Vienna, on the other hand, you hear there is a room here or there, but how to access it? Who is the gatekeeper? What is the allocation process? It is in-transparent at best, and corrupt at worst. I have long had my personal suspicions (unfounded, just a hunch) there are local bribes involved to access some of the better social housing. Kateryna was able to go back to Ukraine and bring her mother to Austria. They now share a room. Kateryna volunteers at a charity shop helping families from Ukraine. She hands me a flyer, says I can share the information in my group, appointments should be made via Instagram. Once a month, not more often, as some abused the privilege. I nod. I know how it goes. I know you have to make such rules for a good reason.
Last night, at home, as I was clearing my Telegram inbox (a thankless task because it is only ever clear for about a minute or two before the next flood of texts arrive), I received a message which concerned me. A young mom of two, a toddler and pre-teen, writes that she is in a “hostel” and cannot stay there long, and could she have a card? I agree to meet her in the morning. I hadn’t heard from this address before. The I remembered reading an article this summer about a new location soon to open for Ukrainians “travelling onwards”. This must be it, I thought.
This morning, it is pouring rain, and I drove over to a leafy upscale suburb and discover a former youth hostel I never knew existed. It is a small building tucked away at the end of the road, but with a bus stop in front. I later learn they cannot afford to use the bus.
Olena meets me first. She is petite, and beautiful, and the mother of a toddler and pre-teen. She has only been in Austria for three weeks. They left Zaporozhye, where bombs were flying and it was, in her words, unbearable. Her husband stayed behind. The story is long and complicated, but the gist of it is: Olena and her two kids were sent from address to address, from Vienna to Wiener Neustadt to a tiny village in Lower Austria, where they arrived at the address they were assigned to discover it was a building filled with male refugees from other countries. No privacy in the rooms. She refused to stay, and was told the transportation is only one way. If you want to run away, you have to finance that yourself. She called her husband in Ukraine, and then the Austrian police. The police arrived. She shows me on her mobile phone a photo of a male refugee, half dressed, standing in front of a residential building, and two police offers. The landlord then offered Olena could stay in another location “around the corner, but alone” and she was smart enough to realise that was a no-go offer. She took her kids, and along with another mom and child who had also just been “delivered” to this remote address, walked until they found a cafe. They got online, and her husband (from Ukraine!) began searching for a car and driver to get them out of there, as they had missed the last bus for the day. It cost a small fortune, but a few hours later, a Ukrainian arrived in a car and brought them back to Vienna, where they started the whole process of asking for housing all over again. Three nights in a hotel for refugees, then visit this office, then ask that office for help, everywhere shoulders are shrugged and she is told they are now “Lower Austria’s problem” except Lower Austria doesn’t offer them a solution. Olena and her kids can stay in this hostel until Monday. She doesn’t know where she will go next. She doesn't know who to beg for help. She looks at me and says, “if Austria is closed, why don’t they just say that?”. I then have to give my elevator pitch on how Austria works, and the battle between federal and state, and the traditional passing of the hot potato (responsibility).
Viktoria comes out next. She is from Kyiv region. She is here with her 12 year-old. They are desperate to stay in Vienna, but have also been passed around. They went back to Ukraine, and lost their original housing. She asks me about the new “hotel” which recently opened in the city center to permanently house 250 Ukrainian refugees. I say I don’t know how to get a room there, and have heard terrible things about the food. I suggest simply going there and asking the staff on site. Viktoria reminds me none of them have received any pocket money, as they are not permanently registered anywhere yet, and therefore every trip on public transport costs real money, as they are also not given any tickets. I say I am sorry, I know.
Larissa is from Odesa. She is here with her 14 year old daughter. She says it was unbearable in Odesa too. We are on the border, she says, they launch all the missiles over us. She is hoping to apply for Canadian visas, but was utterly shocked it cost them €7.20 for a round trip to the application office (€2.40 per adult and €1.20 per child, one way). Yes, those are the prices, they didn’t give you any free tickets here at the hostel? No, she says, she asked, but was told that doesn’t count as a reason to need to travel. She looks at me, “that’s 300 Hryvnia. In Ukraine, it would be only 30.” I know, I say, but we have Austrian prices here…Larissa would like to go to Canada, and before that, Ireland. She has done her research, and thinks there will be more money to live off of for a few months in Ireland, and her daughter can practice her English, before they try and move to Canada. She is allowed to stay in the hostel until Sunday. After that, she doesn’t know. They were at another hotel before. She couldn’t eat the food. Too spicy, too hard on her stomach. She misses buckwheat kasha. I nod. I stupidly offer a 1kg bag I have at home, a gift from another Ukrainian, but then remember they have no kitchen access.
There is a tall, thin old man listening to all of this. He has a mouth half full of gold teeth, and a giant smile. He joins us. His name is Boris. He was in Austria, for months in one of those Lower Austrian towns were you are “fed” and only receive €40 per month. He too says he couldn’t eat the food. He got so depressed he then went back to Ukraine in August, but only managed to stay 18 days before returning to Austria. He is from Hostomel’. It was terrible, he says. You cannot live there right now. So he returned. And now he has been traveling from Vienna to St Pölten to Wiener Neustadt and no one helps him find permanent housing because he was once in the system, then he left, evidentially was cancelled by the system, and now it is like he doesn’t exist on the one hand and on the other is also “Lower Austria’s problem”. He too thinks he can only stay until Monday. I promise to come back with a card for him. I didn’t bring extras. I ask if he can text me. He pulls out a phone with only buttons, like in the 2000s. I agree with Larissa she will help me let him know when I will return.
It is pouring rain and cold. The leaves are falling from the trees. I feel the changing of the season with dread. We talk about the electricity rationing in Ukraine. They are all following the news. They understand that even these terrible situations in Austria are better than cold in Ukraine without heat or electricity this winter. I wish them a good day, and walk away feeling like I didn’t give them any useful advice on how to find permanent housing or manage the cost of transportation, because I don’t have any.
This is what a system looks like with no leadership. There is a political disease in Austria that instead of taking action and fixing something, you spend a whole lot of unnecessary energy to blame your political enemies for their supposed failures. Vienna complains it has taken far more refugees than other states, which is true, no doubt about it, but it cannot be the reason for passing people around like hot potatoes. None of this is making Salzburg or Carinthia take more people! Boris, in fact, mentioned he even made it as far as Tirol at one point, took one look at Hotel Europa in Innsbruck (infamous at this point), and came back. Olena told me she does not need to be in Vienna. She is fine with being in a small town. But she cannot live in a building shared with a bunch of male refugees from other countries as a woman alone with two daughters. Larissa is already making plans to move onwards, and Viktoria seems determined to find something in Vienna, although I explained, in all honestly, the fact that your kid does sports is not a reason to stay. If you really want to find something, look privately, and then find a job. With private accommodation, you have no restrictions on your access to the labor market, other than the bureaucracy.
Speaking of bureaucracy, I was happy to hear the head of Austria’s AMS (work placement agency) arguing that Ukrainians have been placed in the wrong system, and should be entitled, as they are in Germany, to the minimum social support for locals, as opposed to the current social support, which is minimal because it is a program designed for asylum seekers, rather than successful applicants. This would immediately solve a million problems, as it would provide a fair living standard rather than this entrenched poverty circle from which there is apparently no way out. Currently, when you are in free housing provided by the state, and even worse, are “fed” there, you are literally trying to pay for everything else on €40 per month per person, and if you get a job, you lose your status in the social support system, and it is unrealistic to expect a refugee with their first paycheck to be able to rent housing, provide a security deposit (often several months rent), etc.
Those are just seven snapshots. From yesterday evening and this morning. I could tell you hundreds, but you get the idea. No two are the same, and yet, there are clear pattens.
Listening. Listening is the first step. Listen, learn, analyse, act, advocate for change. I am trying, but I am not privy to the meetings that take place on conference room tables, Zoom calls, or in government buildings. I am working on my iPhone, one text message, one envelope, one in person meeting at at time. We need the folks who are getting paid salaries to do all of this to make the change that needs to happen. I hope what I am sharing is at least helpful in bringing the problems to light, with a human face.