This too is Austria
It is not visible to the untrained eye, but there is a humanitarian crisis amongst us. Refugees fled Russia's war on Ukraine, only to end up struggling in Austria. Many are really, truly struggling.
Before I begin today, I think it’s important to address what I hear fairly often from well-meaning Austrians and westerners. I share on Twitter or here on Substack something I have seen myself or been told by Ukrainians and/or other volunteers. The response is often “it cannot be true”.
Reader, it can. And it is.
Unfortunately, there are two Austrias. The Austria that middle class locals inhabit, going to work, paying their taxes, paying their bills, raising their kids, believing there is more good than evil, that institutions do their jobs properly because that’s the law, that there is oversight when someone doesn’t do his or her job properly, that there are consequences. And then there is the other Austria. The Austria minorities and immigrants and refugees and non-native speakers of German know, where you are at the mercy of the person with a badge standing or sitting in front of you. Where you must be grateful for everything and complain about nothing. And in the other Austria, things happen, and there are often no consequences. Rules exist on paper but are not universally enforced. Much is left to individual interpretation. The luck of the draw. Is Austria special in this sense? Probably not. But because the country is small, and wealthy, and generally perceived within the EU as a decent place where the rule of law governs, things happen here that both shock refugees “but this is Europe!” and locals “it cannot be true”. Image is everything. Often, it is a mirage.
And now I will share a few stories from just the last few days. They are swirling in my head and I have been meaning for days to get them on paper. Instead, more stories kept flooding my inbox, and I didn’t find time to write.
On Friday morning, I accompanied a single mom of three with stage IV breast cancer, from Kherson, to the AKH, Europe’s largest hospital. She has several appointments each week there, in part because they keep getting cancelled. I am not always available. I go as a volunteer translator. I am not compensated for my time or language skills. Sometimes, I cannot go. In that case, the mom asks the NGO in charge of her dorm (now hotel — more on that later), to send someone. This week, the translator assigned simply did not show up. So the hospital sent the mom (I’ll call her Maria) home. Maria received an MRI but another procedure was required which involved local anaesthetic, and they did not perform it without a translator. When I brought up this issue (it is a huge issue for many Ukrainians who do not speak English or German and are seeking medical care in Austria) with the BBU, I was told translators are the hospitals’ responsibility. But, unsurprisingly, not all hospitals have translators on staff for these appointments.
So on Friday, we go to an oncology appointment. The first hurdle is the covid test. I have one, but Maria cannot open hers on her phone. She took the test, but the result went to her sister’s mobile phone. They cannot figure out how to download it. Luckily, we manage to get past security without them scanning Maria’s test, which in this case was just an email confirmation. We couldn’t open the QR code. Our appointment was for 8:45. We were called in at 10:20. That is normal in these big hospitals. Nothing happens on time. You often wait hours. Inside, the doctor shared the results of the genetic testing, and explained they cannot speak today about ongoing treatment until this second procedure is done. The one that was cancelled because no translator. He makes a few calls and begs to squeeze us in. Right then. I start to panic because I have appointments to meet refugees later that day, and I cannot spend the whole day in the hospital (there is also no internet / cell phone reception inside). He looks at me and says if I leave, she won’t get the procedure. I nod, and say ok, but I absolutely have to be out by noon. I explain I cannot come to the next appointment. Suddenly, video translation is ordered for the next appointment. I wasn’t aware this was even an option. It was taken for granted by everyone that I would always tag along.
The local anaesthetic procedure was painful and a bit of a shock for Maria that it would happen right then and there. To their credit, they called us in quickly once the doctor explained I had to go by 12pm. Maria is brave beyond words. I would have melted down right there on the examination table. Things are said which one would say to normal, middle class patients, like “now go buy a shower band-aid” and I know exactly there is no budget for that. Maria is saving up money, donated by kind individuals, to fix her teeth. She needs to have many of them pulled and dentures made. She received a substantial amount but not enough yet. I warned her, set some of that money aside for the kids. You are going to need it.
Maria and her family were moved this week from a dorm which is actually a homeless shelter in winter, to a hotel in the city center. No transportation for luggage was offered, so I ordered them an Uber for their bags. The location is incredibly central, but the devil is in the details. Soon 300 Ukrainians will be housed there. Meals are prepared off-site and delivered. They are not allowed to use the hotel kitchen, nor to prepare/eat in their rooms. Breakfast and dinner are essentially bread (Semmeln) and “accessories” - butter, jam, spreads, etc. A hot lunch is served. But the children will have to go to schools far away, where they have already been assigned places. This means they will miss mealtimes. How they will eat is anyone’s guess at this point. School starts again next week. Maria tells me there was a loud and nearly physical argument between a father and son. The father was told if it happens again, he will be deported. This is the tone that is used with vulnerable people. Money? It will be only €40 per person pocket money per month, as they will be “fed” in the hotel. Work? Not possible, legal limit is €110 per month per adult and €80 for each child, so the only way to work is for a very limited number of hours legally, or illegally and make sure you aren’t caught. There are daily inspections and check-ins. The hotel is not yet at full capacity, but I am told it will be soon.
Maria is grateful. She does not complain. She is from Kherson. She has nowhere to go back to. She would likely not receive cancer treatment in Ukraine, as she would not have been able to afford it. But I sit there and worry how will she feed and clothe her kids.
After I leave the hospital, I head right to dorms where I am delivering Hofer cards. The first is the dorm in the 11th district, where until recently residents didn’t even get registered. Now the authorities have registered most of them, but they haven’t seen any €40 per month per person pocket money, ever. They have all never received a cent. Two residents meet me outside, a man and a woman, both very skinny, both in wheelchairs. I remember them. We met this summer. The woman reminds me I never gave her a Hofer card. Only a McDonalds card. Really, I said? I apologized. I promised to come back with one as soon as I could. I always show up to deliver cards with appointments made and the cards already assigned to recipients. I don’t have extras.
She tells me she cannot eat the food and has lost another 5kg. She pulls out of her pocket tablets a doctor gave her for an upset stomach. They all ask about transportation. Austria decided not to extend free public transport for Ukrainians as of November 1. No provision was made for refugees in the Grundversorgung system. So these folks with no money will also be trapped in this dorm as they will also receive no subway or bus tickets. I asked if the NGO on site promised any one-way tickets for doctors’ appointments etc. as was mentioned in the press. No, they shook their heads, they told us we won’t be getting anything. I promised to come back on November 1 with some tickets. A kind reader sent me a pack of one-way tickets, and I asked the woman if she could be in charge of fair distribution. She beamed. She agreed. We made an appointment for Tuesday. In the meantime, I found a Rewe card for her and her friend and another man who joined our conversation.
I listened sympathetically, explained not to expect a miracle — and drove to the next dorm. This one run by the BBU, Austria’s federal agency in charge of the refugee response. It houses different nationalities. I met a young man in a wheelchair and his partner. They have been there for two months. He told me he understands no one will help them find housing, he must do it on his own. I nodded, silently. There was nothing more to add. They were very grateful for the card. Immediately sent me a photo of what they bought later that day. Although I didn’t ask him about his injuries, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that many of the young men in wheelchairs who have come to Austria from Ukraine were injured in the war running in eastern Ukraine since 2014. Many sick and handicapped refugees come to Austria seeking medical care — which, with the exception of the translation issue, is usually very good here. But how they live, how they are expected to survive. This blows my mind.
Poverty is one thing when you are at home, in Ukraine. In your own apartment or house in the countryside. With access to cheap vegetables at a local market or from granny’s garden. When you can buy food at Ukrainian prices. When you have a support network. Poverty as a refugee in the EU is an entirely different beast. You have a roof over your head and are “fed” by the authorities — it is salty, spicy, carb-heavy, but yes, they put food of some kind in front of you. But all the extras, anything else you may need in life — it’s up to you. And you may or may not receive €40 per month pocket money. Ironically, we end up delivering (and prioritising, frankly) €50 supermarket gift cards to refugees living in housing where the state is supposed to feed them. This transportation decision is a killer. It literally means many refugees, especially those in the countryside, will be trapped like in prison. A poverty prison.
This morning I received this message. I immediately reached out and offered to come ASAP and bring a €50 card. But I cannot and am not a solution to this seemingly almost total indifference beyond “bed, bread, and bath”. And this is why I deliver in person. So people see me. And know whom to ask for at least this little help. So their voices are heard.
And this isn’t just Vienna. There are “motels” like this across the country. You have heard the infamous stories from Hotel Europa in Innsbruck. There are smaller groups of refugees, like the 14 who live in social housing run by a private landlord in a village in Lower Austria who wrote me this morning, desperately begging me to help them leave. The rule in Lower Austria is if you were assigned social (free) housing, that’s it. You cannot switch, even if you found something better.
The woman writes me: she is with her mother who is in her 70s. They are “fed” but there isn’t enough food. If you are late, you don’t eat. They were fed rotten meat, she says, when the landlord’s freezer broke. When they complain, they are told they will be “sent to the mountains”. They tried to speak to the local mayor, they believe there is empty housing in the village — no luck. The mayor’s office reportedly didn’t even let them inside. All 14 residents want to move together, but they have no money for a security deposit or rent. The landlord apparently already called the police on one resident.
“Of course the landlord is a citizen of Austria, and then there is us. I have never been so sad in all my life. When public transport will cost money I cannot even imagine what we will do. It is 3 kilometers to the nearest shop. There are no German classes. They promised us for October, but it is already over. They promised again, but for 3 months, nothing. Caritas doesn’t want to argue with the landlord. Our collective emotional state is very tense. We survived the stress of bombing and we continue to live under immense stress. We told the landlord the kids haven’t eaten properly for over a month, the answer was, well, then they aren’t hungry. Whomever we ask for help we receive a negative reply.”
You will see I am not naming the address on purpose because I don’t want to be sued. But I will happily provide it and the woman’s contact to journalists who would like to look into this, and to whichever NGO is in charge of oversight for this area of Lower Austria (I believe it is Caritas Wien but I am not 100% certain how these geographies are divided amongst the NGOs and what the oversight role exactly entails).
Ultimately the blame lies with the government of Lower Austria that they let private landlords collect state money and do what they want inside with the refugees with little or no oversight. And this, frankly, is not just a Lower Austrian problem.
The cherry on top this morning, just as I wanted to sit down and write, hours ago, was a message in my Telegram chat with Ukrainians in Austria about a police visit to a Vienna apartment rented by Ukrainians. The interior ministry is now reportedly paying refugees house calls to check their physical presence in Austria. As you will see from my tweets below, we are not 100% sure these were really police, as they came in plain clothes, but showed badges. I advised the refugees to double check with their local police station just to make sure. It is all truly bizarre.
Austria cannot afford to feed poor people, elderly and kids properly, and yet there is a budget for house inspections by cops? Really?
Perhaps now you understand why I started this post with the phrase “yes, it can be true.” Because all put together it blows your mind and makes you want to scream in a thousand different directions, but that is counterproductive and helps no one. So I continue to do what we have been doing, for half a year now and counting, and deliver €50 supermarket gift cards, one per family, one time, to Ukrainian refugees in need, across Austria. I received this particularly aesthetic photo of gratitude this week, among many others. I was even sent a video yesterday (listen with sound on)!
I unfortunately have not yet received the €10,000 prize money. I really hope it will arrive soon. My waiting list is already around €5,000 (94 envelopes and counting). I received a few donations yesterday and will deliver those cards later today to hotels/dorms. Step by step. It’s all any of us, who are not in positions of power, can do. And we can use our voices. Rather than quietly accepting the status quo. It feels ever so important not to forget what is right and what is wrong as things are gradually accepted by society as “the way it is”.
If you would like to help fill my empty envelopes, please DM me for my mailing address for supermarket gift cards or Klimabonus vouchers, or donate via PayPal. To donate with a credit card or via bank transfer, please use our website. A huge mega thank you to Mario Zechner who continues to run our admin and bulk purchase and distribute Hofer cards to our very long website waiting list.
We are also still placing flyers in Ukrainians on luxury cars in Vienna. I hope it will lead to some donations and an awareness of the plight of many of their fellow Ukrainians seeking “temporary protection” in Austria.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for your continued support. I know this is heavy stuff and not at all uplifting. At the moment, it is what I am seeing and hearing.