Hundreds of migrants join the bread line as boom goes bust
They came here in hope to build a better future for themselves and their families, but things haven't worked out as they had planned.
As the economy has slowed and thousands of jobs have been lost, many of the 'New Irish' now find themselves broke, unable to speak the language, depending on charity to eat, struggling to keep a roof over their head or homeless, and too ashamed to go home.
One tenth of our population is now made up of foreign nationals. Polish, Czechs, Lithuanians, Slovenians, Russians, and Romanians -- some of whom found themselves abandoned when the economic boom that brought them here turned to bust.
Many are now living in abject poverty -- struggling even to eat -- and some have ended up among Ireland's 2,000-plus homeless.
Hundreds queue at Dublin's day centres (they're not called soup kitchens anymore), now filled with more foreigners than Irish.
Alarmingly, this massive suffering is going unnoticed by the Government -- with changes to budgets and legislation reliant on reports lagging way behind events.
Many of those migrants who have fallen on hard times came to work in Ireland's once booming construction industry, but are now struggling to find work.
Pavel, from just outside the Lithuanian capital Vilnius, moved to this 'Promised Land' in early 2006. In limited English, he told his story.
"I came here and made ten times what I would at home. It is expensive to live here, but I was doing well. Then, in September, the work ended. I do bits and pieces. By Christmas, I had no money left. I couldn't go home."
Pavel began attending a couple of Dublin's day centres for his breakfast and dinner.
"I heard of this place from others who are in trouble like me. I feel ashamed; I can't feed myself but I am doing all I can. I don't want to be a drunk or addict, I want to work. I have pride," he said.
Speaking at the Capuchin Day Centre, in Bow Street on Thursday, mother-of-two Dorota from Poland spoke of her desperate struggle.
A pretty woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, Dorota attends the centre with her twin daughters Magda and Agata, aged eight. Shy and barely able to speak, her story is translated.
"I arrived here on September 17, 2007 with my twin daughters because I did not earn enough in Poland, where I was a fashion designer.
"Here I found a job cleaning the construction sites, but it didn't last long. I first went to this charity association in February. I am here everyday, because I don't have enough money to buy food for the girls.
"I am taking a course to learn how to speak English. My daughters are going to school, they sometimes teach me how to talk.
"I don't want to go back to Poland -- you earn twice as much money here. I am trying to find a job as a fashion designer. I do not feel really comfortable here though. I got a place to stay from social welfare."
Others admit to failing victim to poverty traps like alcohol abuse and theft. Jonas from Romania said, also through an interpreter, "It has been hard, there is no work and no benefits -- because I have no address. I turned to begging and got mixed up with some bad stuff. I'm trying to get better."
Brother Kevin Crowley, who runs the centre near Dublin's Smithfield area, said the numbers of foreigners coming every day is rising. The Capuchins used to provide for a lot of Polish, but the main group now are Romanians.
"We are serving over 500 meals a day here. There are huge numbers of non-Irish coming, many with no English whatsoever. Many have come to work and are struggling. Many of them, particularly the Poles, are a pleasure to deal with. Very respectful and decent. It's hard because they want to work," he said.
Br Kevin was critical of the red tape and hoops that many of the poor have to go through when dealing with homeless or poverty agencies. "It makes a tough existence even tougher," he said.
For the Simon Community, who operate at the coal face of the homelessness, day and night, a big problem in aiding foreign nationals is trying to locate them. Simon operates soup run teams, composed of 100 part-time volunteers, distributing soup, sandwiches, chocolate bars or tea at spots around Dublin like Heuston Station. They also provide temporary accommodation at 30 emergency beds in the city.
"Homeless foreign people often manage to gather and find some place to stay during the night, whether it be squats or elsewhere. They tend to leave the city centre at night, because they feel safer outside," according to Lorna Cronnelly of Simon.
"But for those who have nowhere to spend the night except on Dublin's streets, making a contact with the rescue teams is hard because of the language barrier."
According to the latest figures, there are now almost 30,000 non-nationals on the dole. Funding to help those in need has been cut or frozen, while those entitled to claim benefits face a quagmire of red tape and waiting lists.
The Department of Family and Social Affairs is also concerned that a disproportionate number of foreign nationals are engaged in fraud, with a staff of 600 dedicated to tackling welfare fraud.
According to Martin Cullen, almost €400m was saved last year as a result of anti-fraud checks
The small proportion of immigrants who have tried to "milk the system" should not be confused with the those, far greater in number, who came here to be part of the Irish dream but got chewed up and spat out by it, and who continue their struggle -- alone and forgotten by the country they helped to build.
- Daniel McConnell and Anne-Laure Fremont
