Ukrainians in the Czech Republic have an image problem. Despite being one of the country's largest ethnic groups, they remain largely absent from public life. They are viewed with suspicion by native Czechs and presented as criminals or victims of Mafia criminality in the mass media. While migrant stigmatization and scapegoating is hardly unique to the Czech Republic, what is peculiar is that despite being one of the most significant and longest-established migrant groups, a sense of wider acceptance or strongly bonded community does not exist.
Multiculturalism is not a term often used in the Czech Republic, where foreigners comprise only 2.2 percent of the population. Of this, more than 49,000 are Ukrainian-born, with an estimated 200,000 residing in the country unofficially. Factor in seasonal workers and, according to the Ukrainian embassy in Prague, the figure swells to almost half a million. The first migration wave took place in 1994, following the closure of a number of factories in Ukraine's Transcarpathian region. At the time, the Czech Republic had comparatively relaxed laws regarding so-called working tourists, and the close proximity to home made the country an attractive choice, particularly to those who left for only a short time.
So why do Ukrainians have such a bad reputation? "The mass media [here] is very sensationalist in covering anything related to Ukrainians," says media activist Olga Samborska. "There is a stereotype of the Ukrainian criminal and newspapers print any stories that fit it." Having spent years contacting journalists and petitioning editors about embedded xenophobia in the press, Samborska is clearly disheartened. She presents a box crammed with newspaper clippings "There is nothing to challenge the stereotype, there is no interest in challenging the stereotype, and the majority of the [Ukrainian] population are judged according to it," she says.
Samborska is one of the founding members of the Ukrainian Forum, a non-profit organization set up in 2001 to promote integration, dismantle stereotypes and provide assistance as an information source for legal and illegal Czech-based Ukrainians. Since its inception, it has been an energy-intensive task, with plenty of interest but few resources, and no government support. "At first we used to photocopy information sheets and hand them out outside Ukrainian churches" explains Boris Chykulay "The response was amazing, but even photocopying costs money." Not surprisingly, funding is in short supply, and the foreigner-oriented organization fares poorly in competition for grants. The forum disseminates information through a telephone hotline and its Web site, but as there isn't an Internet culture established in the community, the Web's impact is limited. Chykulay is clear: "What we need is a printing press."
Women comprise roughly 38 percent of the Ukrainian community and commonly find work as kitchen workers or cleaners. Such is the case with Natasha (who requested that her full name not be used). In her mid-40s, she taught mechanical engineering and economics in Ukraine. Punctuating her story with laughter, she explains, "I first came when I divorced my husband. Everybody said that as a single woman with two children I would end up a homeless person. But I didn't." Employed in an inner-city restaurant and with the support of a large circle of friends, she is one of the thousands working 'black,' holding only a tourist visa that must be revalidated every three months. "I cry a lot, because I miss my two daughters. But you make the most of your choices. I save money to send home, and I live a normal life here." Despite her optimism, her situation is tenuous. Admittedly a fairly rare occurrence, last year the restaurant where she works was raided by immigration police. Natasha managed to hide, but a coworker was taken away and given two days to leave the country. "My boss tried to help legalize me but the Labor Department said he had to prove I was able to do something no Czech could do," she shrugs, "At least he tried." Behind her back, a co-worker shakes his head and mouths, "I don't think he went." When I bring up the much-hyped subject of the Mafia, Natasha laughs. "They probably exist here," she said. "But I have never had any contact with them. Never."
While women work in the hospitality industry, most Ukrainian men typically find employment in the building trades and live in low cost semi-communal accommodations often provided as part of their work agreement. Construction companies hire them through companies that arrange work visas for a fee. Criticized as exploiting the vulnerable position of immigrant laborers, these relationships receive the most negative publicity. Chykulay argues against this presumption. "Of course there will be some bad operators, but on the whole it exists like any employment agency, they take a fee and find a person work and accommodation," he says. "That's it."
Apart from the vulnerable position of illegal work, and the short-term legality of agency arranged visas, there is one other option available. Vitaly Terentiyev operates a firm that specializes in arranging permits for Russians and Ukrainians who set up their own businesses. Registering a business, he says, is the most secure and least-problematic option for those who wish to stay long-term, or who want to move between employers. "Permits are possible, and are 100 percent legal," he said. "And they are just expensive." 'Expensive' is the operative word. He breaks down the cost of each stage in becoming a legal 'freelance' worker, which comes to around $1,800. At approximately three times the average Czech monthly salary, it isn't an option open to many. "In addition," explains Terentiyev, "You have to show the Czech government that you have $4,600 in the bank. This may change with the European Union, but we don't know yet."
Waiting to see what will happen is common. While Euro-skepticism has taken hold in Czech society at large, EU membership may provide better opportunities to minorities. At the very least, it should provide greater opportunities for funding awareness-raising projects, such as the documentary film currently being made by Ukrainian Forum. The hope is that when voices are heard, meaningful dialogue will begin. That itself will be a significant step forward.
Jane Mitchell is a freelance writer living in Prague.
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