I find myself once again back amongst mountains, cheese, and chocolates, but there is much left to tell; lingering thoughts prevent me from entirely rejoining the world of Swiss punctuality.   

“The powerful stigma associated with being ‘Gypsy’ in the Czech Republic drives many ethnically ‘underground’ for official information and registry purposes”: It seems like a lifetime ago that I reflected upon the case of Roma pressurised into concealing their ethnicity in order to attain Czech citizenship in my predeparture blog entry. Two months in Prague and the implications of this ‘ethnic underground’ – stretching far beyond ticking boxes on census questionnaires, have become all too apparent to me…

Far-right extremism is one manifestation of the anti-Romani sentiment that has festered in the Czech lands since 1989. Less visible is the echoing of such attitudes of the majority in the self-perception of the Roma minority. Self-esteem has taken a battering as derogatory stereotypes have become partly absorbed into Roma identity. The time I have spent with Anna Chválová from the NGO Romodrom revealed to me both the far reaching effects of deflated egos and one possible remedy. I first met Anna at a conference on increasing Roma participation in political and public life. Drawn from the outset to the enthusiasm which radiated from her, I sought to learn more. Language difficulties were bridged as we danced to Romani music and she proceeded to tell me of her work.

Anna Chválová expressing her views at a conference organised by Dzeno in Melnik

Tired of the lack of space for innovation within the Czech school system, Anna had left the kindergarten she was working at to start a free time children’s club (Klub 9) for Roma children. Much emphasis is placed on overcoming the gross disparities between Roma and non-Roma in Czech schools in terms of both opportunities and outcomes. Yet above all, the programme Anna runs three days a week in Prague’s Vysočany district provides an alternative to roaming the streets. Not all the children who attend are from ghettos, but most come from impoverished households. Painting, acting, playing games, improving their writing skills; minor as they may sound, the services Anna provides gives these children opportunities they would otherwise never have had. “I used to wonder why some of the children spent so much time in the bathroom…then I realised they were washing themselves – they had no access to such facilities in their own home”. Klub 9 may be small (18m² max.) but it has become an integral part of the local Roma community on so many levels.

Enjoying life at Klub 9 (Picture courtesy of Romodrom)

“Do you like Romani children?” the kids asked me when I visited Anna at Klub 9. The question caught me by surprise. Teaching gymnastics in an ethnically diverse part of London, I’d become virtually colour-blind; ask me to describe a child and the words cheeky, timid or naughty would spring to mind infinitely quicker than ‘black’ or ‘white’. Klub 9′s Roma children in contrast are incredibly aware that they are different and Anna does not believe that convincing them otherwise is the way forward. Instead, ‘difference’ must be transformed into something worth celebrating. Ethnicity tends to be hidden by comparably well integrated Romani children and further excludes those from the ghetto who are generally more in touch with their Romani heritage. Whilst their ethnicity is a barrier of sorts for both, denying it is not the answer. Roma must learn to be proud of their cultural roots if they are to perceive themselves as equals in mainstream Czech society.

“Our aim is to nurture pride and self-belief by highlighting what these children can do”. Anna is constantly praising the children she works with and their faces, adorned with expressions of admiration, self-confidence and happiness, are proof that her efforts are paying off.

Children from Anna's club perform at Prague's Ethnofest 2009

Nonetheless, I feel I must end on a negative. Anna’s enthusiasm and dedication alone cannot end the plight of the Roma. Tears well in her eyes as she tells of the helplessness she feels when bright Romani children are still sent to ‘special’ remedial schools after failing the entry test to the mainstream basic school. Speaking Romani at home and unable to attend kindergarten for financial reasons, Roma are disadvantaged from the outset. Klub 9 offers help to prepare children for the basic school examination, but as Anna herself points out, it is those already relatively successfully integrated who regularly turn up at Klub 9; those who desperately need the kind of support Anna offers do not come.

My daily walks along the Vltava River watching a setting sun catch the ripples before it slowly dips behind the myriad of rooftops and church spires, are numbered. The cloud that looms over my head has grown in the months that have passed. I’d underestimated the extent of the “Gypsy problem” before arriving in Prague…having since seen for myself just the tip of the injustice iceberg, my idealistic (some would say naive) temperament has taken a battering. Yet I am able to find solace of sorts in the knowledge that the inspirational people I have met who dedicate their lives to Roma rights remain undeterred; setbacks are not cause to give up hope, but additional reason to fight.

I had the opportunity once again to meet with Kumar Vishwanathan, head of the NGO Life Together when he travelled to Prague to discuss the problematic new law making welfare payments partially conditional upon doing community service. Sitting in an authentic local in the backstreets of Malá Strana we were joined by Radka Soukupová, former Director of the Czech Government Council for Roma Community Affairs and Klára Laurenčíková, Deputy Minister of Education. As the conversation turned to existing frictions between central and local government, the party politics infiltrated civil service and the pervasiveness of stubborn mentalities, I was reminded once more of the shortcomings of democratic reality. As an undergraduate European Studies student I had been taught of the power that the lucrative reward of EU membership could potentially wield. The discussions I now eagerly followed confirmed much of what I had read but also highlighted ‘europeanisation’s’ limitations. The EU has been able to influence domestic policy and programs on the treatment of minorities with the ‘carrot’ (of Phare financing/EU accession) and ‘stick’ (of conditionality) approach and has given specific attention to improving the condition of the Roma. The question is what happens when much of the carrot has been devoured? European Structural funds provide an incentive of sorts, yet the money has failed to reach those who are in desperate need of assistance and progress has stagnated. “What would the Europe’s tax payers say if they knew their money was being squandered?” asks Kumar. With the Czech Republic now an EU member state it seems as though a major motivation behind the provision of Roma support has elapsed, without which political will is simply insufficient.

(L-R) Tamara Moyzes, Vera Roubalova, Kumar Vishwanathan and Radka Soukupová

We were joined by the political artist Tamara Moyzes and Vera Roubalova, psychologist and signatory of Charter 77 – the profoundly important human rights movement in Czechoslovakia. As I tried to hide the enormous sense of privilege which now enveloped me, talk turned to the issue of institutional care. Research suggests that out of every 10,000 newborn children, 62 are placed into care in the Czech Republic…in the UK the figure is just 2. Hitting Roma particularly hard, it is one legacy of an overly paternalistic state which lives on in the unquestioning minds of many occupying positions of trust Kumar Vishwanathan argues. According to him, the astonishingly high figures are not an indication that Czech children are more neglected; but that the system is not tuned to properly help families hold on to their children when faced with crisis. Most children are taken into care for ‘social reasons’ such as housing rather than a result of abuse or neglect. Caring parents are left childless and the institutions into which their offspring are placed overrun…the practice is unjust, cruel and a drain on resources.

Time has caught up with me once again, but I leave you with the work of Tamara Moyzes. She collaborated with other artists to put on an art exhibition to draw attention to the extent of the problem of excessive institutional care. Rodinná Pohoda (Family Happiness) ran in the Nostický Palace in Malá Strana until May of this year. Her life-size poster visualising the act of placing children in care captures the emotions involved better than words ever could:

Tamara Moyzes

Socially excluded locality – the PC term for ghetto and racial segregation at its most visible. Writing reports for Dzeno I am continually confronted with the phrase: three words assigned the insurmountable task of capturing the essence of the 330 or so residential enclaves inhabited by much of the Czech Republic’s Roma where access to formal employment, education and adequate housing is limited. The label is useful in the world of the written, but what about the world of Roma reality? Returning once more to my experiences in Ostrava last week (albeit a mere snapshot) may help bridge that gap between the two realms:

Wind in my hair, we turn off the main road and enter another universe. Dust sprays as a lone car crosses our path, the tattooed arm of its toothless driver waving from the open window. The vehicle disappears over the horizon, its body glistening in the warm glow of the afternoon sun. We drive on. Type the phrase “Roma ghetto” into Google’s image search and you are inundated with pictures of dilapidated housing and mounds of rubbish, yet what now lay before us contradicted even the most popular hits. Amongst a cluster of large, elegant red houses dating back to the late 1920s children played, teenagers chilled, tapping their feet to gypsy beats and an elderly couple sat in the shade of a beautiful willow tree. Each wrinkle, dimple and blemish on the faces of those who watched as we parked had a story all of its own. Extreme poverty could momentarily be forgotten with the wealth of colours, aromas, sounds and of life itself. The car came to a halt, seatbelts were unclasped.  Kumar’s words “you cannot fight for rights wearing a mask” still ringing in my ears, I started unzipping my camera case…then stopped. Why? Let me explain…

Kumar Vishwanathan had taken me along to a community meeting in one of Ostrava’s ‘excluded localities’. A crisis meeting had been called after a family had been threatened with eviction from the social housing in which they had been residing for some time. A local NGO working in conjunction with the local municipality plans to renovate the family’s home but has made no guarantee that the same family will be allowed to return following the reconstruction. With the NGO under contract for only 2 years, local Roma are rightly concerned that the venture is just privatization in disguise. Roma left homeless after the decision of corrupt officials to sell off properties to friends and family has become an all too regular occurrence in the area. The meeting had been summoned to discuss how best to counter the impending eviction. 

As soon as I opened my car door it was blatant that something was wrong. Met by anxious looking Roma we learnt that our arrival had coincided with a rare and unexpected visit from the municipality’s mayor and the NGO involved in the prospective renovation. They pointed to a window across the street; we were being filmed. A camera lens had never struck me as particularly threatening, but the angst that glistened in the local’s eyes made me realise just how intruding it can be. Kumar turned to me: “You see now the importance of trust Christina?” My camera slipped to the bottom of my bag. “Trust is something that has to be built” he continued “it provides the foundation upon which we work”. What we had just witnessed demonstrated that without that vital ingredient, even the best intentions can be counterproductive. Filming without first asking and gaining the community’s trust was not only intimidating but had hindered the chance for constructive dialogue.

Once the mayor and NGO had left, the community meeting began outside the house that was to be renovated. Kumar, innovative as always, had stuck a large piece of paper to a rusting garage door and encouraged inhabitants of all ages to elect spokespersons and to discuss ideas for further action. Yet the upset caused by the unexpected visitors had left the Roma agitated and it all ended prematurely after it was agreed when they would next get together. The agonizing wait for the family facing eviction continues.   

I myself left from Ostrava without a single photograph. What I did gain – a greater understanding of the complex dynamics of advocating for Roma rights, was undoubtedly far more valuable. Without an open channel of communication between stakeholders (Roma, NGOs and governmental bodies) based on trust, the chances of overcoming the limited access to formal employment, education and adequate housing of those living in ‘socially excluded localities’ are next to none.

“Ostrava hlavní nádraží”: the announcement resonated around the ageing train compartment. Awaking abruptly, I frantically gathered my belongings and jumped onto the sun drenched platform of the Czech Republic’s third largest city. As my legs grew reaccustomed to bearing my weight after the four hour train journey eastwards from Prague, my senses grappled with the unfamiliar.

Ostrava is a city still living in the shadow of its unsettled past. The legacy of history is etched on the earnest faces of those I passed on my way to the station exit: quite a contrast from Prague’s gaggles of overexcited tourists. Ostrava cannot hide the scars of centuries of upheaval. The deportation of Jews and Czech Roma during Nazi occupation, the expulsion of Germans in accordance with the Potsdam Agreement after World War II and the subsequent immigration of peoples from elsewhere under the Soviet radar have contributed to its unique ethnic composition. Its economy – traditionally dominated by coal and steel production, has struggled to cope with the decline in heavy industry; unemployment is well above the country’s average. The mix of economic difficulties and ethnic discord seems to have proven lethal and ideal fuel for a strident neo-Nazi movement.

The picture I paint may sound inflated – overly strong vocabulary obscuring reality, and yet rereading my words, I find myself asking whether I am in fact guilty of understating. My arrival in the city situated less than 100km away from Auschwitz coincided with the news that the names of 2 witnesses to the Vitkov case (a horrific arson attack in a town not far from Ostrava against a Roma family in April where a 2 year old girl was left fighting for her life) had been published on a neo-Nazi website which called for revenge against the informants…the Prague bubble I had grown used to living in burst with a ferocious pop.

Two-year-old Natálka suffered burns on 80% of her body after a Molotov cocktail was thrown into her family's home in April of this year.

I was met at the train station by Kumar Vishwanathan, head of Life Together, an Ostrava-based NGO for Roma rights which has around 6,000 beneficiaries in the region. After disastrous floods in 1997 many Roma in Ostrava had been left homeless; local authorities were quick to rehouse non-Roma elsewhere in the city but provided only cramped, squalid temporary accommodation for the Romany families. Kumar – working up till then as a teacher in a nearby provincial town and originally from Southern India, spontaneously decided to help for 2 months…he never left.

An impressive array of accolades covers Kumar’s office walls but can do little to mask the daunting scale of the challenges that remain.

Kumar’s great modesty and serenity cannot hide the enormity of the impact he and his NGO have had; my conversation with him as we walked together through Ostrava was intermitted with greetings and admiring gazes from passersby. Yet despite Kumar’s endeavours, improvements in the situation of Ostrava’s Roma have been negligible at best. The day I spent with him was a sharp reminder that fighting for Roma rights is never-ending and encompasses ongoing struggles in all spheres of life.

“Praha hlavní nádraží”: the announcement reverberates around a marginally more modern train compartment as I find myself once more in the Czech capital. As abruptly as I was awoken upon arrival in Ostrava I must end blogging for today and focus on the daily ritual that frantically searching for my house keys has become. I hope to resume my tales of the East over the next week…the words ‘eviction’, ‘unemployment’, ‘forced sterilisation’, ‘discrimination’, ‘usury’, ‘street children’ and ‘exclusion’ send an even larger chill down by spine after a glimpse of how they interlace to form reality for so many Roma in Ostrava.

“I was beaten by other children…I was the only Roma child to survive more than 3 months in the ordinary school…other children went to the special schools…I was just lucky.” (Marie Gailova)

“Aged 5 a psychologist deemed it most appropriate to send me to special school…my determined mother insisted otherwise…even with good grades, basic school as the only Roma in the class was problematic…other children would not look me in the face if they saw me outside school…I would not have survived without the 2 Czech girls I befriended…I was just lucky.” (Lucie Horváthová)

Lucie Horváthová and Marie Gailova come to similar conclusions about their educational experiences as Roma in communist Czechoslovakia. I frowned as I first heard them attributing their remarkable achievements to chance, yet as I have learnt more about their childhoods and those of others like them, I have come to realise that the use of the word ‘luck‘ is not merely an expression of modesty…

Roma activists Marie Gailová and Lucie Horváthová insist that luck plays its part.

Schooling for Roma in the Czech Republic was - and remains - a lottery where the odds are stacked against success. Under Communism, the practice of channeling Roma into schools for children with mental disabilities called ‘special schools’ was widespread. Democratic rhetoric may espouse the principal of equality but regime change has not resulted in the stop of such segregation. A ruling by the European Court of Human Rights in 2006 forced the Czech government to acknowledge that 75% of Czech Roma were placed in special schools and that Romani children with average or above average intellect often ended up in such establishments.

Official recognition of continuing de facto segregation is a positive step, but until now little has changed; gross disparities between Roma and non-Roma in Czech schools in terms of both opportunities and outcomes persist. Too much remains in the hands of good fortune.

Lucie Horváthová is an example of what is possible when that element of luck is combined with determination, intellect, passion, hard work, humour and a good heart. As a Roma from the Czech city of Pardubice, she has overcome great odds. Her strong character cannot hide the emotions that are awoken as she tells of her past. She finds it hard to comprehend how the child, told by a psychologist at the age of 5 that she would benefit from going to special school because of an apparent inability to master the Czech language (Romani is her native toungue), now sits talking of her experiences working as a local government advisor, as a candidate for the local green party and most recently for the Czech Cabinet of the Minister for Human Rights and Minorities…all in fluent ENGLISH.

Lucie Horváthová ‘s words are tinged with a mixture of sadness, anger, gratitude, pride and bewilderment:

• Lucie is grateful to the few friends she did have at school that helped her to block out the prejudice with which she was confronted on a daily basis and to complete her education.
• Since becoming a master’s student of social anthropology, Lucie is angered by the suggestion that she has only got as far in life as she has because she is Roma. She has had to work as hard as the next person at university and asks simply to be treated as normal.
• Lucie is proud to be Roma and all that it entails; the langauge, the traditions, the songs, the food, the community feeling, and respect for the elderly - all are of profound importance to her. Yet she is also aware of problems existing within the Roma community; during her time as a local government Roma advisor she was sandwiched between the administration and poor and often problematic Roma families. She was often left frustrated by both parties.

The Lucie Horváthová of today is anything but purely a product of potluck. Nonetheless, appreciation of the fact that life could have been very different without that element of good fortune is what drives her work as a voice for the Roma; “it is my destiny to be active” she insists.

Lucie believes firmly that the Roma situation needs to be addressed immediately but not in isolation - exclusively ‘Roma’ solutions could worsen problems in the country. In the video I leave you with she talks of the dangers of dwelling on the negative and the need for emphasising the success stories of Roma integration. The initiative she presents, Gypsy Spirit 2009, is one idea of how to give progress a voice.

The internet has undoubtedly become a valuable tool in giving voice to the voiceless. The World Wide Web; a colossal stage upon which stories of despair, suffering, misfortune, persecution as well as bravery, joy and hope, can be retold to a potentially vast audience. If just one person’s eyes are prised open to see the issues faced by marginalised societies, something has been achieved.

NGOs and the Roma community in the Czech Republic have embraced the opportunities of cyberspace – blogs, news reports, commentaries, photos, event announcements and English speaking updates are uploaded continuously. The internet has become THE means to expose deprivation and discrimination, to demonstrate what is being done to generate change, to enable the communication and discussion of new ideas, to promote the Romany language and culture…the list goes on. Sadly, there is a rather large BUT, one which became all too evident as I visited the NGO Romodrom as they set up their summer camp for socially deprived Roma children.

I am still struggling to find the words that adequately describe my weekend in the Czech countryside with this most extraordinary group of people. Music, crackling campfires, laughter, delicious food, patience and generosity triggered a thawing of the language impasse and I began to understand just a little more of life as a Roma in the Czech Republic. I hope that blogs to come will allow me to share it.

The one thing I can promise is that the letters that appear on the screen before you in forthcoming entries will NOT always be accompanied by vivid photographs. I would like you to remember why, why an eagerness to converse coexists with a reluctance to be caught on film. The reason in a nutshell? The internet. That same tool that gives voice to the voiceless also gives voice to hate. Facebook, Youtube, Myspace, Twitter and online forums: as the Roma use the new platforms to air grievances, their appetite for change and pride in their culture, the far-right also take advantage of the opportunities cyberspace has to offer. I do not wish to turn this into a debate about the boundaries of free speech, but the freedom is undoubtedly a right which comes with responsibility. The intimidation of those who have taken up the enormous challenge of ending the plight of the Roma by posting vulgar and abusive commentaries on the web is cowardly and simply wrong.

Black: Less a tale of temperamental camera work and more a story of fear.

Remember this black box when reflecting on sparse blog entries. The internet opens many doors, yet particularly for the Roma – where problems such as unemployment, ghettoisation and a lack of education are compounded by (and so often also a consequence of) entrenched prejudice, what lies beyond can’t unequivocally be labelled “progress”.

Džanas peskero drom - we know our way: The slogan of Romodrom, a Czech NGO protecting the rights of Roma and other socially vulnerable groups and helping integrate disadvantaged members into society. I first met the organisation’s Chairwoman when I visited Romodrom’s base in Prague…

Stepping off the bustling street, I entered an infinitely busier office. Ms. Marie Gailova strode briskly towards me sporting an infectious smile and proudly wearing her determination and generosity laden personality on her sleeve. A warm handshake was followed by an enthusiastic introduction to the organisation she had set up in 2001 following her work in a suburb of Prague called Uhrineves. 15 Romany families had been living in a ghetto without running water, electricity, gas or adequate food provisions after their source of employment - a brick kiln, had been closed down. The children received no education and appalling living conditions were accompanied by exclusion from mainstream society. Ms. Gailova soon realised that resolving the housing situation was only the start. Her fieldwork convinced Ms. Gailova that more needed to be done to address the complex social problems of individual families. Romodrom was founded to do just that. In an interview at the NGO’s summer camp around 40km outside of Prague, Ms.Gailova explained to me the organisation’s activities and the challenges it faces:

1 step 2 step 3 step 4…tired baby screams, a mother sighs…17, 18, 19…smell of simmering onions diffuses up the stairwell…45, 46…lovers part with a kiss…79, 80, 81…blaring TV laughter fills the airwaves…93, 94…key turns in lock; home sweet home. I’m still weighing up the pros and cons of living on the 6^th floor, but the one thing mounting those steps does guarantee (aside from a racing pulse) is time for reflection.

I spent last weekend with the organization Romodrom as they prepared for their summer camp for socially deprived Roma children. I am at present stirring the cauldron of adjectives and won’t start serving until I get a mix that accurately captures the generosity, music, campfire stories, laughter, good food and beautiful countryside to which I was treated. Instead, I turn to staircase contemplations and one particular niggle that dominates my climb to flat no. 24, namely that I am advocating for the rights of an invisible minority.

As I have become more familiar with the city and its inhabitants, I am struck by the lack of awareness about the situation of the Roma. Unlike the unavoidable swarms of tourists, Roma – living mainly in one particular city district, Žižkov – remain out of sight, out of mind for the majority of Prague’s population. The picture is similar elsewhere in the country. Aside from allowing prejudices to fester, geographical concentration ensures that statistics which stick out like a sore thumb on paper (up to 56% of Roma of working age are neither employed nor actively looking for a job) remain in reality unseen by most. The incessant application of the label ‘different‘ is accompanied by little firsthand experience and an element of apathy; the d word used as an explanation for the Roma’s difficulties which ‘just are’.

A media campaign by Dutch photographer Juul Hondius in 1998 aimed at stimulating public debate on racial violence and discrimination in the Czech Republic against Roma. Provocative posters covered city walls fighting what was described as a preference to ignore by making Roma visible on the streets of Prague.

Every day romanies face racism. This is not the solution. So please think and stop racism. Photo Credit: Juul Hondius.

A follow-up project photographed the posters sometime later in order to document positive/negative response to the campaign. I’ll leave you to interpret the results for yourselves but for me, they are a vivid illustration of how the pervasiveness of the Roma plight is intertwined with society’s inherently short attention span.

Tolerance?...or apathy? Photo Credit: Juul Hondius.

Blog references to my boss - the pragmatic yet determined Mr. Ivan Veselý, have until now been preoccupied with his nicotine intake. I’ve hesitated in devoting an entry to him sooner because I feel my words can only do the subject matter an injustice. Only now do I realize that the wait for the last embers in Ivan’s overflowing ash tray to die out is in vain; his wealth of personal experience and the brilliant inferences he draws from it are endless and will never fit nice and neatly into a single post.

Born in 1965 in a Roma camp in present-day eastern Slovakia, Mr. Veselý went on to become a professional soldier in the Slovak Socialist Republic, reaching the post of first lieutenant. After the Velvet Revolution Veselý himself fell victim to neo-Nazi violence. The incident in 1994 alerted him to the extent of the challenges facing Roma in the Czech Republic and convinced him to engage further with their plight. He has since emerged as a magnetic, dynamic and controversial figure who has made numerous concrete, positive steps attempting to make the life of Czech Roma easier.

Veselý’s unique outlook, which stems from his equally distinctive background, sets him apart and makes him a key asset to the promotion of Roma Rights. I myself came to Prague aware of my well embedded preconceptions of the accepted norms of democracy, equality and justice. Mr. Veselý does not shy away from reminding me of this and persistently urges me to think outside that little box otherwise known as the western education system.

The interview with which I leave you for now I shot last week at Dženo. It is intended to introduce the man himself, give another perspective on the Roma problematic and provide a taste of the work of the Dženo Association.  

Without further ado I say nashledanou and present to you Mr. Ivan Veselý:

Bus timetables in London? Don’t bother. The phrase ‘just like London buses’ is no mere figure of speech: those loveable red double-deckers just do come along in twos…or threes, or fours…  A drop of humour, an ounce of patience and a pinch of apathy is the only antidote.

Bus timetables in Switzerland? One minute delay equates to scandal. The only downside is that impeccable punctuality may inadvertently induce intolerance in even the most well-trained Londoner.

Timetables and Roma? Has Christina finally lost it? Feel free to question my sanity and in the meantime I’ll get to the point. Dividing much of my time between Switzerland and the UK I have become aware not only of subtle cultural differences but also the semi-automatic process of adaption one undergoes as one travels. We’re no chameleons, but we do adjust to certain norms – bus timetable credibility as well as the more profound.

The general perception in Europe is that Roma refuse to conform to social standards; they may have adjusted their tolerance levels in accordance with the reliability of buses but they insist on pursuing lifestyles destructive to majority values. How to overcome social inequalities? Roma just need to adapt, conform, assimilate, evolve, integrate. Bingo, problem solved.

Oh if only upward social mobility was as fluid as bus punctuality tolerance levels. Using ‘difference’ to explain Roma impoverishment, social tension and conflicts, migration, and the failure of integration initiatives detracts from the fact that Roma are excluded from the very means that would eliminate their social marginalisation, such as education and employment.

Romodrom is a partner organisation of the Dzeno Association which directly addresses the hurdles that stand in the way of progress. At Romodrom, they brush aside futile chicken-or-the-egg-type-discussions on social deprivation to address its root causes. Their work includes counselling prisoners and their families, social work and programs for children which focus on improving Czech language skills. Having been given the opportunity to observe the work of Romodrom over the coming months, I hope in future blogs to elaborate on their efforts as well as the scale of the challenges ahead. So stay tuned.  

Wait! What about bus timetables in Prague I hear you cry? I think it suffices to say one neither has to resort to the London cocktail of wit, patience and indifference nor fight the onset of intolerance like in Switzerland.