EUROPE’S NEWCHALLENGES sping 2012

EUROPE’S

CHALLENGES

NEW

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s reporters, we go out in the wide world to bring back what we call stories. We travel and meet people, talk with them. We listen, with all of our senses.

When we come back, we carr y with us much more than our equipment. The voice of the people we met along the way rests in our notes, recorders, cameras. And our duty is to wake it up, unfold it on the paper, make it shout and go far beyond the place where it comes from.

This is why this magazine star ts with quotation marks.

The stories you will read have been written by people coming from all over the world. Some of them travelled thousands of kilometers, some of them just went next door, but what they found is equally impor tant. With their cameras, eyes and hear ts they set out in the world to repor t voices that were wor th listening to, and telling.

Through our work as young repor ters we have the chance to hear Europe speaking about itself.

We will talk about the new challenges of this old continent.

And we will do it through the eyes of the repor ter, but also through words of the people. Because a stor y is nothing but the people telling it.

And those who are listening.

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table of

contents

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Nastassia Nicolaij Nick Schnelle Barbara Beltramello Filippo Menichetti Dario Bosio Pirita Männikkö Jaime Henry-White Sarah Hoffman Katerina Pisackova Zac Boesch

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step by step towards difference

gellerup’s youth crusade when the future is not up to you brothers in arms leaving the silence behind lost in translation a nation divided against itself cannot stand together in limbo will work for work parenthood can wait

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Step by step towards

difference

by Nastassia Nicolaij

More than 15 years ago, people began to challenge themselves by settling in the Hertha Community.

They experience an “upside down� integration, allowing them to live next to those who are learning to live on their own.

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H

eino Karlsson touches everyone’s nose to be sure it’s not going to fall off. Lars Kongsted is persuaded that his teddy bear is a real one, as well as Ulla Berg. Morten Therkildsen eats all the time, because he can’t feel when he is full. Malene Mathiasen writes hundreds of pages every day, whitout knowing how to write.

And Sara Henningsen repeats the same sentences every 15 minutes “Did I brush my hair ? Did I wash my teeth ? Will I receive food ?”

People can be scared, first because what is outside the standard can be frightening, but also because they sometimes simply don’t understand. According to Unapei, a french association representing and defending mentally disabled people’s interests, people having a cognitive diagnosis ask questions about our conception of the individual as a social being. But these people are human beings, both regular and singular. Regular, because they have the same needs, rights, and duties as everybody else. Singular, because they are confronted with a lot more difficulties, because of their handicap.

A place to live normally Based on the principle that every person is an individual with an eternally spiritual soul, Hertha is an antroposofical village situated 20 kilometers from Aarhus, Denmark. 21 mentally disabled adults live there, surrounded by more than a hundred so-called “normal” people. Built 16 years ago the Hertha Community started with 11 mentally disabled adults, and only 1 house.

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Today, 11 disabled people live in the big house, while 6 others live in the smaller house, where they are more independent. Next to the neighbours, a lot of social workers and volunteers are working in the village. Renata Mostraum came here after a hard period of stress in her previous work, as a masseuse. She decided to come and help here one year ago, and she is feeling a lot better. “I couldn’t imagine that they would help me so much. A place like here is very healthy”.

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Lars, 53

Gardener and worker in Hertha, Birthe Holt has lived there for almost 15 years. “In other places, handicapped people have activities to be entertained. But it’s not natural to do that all day long. Here, they work, they have small responsibilities, and they are conscious that they are helping us!”

Inverted integration Disabled were the first to be established in the Hertha Community, personally developping themselves through workshops and activities such as gardening, cooking, or sewing. “Normal” people were then invited to settle and live as neighbours in the village. But there is no rule for how to integrate. Each person has to choose how far he/ she wants to go, according to the personality, the human r­esources, and the position in life.

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The basic idea of the Hertha Community is that living more closely together with old people, mentally and physically disabled people, etc., may have arisen from an unconscious feeling that society needs the qualities which these people bring with them. But placing ­people with disablilities in circumstances where they are undesired only leads to loneliness. Therefore, the pioneers’ first aim was to carry out desired and mutual integration.

“It was a complete relief for me to come here.” After living 12 years in London, Rhandi Jacobsen settled in Hertha. “From the moment I arrived here, I could be completely myself, and I found back the great variety of people I liked in England. I really feel free.”

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You have to live here in order to understand how beautiful these people are

Ulla, 34

Oliver, 24

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I often have the impression that we need them a lot more than they need us.

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Be themselves, that’s what we are trying to offer them here.

“Here, I only work with my heart” Working as a social worker in Hertha for a few years, Kristin Bjørke tries to help them handle who they are in their daily life. Some handicapped are able to do a lot of things on their own, while others need more help to care for themselves.“They help me to think with my heart. In our society, we often do things because we have to, or because we are afraid. Here, I only work with my heart”.

The next step in Hertha is to build a new house for 7 disabled adults.

But to keep a good balance in the village, new neighbours have to settle there before saying “Yes” to new handicapped ­individuals’ families wanting to offer this kind of life to their disabled relative.

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gellerup’s

youth crusade

by Nick Schnelle

When a town is mostly known for its break-ins, assaults and robberies it leaves little room for a community of immigrants to break those stereotypes. Linked by a shared struggle of integration, starting a life of crime may seem like an obvious choice. However, residents of Gellerup are teaching younger generations there is a life possible outside of crime.

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A young boy named Ahmed, right, catches a glimpse of a football game from the sidelines. A football field in Gellerup acts not only as place for exercise, but also as a meeting ground for young and15 old.

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efore surveying through a landscape of monotonous apartment buildings in Aarhus, Denmark, Ahmed Dirawi and Ammar Eldirawi must take on new roles.

First they navigate a concrete building at Gudrunsvej 78 to a dimly lit storage room with a pile of clothing. Here the two put on brown jackets displaying the words “Unge4Unge” and “Stop Crime.” With these jackets, Dirawi and Ammar are then ready to assume the roles of youth mentors.

Dirawi, 23, and Eldirawi, 17, take part in this work as members of Youth-For-Youth, also known as Unge4Unge, a foundation committed to crime prevention in youth aged 8-15 in Gellerup.

The network of more than 50 volunteers seeks to create relationships

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with young criminals or young persons at-risk in the Gellerup area.

“The young volunteers make contact with the target group through outreach work around and at the meeting places of youth,” said Wamid Hassan, Youth-For-Youth coordinator.

Sometimes their influence can be as simple as playing a game of football with younger kids at an activity center. When the youth see these Youth-For-Youth jackets, they typically know why they are out wandering the streets of Gellerup.

A large section of the town consists of two residential housing units, Toveshøj and Gellerupparken, Denmark’s largest housing department. Generations of residents, mostly of non-Western descent, have lived here creating an ever-present bond among its

Left: After playing a game of football with some local kids, YouthFor-Youth volunteer Sabrin Al-Zaidi asks Omar Hassan and Saleh Asaad if they would like to join the program’s Facebook page.The page updates of planned activities and how locals can get involved in issues that are in the interests of the community Gellerup.

Below: Osman Egal helps Mamoun Omari hit the cue ball in a game of billiards at Kontaktstedet, also known as the Contact Place, in Gellerup.

Tarek Chahrour walks past a mural painted on the side of a housing unit in Gellerupparken, one of the many painted on the buildings.

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residents. Ahmed Hamdon, a Youth-For-Youth volunteer was born here and has lived here for 18 years.

“It was good to grow up there. We all knew each other,” he said.

The strength of these relationships is what makes a program like Unge4Unge valuable to the residents. For example, if a youth steals a bike, most likely the volunteer will know a relative of the child who they can speak to about such actions.

Part of the problem with terms like ghetto is that the meaning is inherently negative. In addition, when former Prime Minister Lars Løkke Rasmussen said, “We have some urban areas in which one can ask whether they are Denmark at all,” and immigration minister Søren Pind saying that immigrants need to assimilate, do not make matters any better for the residents of Gellerup. “…We can agree that there are problems - but there are also some enthusiasts and some positive and warm stories that can cause some people to change their attitudes about Gellerup,” said Wamid Hassan.

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Top: Jehad Nabil and other Youth-For-Youth volunteers visit the Globus1activity center.

Bottom left: Wamid Hassan, Youth-For-Youth coordinator, hands out certificates to other volunteers at where they came up with ideas for new activities to reach out to the youth in and outside of Gellerup.

Bottom right: A woman walks during a foggy night in Gellerupparken.

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Mohammab, Ahmed and Abraham wrestle around on the ground in a park of Gellerup.

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when the future is not up to you

by Barbara Beltramello

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affaella Alvini used to have a normal life. She was married, had two children and a good job. In 1997 she decided to live alone and bought a house in Quadraro, Rome. She then started to attend the Nido, a community group that helps alleviate the every day problems of the neighborhood. Raffaella Alvini had everything.

Her personal decline began in 2004, after the end of her cooperation with a journalist in the Region of Marche, who did not make a work contract for her.

She started to work as a cleaning woman for a family in Genzano di Roma. She received only 400€ per month, accommodation and meals but it was not enough to pay for the mortgage. She sold her house, and bought a field in the Castelli area, 35 kilometers from Rome. It was 4.270 square meters of agricultural land, whit a rundown wooden house. “In this way, if my daughter wants to visit me, we can stay in this small house,” she said.

A container as a new house But suddenly she was fired. All she had left was her field and its small wooden house. Raffaella did not give up. She recuperated a 36-square-meter container in a secondhand big market and has been living in it since then. During the first years, she did not have water and light, but, after having writing to City Hall, the Region and the President of the Italian Republic, she finally got it.

She was 51 years old, a difficult age to find a new job, but she found a job as a temporary worker.The City Hall of Genzano di Roma told her that she was on the list to have a council flat, but the list was endless and she knew it. She knew many other people living under the same conditions because of the financial crisis. After six years, Raffaella is still living inside the shipping container.

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My dream is to have enough money to buy a small second hand prefabricated house, to put nearby the other wooden house, to have a bigger one. I cannot imagine the rest of my life inside this container.

Raffaella is 57 years old. Her voice is hoarse because of the big amount of cigarettes she smokes every day. Her gaze is sometimes laconic, fixed on emptiness.

Raffaella seems lost in a future that until a few years ago did not belong to her, but that she wants more than anything else now.

In the countryside, life is quiet, and the time passes slowly, day after day. The sweet chirping of the birds is the melody of the hours passing by. Every morning when she wakes up, she hears something scratching in front of the iron door of the container. It’s Benny, the big black dog, that the hairdresser left to her four years ago.

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Sometimes I have to survive with 300€ per month. A vegetable garden, the barter, the mutual aid: this is the future for the Italians. That’s the only way for people to survive.

The shipping container is long and narrow. After passing through the entrance, you are immediately in an open space that serves as the kitchen, the living room and bedroom all at the same time.There are objects piled everywhere: books, boxes, sheets and pots with syrups and marmalades that Raffaella made. Everything is a mass of confused and formless colors. Sometimes the air is drenched with a sooty smell of wood smoke. The stove is the only source of heat for the cold winter nights.

A simple life With time, Raffaella learned to recycle everything and to have food in the most natural way. She has a small vegetable garden where she grows salads, tomatoes, some fruits and herbs that she uses to flavor food.

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Gianni and Assunta, the couple who live in the salmon-colored house in front of Raffaella, try to help her by giving her eggs, oranges, apples or kiwis.

Nowadays, Raffaella is working as a cleaning woman three days per week. She cleans the houses of two women living 15 kilometers from her own house. Sometimes, before going to work, she stops at a bar to have brioche and cappuccino.

“It is a small luxury that I permit myself. It helps me starting my day in a good mood. This breakfast kind of gives me energy to my body, but first of all to my soul.

She spends the rest of the days at home or at the Nido with her friends. She does not have a lot of expenses.

Raffaella in her 20s.

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I never go out. I spend most of my time here, in the countryside.

Raffaella’s daughter calls her once per week

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“I earn 300 or 400€ each month, and with the barter, my vegetable garden and the help of my neighbor Gianni who gives me some stuff I need, I can survive without any problem. My biggest expense is the car. But I cannot live here without it, because I could not go to Rome or anywhere else”.

When Raffaella bought the field, there was a vineyard and a small rundown wooden house. The vineyard has been eradicated, while the small house is still there. Raffaella uses it as a warehouse to store bracelets, rings and earrings she once sold to make a living. But since last January, another woman named Sara has been living in the wooden house.The same age as Raffaella, she also finds temporary work as a cleaning woman. “Sara doesn’t cook. When she goes to clean the house, the lady often cooks dishes for her. And one day she realized that Sara is living with me, and she started to give her two portions of food. She is nice, isn’t she?”

Most of the time, Sara wears a dark blue sweatshirt and her blond hair falls on her back. She looks down when she talks. She is a kind person and has a calm character.

That is why she is complementary to Raffaella, who never stops speaking with a loud voice.

In the evening, Sara sometimes goes to Raffaella’s container. The wood crackling in the fire helps heat the freezing nights, and the company of another person who is experiencing the same situation warms the hearts of both of them. They spend hours talking about their three dogs, Ballerina, Bubu and Benny, and their two cats, Micia and Micia, or about the work done during the day. Then they say goodbye to each other, and Sara, slowly, goes back to her wooden house.

Before going to sleep, Raffaella does a Sudoku. She used to read a book, but switched to Sudoku since it does not require you to think too much. Reading always brought her attention to the concerns of daily life. She would think about the difficulties of finding a job for a person her age, her children living with their father that she would like to see more often and the house in Quadraro for which she cried when she had to sell it.

Raffaella falls asleep.Tomorrow is already Sunday, and she’ll go to Rome and meet her friend at the Nido again.

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Raffaella and her Nido’s friendsw

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I would like to come back to live in Quadraro, to be near my friends from the Nido.

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brothers in

arms

by Filippo Menichetti

Young danish join the army to enjoy civilian life

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olstebro, Jutland Dragoon Regiment military camp, 6:30 a.m.

Despite the early time, the atmosphere is already electric.

One person is running because he is late, another washes the floor and some are sleepily waiting in front of the superior’s door. The day officially begins with a meeting at 7 a.m., in one of the dormitories courtyard. Every morning, the recruits receive their tightly scheduled daily program. A new day by order begins.

In Denmark, 6,500 people are called every year for military service.The number of volunteers has grown ­dramatically since 2005 when the service period was reduced from nine to four months. Due to this change, the needs of the army are often covered. However, only 10-15 percent of the recruits are thinking about becoming fulltime soldiers in the future.The rest of them have various reasons for joining the army service.

Some of the recruits want to change their way of life and get out of their hometowns. “I needed to move away, I lived at home all the time until now,” said Inge, 20, from Gram.“But I don’t want to continue with this, I don’t want to have an­­ ­education in the army,” she said.

Others want to challenge themselves and try to discover their physical and psychological limits.

“People should try to test themself, go over the boundaries they normally have. I wanted to see how do I react when I am pushed out to my limit. It is a way of finding yourself in a new position and learn more about yourself. If you play safe all the

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I wanted to see how do I react when I am pushed out to my limit. It is a way to find yourself in a new position and learn more about yourself. If you play safe every time, you will never discover how strong you actually are.

time, you will never discover how strong you actually are.”

Daniel is 24 and he wants to go to Afghanistan.

11:00 a.m.

The third platoon marches out of the gate. The day is cloudy, humid and the smell of decaying leaves fills the air. The boys advance along the roadside until they arrive to an open space, where another platoon is waiting. Far from them, there is a door in the middle of the field. The voice of the sergeant ­rises above the chatting recruits, explaining that they will see a demonstration of how to blow up door. A silence of great ­anticipation falls. After a few long seconds, the door blows up in to the air, eliciting excited squeals from the crowd. Many of the young recruits expect something deeper from the military service than just learning how to use a gun or explosives. They expect to find friendship.

In Denmark, this kind of experience may be seen more like a social education.“When you are in the army you have to stay together and have hard time with the people around you, and that’s why you get so strong friendships,” said Mohamed. He is 22 years old and comes from Korsør.The guys train hard all day long, marching, running and learning how to take care of a wounded comrade. The bonds that they create during this period of their life, are not just ordinary.

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First lieutenant Lars Bossen has been in the army for more than 10 years. “I know that people who comes here got a great education. They change and most of them become better people. They learn how to become a good part of society, instead of thinking just for themselves. In our society today, people are used to think as individuals, not as a group, because the government take care of everything, and that’s a problem in the long term,” he said.

6:00 p.m.

The platoon is dismissed. Finally they get their first warm meal of the day, meat, rice, potatoes and salad. The need for energy is essential when you work from the very morning to the six in the evening. The ones with enough endurance return to the gym for a second workout in the night. Others prefer to go for a cup of coffee. But for most of them, the sleeping quarters is the most desirable option. There they still have to put order in their closets because an officer will check them the next morning and everything should look perfect. While tidying up, there is room for some jokes. Hard rock music plays from a computer, a recruit enters the room with his newly polished boots.Two of them are making the bed, while they talk about the day that’s gone, and about the one that will come.

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When you are in the army you have to stay together and have hard time with the people around you, and that’s why you get so strong friendships.

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They change, and most of them become better people.

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leaving the

silence

behind

by Dario Bosio

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Boredom and lack of opportunities are pushing more and more people to move away from the west coast of Denmark, which is slowly emptying the small villages that lie all around Thy National Park.

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he road stretches for kilometers, heading south, swallowed by the fog. The west wind carries with it the growl of the­ ­angry ocean, while some seagull cries before diving in the cold water­ ­behind the dunes of Thy, on the west coast of Denmark. Not far away, on the beach, a dozen rusty boats rest in the sands of Vorupør.

In the village everything is quiet. Only the wind, this restless wind, breaks the silence of the empty roads. The fish smokery is closed, the doors and windows shut. A ghost town.

In 2010 the last occupational fishing vessel stopped its activity. No more fierce fishermen dragging their boats on the sand at dawn, no more struggling against the ocean to make a living.

Just like Vorupør, many coastal villages of Thy are now being abandoned by the locals, especially the young ones. The lack of ­opportunities and the boredom of living there are reasons good enough to leave their hometown and move to the larger cities. ­According to statistics, around 90 percent of the Danes already live in the urban areas and more and more are moving to the cities ­every year. There are not many options for Vorupør, nor for the

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v­ illages alike. Being transformed into touristic attractions is most likely what will happen to these places.

Just a couple of kilometers away from Vorupor, the balls of a croquet game are lying on the grass of Sternbjerg. Through the mist, dim, the silohuettes of ten old men are slowly walking on the fields, the ­croquet clubs in their wrinkly hands, silent. It’s starting to rain, but that’s not enough to stop them from playing.

Most of the people living in the area are older than 45. There’s not a single person walking in the streets, the bars are shut down. You have to drive all the way up north to Hanstholm to sit in the harbor cafe and sip a hot coffee.

Lucas, the waiter, is wiping the floor. He’s 23, and can’t wait to move away. “If you are young, you go away. There’s nothing to do, no­ ­options. If you have seen the world outside, you know it’s different from this.” He is 23, and he plans to move to the east as soon as he saves enough money to do it. “There’s no future here.”

And while on the east coast the urban areas stretch their concrete

tentacles all along the E45 highway, some small and isolated farms sit rounded by trees and some wind turbine in Bedsted parish. Here, not too far away from the coast, the dune heath of Thy turns into mild and green hills, where agriculture is still the main activity. And even though modern machinery and tractors are changing the ­habits of the farmers, the scent of wet grass is still filling up the air after the rainstorm.

Huge fishing vessels will still sail from the big harbors of Hanstholm and Thyborøn, and even though industrial breeding and farming are replacing the family farms of the small towns, the people will keep on driving their tractors on the green hills of Thy. But the times have changed.

This land, the rough land of the Teutons, will see its sons slowly moving away.

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If you have seen the world outside, you know it’s different from this.

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The seagulls will be there, flying over the Thy National Park, and with their cries they will tell the stories of the men that fought against this harsh nature and now, after centuries, decided to leave. Like many did before them, they will take that road, and they will head south, towards the cities and their bright lights, leaving this fog behind.

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lost in

translation

by Pirita MännikkÜ

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Multicultural nursing home makes an effort to please the muslim residents but is afraid of having more of them.

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enäll Kamber, 64, carries coffee pots and biscuits from table to table in the common room of Haus am Sandberg nursing home in Duisburg, Germany. She is a resident of the house but likes to help out the staff with daily chores.

On her way to the next table a Turkish lady high-fives with another resident, Karl Heinz, 77, and the two laugh. No words are ­exchanged, and Kamber continues helping with the daily coffee time.

Haus am Sanberg is a multicultural nursing home owned by the German Red Cross. As the first nursing home in Germany to ­specialize in multiculturalism, the place created quite a stir when it was founded in 1997. Many people in the neighborhood did not want it.

Separation Most of the residents are German. Of 96 people, 73 are natives.

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The biggest single minority group is the Turkish residents, 15 people. Director Ralf Krause thinks this is a good mix. ”Now many people want to live here. If it was fifty-fifty, they wouldn’t want to come here anymore.”

In some European countries the migration to and within Europe has evoked discussion whether there is a need for nursing homes specifically for immigrants. In Germany this has been a topic of discussion for years as the first generation of the biggest minority group of the country, the Turks, have reached the age of ­retirement.

Some staff members of Haus am Sandberg say that Turkish ­residents tend to separate themselves from the others because they do not speak fluent German. ”It’s the same thing as in the real life. They are in their own ­apartments and speak to each other in their own language,” facility manager Engelbert Ditsch said.

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It’s the same thing as in the real life. They speak to each other in their own language.

Once a week there is a sing-along night where German residents sing folk songs.

Turkish couple, Müneuuer Aydin, 72, and Oswan Aydin, 78, ­disagree with this statement. They claim to be very much in contact with other non-Turkish residents.

“We are speaking with all of them. When it is necessary we speak German, like if they ask for water, for example. We don’t have to be only with Turkish people, we are all just human beings.”

Respect Sabahaddin Egin, 68, speaks German and makes an effort to be involved with the German residents. He always joins others in a weekly class where they attempt to refresh vocabulary memory.

Egin is the only Turk to attend these classes. ”I am a very open-minded person, I have much respect for all races and religions.”

Like so many of his countrymen, Egin came to Germany in the late 60’s to work in a steel factory. A stroke five years ago left him partly

paralyzed and in need of constant personal care. After four years of trying to get by with only his wife’s help he moved to the nursing home.

Traditionally in Turkish culture ageing parents continue living with their children. These days it is more common to resort to nursing homes.

“They’re busy working and their parents are usually very ill, so they can’t take care of them at home anymore,” Sengül Aydogmus, floor manager in the house, said.

At the same time, according to Aydogmus, these second ­generation immigrants are also more likely to visit their relatives.

Effort In Haus am Sandberg the customs of Turkish residents are ­respected. They can pray in a small mosque downstairs, celebrate major muslim traditions, read Turkish newspapers and watch ­Turkish ­television channels.

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Usually the nursing home has a Turkish cook but she has been ill for the past two months, leaving the regular staff the task of preparing meals.

Raif Krause also wants residents to get to know each others’ cultures. ”It’s not like all things are 100 percent perfect but I think our ideal is to go out of our way to make the most of special cultures. Everyone in the house has to learn to look for the special things in people.”

Yugoslavian Hans Brenko, 85, enjoys some goat cheese and olives typical of a Turkish breakfast that takes place every Tuesday. Volunteers from the local mosque bustle around and make sure everyone has a cup of tea. Only a little conversation is going on. Hans Brenko is one of the residents who enjoy the multiculturalistic aspect of the house.

“I am very much in contact with also the Turkish residents,” he said.

There are also those who would prefer a nursing home without ­immigrants.

“German people don’t say that they don’t like Turkish people but they might think that way. It’s a big house with a lot of people and not ­everyone is good for each other.,” Raif Krause said.

The day is turning into bedtime. A German woman with her walker gets ready to retire to her room. On her way she stops by a veiled woman sitting alone in the common room. She takes her by the hand and caresses her cheek.They exchange some words and say goodnight.

The veiled woman smiles for the first time that day.

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We are all just human beings.

Nadire Egin, from left, poses with husband Sabahaddin Egin as their granddaughter Sibel Söalp takes their photo. The young woman lives two hours away but comes to see her grandfather, a Haus am Sandberg resident, every week.

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A Turkish resident suffering from dementia, left, is comforted by a Turkish volunteer.

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The tiles of the mosque wall downstairs have started to fall off but the nursing home must wait for a specific renovater reattach them according to religious tradition.

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a nation

divided against itself

cannot stand

by Jaime Henry-White

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T

he streets of Lisbon, Portugal, echo with, “Enough sacrifices!”

The older generation lines the streets and watches the young cry out with frustration. Portugal’s youth lack jobs and hope for a future as their unemployment rates have soared from 27 to 35 percent in the last nine months. In a wide city square, demonstrators who started the day as one voice begin to crumble into hostility within one hour’s time. A union member beats a protester with a flag pole before the steps of parliament believing he is rival nonunion member. The man, actually a union member, is quickly carried away from the blood stained concrete.

March 22 was more than a general strike in Portugal. It was a roar of national fragmentation. The country, experiencing its greatest economic crisis in history, struggles with more than recovering its finances. It struggles to unify its people.

“The main concern is that we have to find a greater objective to 56

work together – a common thread,” said Ricardo Robles, 34, an unemployed civil engineer. “We have to gather everyone around it.

We have to find platforms with very specific objectives and we push forward. We don’t all have to have the same opinions, but we do have to work together.”

Ricardo Robles is one of hundreds of citizens who gathered for Portugal’s second national strike and demonstration. The first occurred on November 11 and was organized by the country’s two largest union confederations. but attendance shrank this time. The larger of the two unions called the 24-hour strike to fight a labor pact enacted as a part of the €78 billion bailout last May. “We have learned if we stay quiet, the attack will be greater,” said Marco Marques, 28, a founder of Precários Inflexíveis (PI), an organization that defends Portuguese in precarious work alongside major unions. “We need to fight against austerity measures. These conditions affect lives.”

Opening photo: A young protestor from Precários Inflexíveis, an organization that defends precarious workers, lies limp as a crowd of Portuguese police surround and remove union and non-union demonstrators physically blocking pubic buses from going to work in Lisbon, Portugal. The protestors gathered at the central bus station in the early morning of the national strike in hopes of convincing the public transport sector to join in the fight for better labor laws.

Above: Hundreds of protesters invade the city square before Portuguese Parliament for the “Greve Geral,” a national strike and demonstration organized by the General Confederation of Portuguese Workers in protest of labor reforms on March 22, 2012.

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Above: A CGTP union member, left, endures the verbal backlash of a PI member after a communist-leaning CGTP member physically assaulted her friend. Several CGTP members attempted to block the PI group from participating in the protest, eventually causing the non-union group to leave.

Below: A bus driver waits for the police to disperse a group of protestors blocking his path.

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These new labor laws, signed by the other major national union in January, are the biggest steps backward for workers since Portugal’s return to democracy in 1974 after years of dictatorship.

The labor reforms will result in many workers’ wages dropping up to 25 percent. These measures, among others, reduce worker holidays, decrease overtime pay, lower unemployment benefits and make it easier and cheaper for companies to fire workers.

But March 22 did not represent only one battle between the labor market and its recent changes. This day was one glimpse into the increasing divisions of the Portuguese people where young are pinned against old in the search for employment and a single public mobilization for social change continues to splinter in solidarity.

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If we stay quiet, the attack will be greater. We have to fight against austerity measures.

These conditions affect lives.

Prime Minister Pedro Passos Coelho recently sparked a wave of indignation during a message on December 18 encouraging young Portuguese to immigrate to other countries for work.

“I’m trying to avoid [leaving Portugal] as long as I can,” Ricardo Robles said. “My parents are trying to help me stay here, but my sister is already abroad working in Belgium.”

The worsening economic climate is further dividing the route toward public agreement.

An older Portuguese woman watches the national strike from the safety of her balcony window.

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“People think we have no chances, no alternatives,” said protestor Andre Bejs, 34, a member of a trade union. “They look at the political parties and they don’t see a solution, they see a problem.

We need to mobilize people in a different way than before. It’s not that the last century class struggle was an error. It still exists. We just have different technologies and different means of talking to people.”

Ricardo Robles also sites this division as a gap between old and new movements.“Unions have an important role in the past and in the future,” Robles said. “The problem is that they are very monolithic and secretarian. The gap between new movements and unions is spreading. We want to have a relation. It’s very hard to do it.”

The strike was small representation of the daily absence of hope in Portugal. “We look to Greece and see where we will be in one year,” Robles said. “The measures of austerity are not taking us in a good direction. It’s making life even worse. People are collectively depressed. But we have to ask, ‘What path do we take next?’”

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Top left: PI protestors rest after working late into the night in preparation for the national protest the following afternoon.

Middle left: A union spokesperson is interviewed by Portuguese media during a blockade preventing trash-collectors from beginning their day’s work.

Bottom left: A young woman joins her voice with hundreds of ­frustrated Portuguese workers.

Below: A link of CGTP members join hands to clear a path for the oncoming frontline of protestors.

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We look to Greece and see where we will be in one year.

People are collectively depressed. But we have to ask, ‘What path do we take next?’

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together in limbo

by Sarah Hoffman

Waiting in Denmark’s largest asylum seekers camp

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ucina would paint the walls green. Salad green to be exact. She thinks about what her 2 -year-old son’s room would look like, him going to kindergarten while she goes to work and the two of them eating at a café or walking together. “Then I come back to real life,” she said. “This is only a fantasy. In a fantasy you can’t stay.”

Lucina, 26, of Russia lives in the Sandholm accommodation center, a camp run by the Danish Red Cross for asylum seekers. Since 2009 she has been in the system and moved from camp to camp with her son David who was born in Denmark.

Lucina kisses her 2-year-old son David in their home at Sandholm accomodation center for asylum seekers.

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Lucina cooks for David in her shared kitchen. She no longer receives any money from the Danish government.

The escape Lucina said she lived with her mother and grandmother for most of her life but when her grandmother died she moved with her mother around Russia in search of work. When a man offered them a place to live they accepted.

After accepting transportation through Europe with strangers, being drugged with tablets that made her sleep and evading being sex trafficked, Lucina eventually found herself being dropped off ten minutes down the road that would lead her to Sandholm accommodation center. When she entered Denmark she learned that she was three months pregnant.

One evening five men came to the house to celebrate his birthday with food, dance and drink. Lucina overheard loud voices from an adjacent room and closed her door. Two of the men came into her room took her outside and raped her. That same night they murdered her mother.

David, my happy days

Lucina was locked in a room for two days until one of the men came to the door and she escaped the premises by flagging down a woman in a passing car.The woman let her stay a few nights until she suggested that she go to the police and hospital.. Lucina left out of fear that the police were friends of the men who attacked her and made her way to her mother’s friends home.

David sleeps in his crib underneath a cardboard-framed jigsaw puzzle of three white tigers that Lucina made while she was pregnant with David in the Jelling asylum center. “They have the same eyes as my David,” she said.

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Then I come back to real life. This is only a fantasy. In a fantasy you can’t stay.

A cardboard-framed jigsaw puzzle Lucina made in the Jelling camp while she was pregnant with David hangs on the wall.

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Lucina tries to feed him food from the cafeteria.

“He is my life. He is my happy days. When I think about what happened before, about what happened after.” While Lucina was ­living in the Jelling camp she received 1400 DKK every two weeks.

Currently, she receives no money from the Danish government and gets all of her food from the camp cafeteria.

David refuses to eat the majority of the cafeteria food and mealtime between them is a constant struggle. He only likes candy, lunch meat, white bread and potatoes that she fries on the stove.

When Lucina peels the potatoes for dinner they are rotten all the way through so only one slice from the third potato makes it into the sizzling pan. The kitchen is bare. Only faded stickers from the previous residents decorate the wall and there is no soap or sponge on the steel sink.“All the time new people come,” she said.

Lucina has nobody to watch David so she runs all of her errands while he naps in the afternoon. Walking around the grounds alone makes her uncomfortable. Men stare out the windows of the­ ­barracks of

Lucina strokes David’s head during his nap. She says she misses him while he sleeps.

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their rooms.“I am afraid of men because of what hap­­pened,”­she said.

When a man came to change a light bulb in her room she waited outside until it was fixed and during her initial police interview the presence of a male translator made her nervous. When she returns David is still sleeping. Lucina leans down and whispers “I miss you David,” into his ear.

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He is my life. He is my happy days when I think about what happened before, about what happened after.

Lucina walks back from the laundry room. She is usually too afraid to walk in the camp at night so only time she is able to run errands is while David naps.

Lucina lifts David into her arms while she plays with him at Sandholm accommodation center.

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Trapped in the system Lucina has no indication of when she will find out whether she has permission to stay in Denmark or if she will be deported. “All day you sit and wait,” she said. She checks her post box daily scanning the list for her seven digit identification number assigned by the camp upon entry. “I don’t want to be a problem for this country,” she said. Lucina is afraid to go back out of fear of what will happen to her. “I am tired. Three years, all the time, I am tired,” she said.

“I am young on the outside but I am old on the inside.”

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Lucina sips a cup of coffee. The saucer sticks to the bottom of the cup as she lifts it to her lips. She laughs as she taps the cup and utters a letter for each tap. She says that the letter that the cup comes loose on is the first letter of the person that loves you. After going through the alphabet twice, she uses both of her hands to pry the cup from the saucer.

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I don’t want to be a problem for this country.

A wall separates the prison fence from the kindergarten in Sandholm accommodation center.

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I am young on the outside but I am old on the inside.

Lucina has no documents to verify her identity or her story. As a result, she has no indication of how long she will have to wait to find out whether or not she will approved as a refugee.

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will

workfor

work

Imagine you have nothing to fill your time with, no money and you are paradoxically not allowed to earn any.

by Katerina Pisackova

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They made me scream at them, and I never do that. It is all so absurd that it makes me angry.

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We are like Mr. K in Franz Kafka’s novels and the system is like the Castle. It´s like a constant trial”, Ramy Mofady, 33 year-old doctor from northern Syria, describes his current feelings. Kafka’s Castle tells a story of an absurd law system, where the highest authority can never be reached. The main character Mr. K is sent from office to office, from clerk to clerk without ever achieving a solution to his problem. Similarly, it is the lowest state’s immigration authority clerks who hold power over people’s lives, sometimes without even realizing it.

Ramy left Syria in August and spent only few months in an asylum camp. After being granted asylum, Ramy was assigned to lan72

guage school in Aarhus, which only offered him two hours of lectures per day, five days a week. Doctors coming to Denmark from non-­European states have to pass evaluation of their education in Danish language but in other European countries, such as Germany, ­English is sufficient. Finding this as a waste of time, he tried for seve­ ral months to convince the authorities to let him find accommo­ dation and an intensive course near Copenhagen, where he could also search for work or attend university public lectures.

It cost him a lot of time and energy until he finally agreed on an internship at Copenhagen University and arranged the move.

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I am the only one there who wants to achieve higher education. All the others came here just to work manually.

“It’s easier for refugees without education. For us who want to complete our studies and don’t know how to make shawarma. It´s really not working. When I am in the language class, it´s like I am not really there. I cannot concentrate, because i think about my situation all the time. In Syria, we have high quality education, but right now...” his voice trails off and the rest of the sentence remain unsaid. Juan Mahmoud pushes his glasses, looking down and far ahead.

He fled from Syria a year before the uprising as he was persecuted for his Kurdish origin and political activities. He spent four months in Syrian prison, then two years in Danish asylum centers.

Juan now lives against his will in Nykøbing Sjælland, town of 4.000 inhabitants, in a single apartment which cost 3400 DKK/month and he travels 60 kilometers back and forth everyday to the language school in Holbæk on his own expenses. He wishes to find a girlfriend elsewhere. Except for finding a job or another school program, it is the only reason for which a person is allowed to resettle.

But nobody really talks to him in his new “hometown.”

“I wish I could control my feelings, because now I am very down and I cannot study properly. But I need to learn danish as soon as possible, so I can find a job and move out. I cannot imagine living here three years. I would go crazy.”

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Official figures say it usually takes six months for immigration ­authorities to decide, whether a person applying for asylum can stay in the country or not. In some cases, asylum applications are rejec­ ted, but an asylum seeker cannot be sent back because of the state of their home country.They must wait in isolated asylum cen­ters for “something to happen”. There are stories of some people living in this uncertainity for almost a decade in Denmark but ­possibilities of employment do not extend for asylums after receiving a residence permit.

They only have two choices of living: the first, which is not common nor easy, is to find a stable job on their own and become completely 74

independent. The second is much more common, safe and stable.

A person receives 5.000 DKK/per month to pay the rent for the apartment chosen by the municipality for them, a situation they cannot change.They are obliged to study Danish for the period of three years and participate in so called praktik - work activity which is not paid, yet their employers are often private companies. If they skip a day of school or “work,” the authorities take a fee from their bank account where they have the little money for the monthly rent and transportation expenses.

During these three years, they cannot have even a part-time job, otherwise they would lose all the government’s support.

This system leads people either to live on a very low standard or to risk having undocumented jobs, which becomes an option especially for those who try to support their families they left back home.

The law has another hidden aspect - when people eventually ­return to their home country after spending productive years trapped in Europe´s asylum system, they are not able to explain to their relatives, how is it possible, that they are coming back from Europe without achieving or earning anything, but with a broken mentality and familiarly speaking – broke.

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We have skills and resources, but are made into passive beings. Depression and hopelessness are the only logical consequences.

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“

We have made journeys that you can´t even imagine. We did what you would have done in a similar situation. We live in this country together, but some of us are prevented from contributing to society.

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Mahmed and Diana were born into countries where political ­stability is nothing more then a term in a dictionary - Somalia and The Democratic republic of Congo. They both like to photograph, read, write and dream about becoming journalists.

Around Copenhagen and in the largest asylum camp, Sandholm, where Mahmed has lived since his arrival, more than 2 years ago, he is simply known as Affro. He can be proud of two things: producing short infortmative videos for the Red Cross as part of his “praktik” and also being the youngest member of the residence board in Sandholm. The residence board consists of 8 elected representatives, who speak for about 600 temporary inhabitants of Sandholm and regularily discuss practical issues with the Red Cross staff.

As this magazine goes to print, Mahmed is nervously awaiting a massive life change. He was recently finally provided asylum and is about to move out of the Sandholm community he belonged to for so long at his young age and begin a new, solo life on his own.

Like others he is rather confused, nervous, happy, scared, anxious and impatient all at the same time.

But meanwhile, he keeps his mind occupied among other activities, by participating in a political campaign supporting a new law, which would allow all asylum seekers to work after six months in the asylum process. A campaign run under the slogan “OUT OF THE CAMPS!” has an appealing manifesto, written by the community of asylum seekers and danish activists, who gather regularly in Trampoline House, a user-driven culture house in Nørrebro, Copenhagen.

The following text is taken from the actual manifesto: “We have skills and resources, but are made into passive beings.

Depression and hopelessness are the only logical consequences...

This is not only a problem for people living in camps, it is a problem for the whole society. We live in this country together, but some of us are prevented from contributing to society. With so much talk of integration, it’s remarkable how much money we spend on ­separation and isolation. Not only is it a waste of money, it is also a waste of lives! “ A special committee under the Ministry of Justice has been ­investigating the issue and the first draft of the law should be ready within the year 2012.

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Not only is it a waste of money, it is also a waste of lives!

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Parenthood can wait.

Europe’s declining fertility rate

by Zac Boesch

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Nørrestenbro is a daycare in the Warranty District Randersvej. It typically is about 12 months before a child can be offered a place in this facility or about the time of maternity leave.

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eaving a narrow room filled with tanks of liquid nitrogen stored at -210 ˚C embryologist Conny Nielsen says, “This room is very important. It holds a lot of children.”

This room may also provide part of the solution to Europe’s ­population woes.

By 2050 the population of the European Union will decline by 21 million as more people die than are born. The large elderly ­population will put enormous pressure on the shrinking labor force to provide their physical and financial help.

Scandinavia, though, continues to have higher fertility rates than the rest of Europe.

According to Hans O. Hansen, Associate Professor of Demography at the University of Copenhagen, there is a natural explanation for Scandinavia’s better fertility rate.

“Better welfare in Denmark and much greater security in the Danish labor market” allow women in Denmark to have a greater number of kids.

Minding the children Government officials are scrambling to find solutions to encourage families to have more children. In 2003 the mayor of Laviano, Italy, offered €10,000 to parents for each child born. Despite this most governments lack policies to promote births and ease the financial burdens resulting in fewer births.

Desire to travel the world, high divorce rate, cost of luxury items, birth control and the global job market are examples of larger issues causing lowered fertility rates. Young adults are choosing to take a longer time focusing on school and their careers, developing their individuality before parenthood. Modern industrial society appears unprepared for the continued expansion of humans.

Fertility rates have slightly climbed in the past decade but began to dip quickly when the recession hit.

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In Nørrestenbro daycare parents drop off their children with others already at play in the morning sunshine. Passing through numerous doors with handles 6 feet off the ground. Henrik Dahl can be found outside cradling a coffee mug watching over the children. Henrik Dahl has worked at the daycare since it opened 28 years ago for children from 0-6 years old.

Cheap childcare is available in most of Denmark compared to neighboring Germany, which is trying to build public daycares for all ­children under three by 2013. Germany has very low fertility rates. In 1989 a survey found that only 4 percent of 20-49 year old ­women were housewives in Denmark. Women in Germany and throughout Europe may not have the freedom of choosing to have fewer children but instead, due to financial concerns or work ­positions, are essentially forced to have less. The derogatory term

At salsa dancing a group of women gaze at the dancers. Women in Denmark on average wait till 32 for their first marriage.

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This room is very important.

It holds a lot of children.

On a sunny day the streets and shops are filled with baby carriages pushed by mothers or fathers. Many parents cite the expense of children as a reason for having less. A typically baby carriage will cost around 5.000 DKK. 81

“raven mothers” is used in Germany to describe mothers who go back to work instead of staying at home emphasizes the importance of daycare.

“My story is unique and special in the sense that I never thought I would have four kids,” said Stine Adrian, a professor at ­Aalborg ­University who balances kids and work. Smaller families are ­becoming the norm as parents choose to focus more resources into one child but some families are challenging this trend.The Danish Royal Family serves as an example of a large family. Having numerous children is seen as a sign of economic success.

may begin to subsidize ART to help older women have children and increase the fertility rate. Most women in need of these ­procedures are typically middle age. In 1999 women in Denmark were on ­average 29 years old at the birth of their first child. As European women continue to wait longer to have children many will have to turn to ART for help.

Lending a hand “Between the other technicians we have competitions and we can say ‘that one was mine’,” said Conny Nielsen in reference to the pride of helping women became pregnant.Those tanks of liquid ­nitrogen at Ciconia Fertility Clinic in Aarhus, Denmark, hold frozen sperm and eggs for potential mothers.

Denmark has one of the highest rates of using artificial ­reproductive technologies (ART). 4.2 percent of all children born in 2002 were with the help of ART in Denmark. ART is heavily subsidized in ­Denmark and wait times are short leading to higher usage. ­Countries

Left and above: The fertility clinic has tried to perfect the science of childbirth. Births have become calculated and sterile but as Conny Nielsen attests it is anything but a perfect science since it may take numerous tries for a pregnancy.

Right: Nørrestenbro has 65 children and 17 employees. If the ­nursery population was representative of Denmark then three children would have been born using ART.

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Left: Women and men have chosen to embrace a longer period without children to discover their own individuality and spend more time on schooling and careers.

One down: After 17 years as an embryologist Conny Nielsen knows a bit about embryos. While looking under a microscope she comments, “four cells. That’s a bit fast.”

Two down: As the fertility rate continues to decline countries may begin asking, “Where have all the children gone?”

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EUROPE’S NEW CHALLENGES chief editor: Dario Bosio graphic editors: Nick Schnelle, Sarah Hoffman copy editors: Sarah Hoffman, Jaime Henry-White, Zac Boesch cover image: Filippo Menichetti portaits: Sarah Hoffman

Danmarks Medie- og Journalisthøjskole Olof Palmes Allé 11 8200 Aarhus N

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thanks to all the people that joined and helped through the editing. special thanks to Jesper Voldgaard, Lone Theils Susanne Sommer and Henrik Meller for the advice. skål

team

Nastassia Nicolaij nastassia.nicolay@gmail.com Belgium Barbara Beltramello beltramello@hotmail.com Italy Nick Schnelle nick.schnelle@gmail.com USA Jaime Henry-White jmh2y2@mail.missouri.edu USA Dario Bosio dario.bosio1@gmail.com Italy Sarah Hoffmann hoffsarahj@gmail.com USA Pirita MännikkÜ p.mannikko@gmail.com Finland Katerina Pisackova cojenahore.wordpress.com Czech Republic Filippo Menichetti filo.menichetti@gmail.com Italy Zac Boesch zjb09@live.com USA

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