Life on the edge of war: the Moldovan activist helping Ukraine’s refugees find new homes
Three-quarters of a million refugees have crossed Ukraine’s border with Moldova since Russia invaded. A year ago, Constanta Dohotaru volunteered to assemble food parcels for them; today, she helps to run a multi-organisational peace initiative, raising funds and providing support for thousands. The human rights campaigner talks about how the “small country with a big heart” responded to the crisis, the toll that activism has taken on her mental health – and why Moldova’s own fight against corruption still goes on.
A zoom screen with dozens of people is reflected in Constanta Dohotaru's round glasses. She is sitting at her computer in the open-plan office of Community Centre 151, a historic building in the old city centre of the Moldovan capital which used to house the Ukrainian Embassy. It is now a place for shelter and leisure for Ukrainian women, young people and children.
Joining forces to help Ukrainian refugees
Constanta, 32, is one of the founders of the 'Moldova for Peace' initiative consisting of five non-governmental organisations (NGOs) which have joined forces to help refugees arriving from Ukraine. She is tall, brunette and dressed in black, with a short fringe which she cuts herself with nail scissors when she feels she needs a change, which is often after 10 pm. "Then I wake up in the morning and realize that it is very crooked and that it was a mistake," she says, laughing.
Recently, one of the Moldova for Peace NGOs, called "Laolalta", opened a small library of donated books here in the Community Centre. With support from UNHCR, Constanta and her team have also opened a "Blue Dot" there: a safe place for refugee mothers and children where they can receive psychological support, legal advice and help in case of gender-based violence.
A personal commitment to volunteering
"In the first month of the war, a Ukrainian refugee woman came to Chisinau with her husband, a Moldovan. My colleagues heard him shouting and insulting her," she recalls. "They talked to her, realized the seriousness of the situation and organized transportation to help her get away from him."
Constanta learned about civic activism when she was 15 and attended a training session with friends on the importance of volunteering. "There I understood the importance of community service, how many people are disadvantaged and don't have the same privileges I do," she says. Her mother and grandmother were her role models. "They carried our family during the Soviet era and after its collapse," she recalls.
Her father was an artist and on the road most of the time, working on his paintings and travelling abroad. "The '90s were tough. My mother was chief accountant, picking up huge workloads to support us, so a lot of the time my grandma and grandpa took care of me," she says.
Her grandmother sent her to school, worked at the college as a professor of mathematics, physics and astronomy, then picked her up from school and made lunch for everyone while Constanta did her homework. Her grandfather was a scientist and spent a lot of time with her after work. "He taught me about atoms, molecules and oxygen as a child," Constanta says. "We solved puzzles in his garage, played cards and read." This period left its mark on her. "I realized how important financial independence is for women."
Corruption at university lead Constanta to Romania
To balance her longing for artistic self-realisation and her need for financial freedom, Constanta decided to become an architect. But after spending a month at a Moldovan university, she became disillusioned. "There was constant talk in the corridors about having to bribe your way through exams and some professors hinted at this openly. It was terrible."
She was accepted at a university in Timisoara, Romania, and moved abroad. After graduating, she got her first job in Malta, working in urban planning and research. "There, I had my first depressive episode," she says. "I started to ask myself what I really wanted to do with my life."
After a year, she returned to Moldova. Constanta got a job at a local architect's office, where she worked on restoring historic buildings, including the National Museum of Fine Arts and the Organ Hall. Instead of building something new, she wanted to restore something old.
"It is possible to make the state listen"
"But I experienced deals being made under the table for important projects. I was paid a measly salary, about $250, most of it in an envelope," Constanta says. "I experienced one disappointment after another". A few months later, in 2017, she and her friends founded a protest movement called "Occupy Guguta", which drew international attention to the problem of corruption in Moldova. It started as an attempt at saving the building in Chisinau's central park , which housed the beloved "Guguta" Café during the Soviet regime, from demolition.
In time, it transformed into a pro-democracy and anti-oligarchy movement, calling for free and fair elections and respect for the rule of law. The activists demonstrated with improvised musical instruments on the boulevard in Chisinau. Constanta drummed on a bucket. "It was a school of protest. I learned to interact with the state, using my rights and guerrilla activism," she says. "At some point, the authorities had to respond to us and they did. We communicated through public discussions, official requests and events we invited them to. The state is a very slow, bureaucratic organism. But it is possible to make it listen." This experience still shapes her today.
According to UNHCR, there are currently 109,000 people living in Moldova who were displaced from Ukraine. Since the beginning of the war, more than 780,000 border crossings have been recorded at the Moldovan border, including people seeking protection in EU countries. Only a few of them are staying in local refugee centres, seeking shelter through social media and with the help of NGOs.
Establishing refugee aid infrastructure is a challenge
Accommodation is still the biggest problem, despite international assistance. There are more than 10,000 asylum applications, says Oleg Palii, Executive Director of the Law Center of Advocates (LCA). The LCA is the UNHCR's legal partner in Moldova and is tasked with providing free legal assistance to refugees and asylum seekers. At the beginning of 2022, the team consisted of five people. A year later, it employs more than 100 people. "Before the war, there were at most 20 lawyers in Moldova who specialized in asylum law," says Palii. "Now there are more than 70 at the LCA alone."
The humanitarian crisis on the Moldovan-Ukrainian border has tested the newly elected pro-European government under President Maia Sandu. "We want to help," says Palii, "but without more financial support from abroad, we can't give much to the people."
At the start of Russia's invasion of Ukraine, Moldova, with its population of 2.9 million, made headlines around the world as one of "the poorest countries in Europe", whose citizens were taking in the most Ukrainians per capita, offering them food, shelter and clothing. The Moldovan government took advantage of this wave of sympathy and developed a campaign called "a small country with a big heart".
"The official message is that refugees are welcome"
Not everyone bought this narrative, including Vitalie Sprinceana, a researcher from Chisinau and co-founder of the 'Moldova for Peace' initiative. "The official message is that refugees are welcome," he says. "What they were not saying is that they preferred them to drink a cup of tea at the Palanca border crossing point, get on a free bus to Chisinau, buy a plane ticket, and leave for another country."
Just like Constanta, Sprinceana has been helping displaced Ukrainians since the first days of the war. He was mainly at the border crossings between Moldova and Ukraine. "It was absolute chaos," Sprinceana recalls. "We had to improvise; we were inexperienced. I have never worked in crisis or war conditions. I'm not a psychologist, but if a man is crying because he just found out his son died at the front, I help and grieve with him."
Constanta runs the "department for everything"
Constanta, too, helped wherever she was needed. In April, she worked in a food distribution camp, assembling and distributing care packages for Ukrainians. Now she is building a network with international supporters. In November, Constanta attended an international conference of feminists from around the world to raise more funds for women-specific projects in Eastern Europe. Her colleagues say she runs the "department for everything".
One of the projects she helped to launch is Community Centre 151, where Ukrainians can take part in group therapy sessions, Romanian and English courses, watch films or do handicrafts together. Women can leave their children in the care of a baby-sitter for a few hours so they can go job hunting or just have a rest. Early on, the team developed an online platform called Dopomoha.md, where Moldovans can offer help: toys, clothes, shelter or transportation for Ukrainians. More than 200,000 people have received help in this way. "We mediate between the government, society and international organisations," explains Sprinceana.
Overexertion and depression are a problem for activists and volunteers
This activism has taken a toll on Constanta's health. In August 2022, while on a work trip in Spain, she had to go to hospital for two days. "The doctors said it was some kind of intestinal virus that became aggressive due to overexertion," she says. Days came when she could not leave her bed, when she could only work on her "paint by numbers" kit with Gustav Klimt reproductions.
Constanta struggles to balance life and work to this day, taking antidepressants and going to therapy. In her spare time, she sews an "ie" - the traditional blouse of Moldovan and Romanian culture made of white cotton and decorated with embroidery, which is now included in UNESCO's list of "intangible cultural heritage". She uses burgundy and gold threads for her intricately designed circular motifs. "Now I know when to take a day off. I don't break down completely anymore," Constanta says.
According to a recent poll by the Institute of Public Policy, almost a third of Moldovans justify the Russians' invasion of Ukraine. Many have been convinced by Kremlin propaganda that claims Russia wants to rid Ukraine of fascists.
"Many Ukrainians do not feel safe in Moldova," says Palii. "They fear that the war will spill over." In late November, Russian bombardment of Ukrainian infrastructure caused the entire country to lose electricity for several hours. The activists of 'Moldova for Peace' bought generators for Community Centre 151, so that their hundreds of visitors would never have to stay in the dark. "The power cuts remind us that the war in Ukraine affects Moldova, too," says Constanta.
