PUBLIC criticism about the rising number of homeless young people turning
to crime and living rough on the streets of the capital has finally forced
the Kremlin to take action, reports Ben Aris from Moscow.
Sasha, 12, Andrei, 13 and Kolya, 14, wander the streets around Yaroslavsky
station in Moscow. When they can beg or steal enough money, they buy glue
to sniff from a station stallholder. At night, they compete for sleeping
space above one of the metro air-vents, as the temperature plunges far
below zero.
An estimated 50,000 homeless children live like this in Moscow's streets,
slipping into lives of petty crime, drug-taking and prostitution. As winter
bites, the more resourceful have found their way into the relative warmth
of the capital's sewer system, risking disease and carrying it into the
heart of the city centre. Abandoned to squalor and accustomed to living
outside the law, these bezprizorniki, or neglected ones, arouse as much
fear as sympathy in passers-by.
Some, such as Sasha, have fled a family home where alcoholism is rampant.
Others have absconded from the often brutal regimes at the 800 state-run
orphanages. Most have two economic options: begging or crime.
Terrified by the marauding packs of teenagers who stalk the train stations
and shopping malls of the city, ordinary Muscovites have long pushed for
radical action to remedy a social malaise that, until now, the Kremlin
chose to ignore. Last week, stung by the public criticism, President Vladimir
Putin belatedly responded.
The president told his prime minister, Mikhail Kasyanov, that "the number
of homeless children and the criminalisation of teenagers has reached threatening
proportions in the country. Urgent measures are required". Later, on national
television, he issued a public rebuke to Russia's social affairs minister,
Valentina Matviyenko, for doing too little to solve the problem. A government
inquiry has been rapidly launched.
Some steps to curb the activities of the homeless gangs have already
been taken. Bands of children were recently rounded up and ejected from
central sewer networks. New legislation is also being planned to toughen
up the status of parental obligations to children. Seven new Moscow orphanages
are to be built during the next year and Russia's beleaguered social services
will be provided with dedicated funds to deal with 'families in crisis'.
The experiences of Sasha, Andrei and Kolya, suggest that legislation
and new orphanages may not be enough. In the economic and social chaos
of the new Russia, becoming a homeless Muscovite can seem a highly desirable
option.
More than one million children are homeless across Russia. But Moscow,
where average incomes are five times the national average, acts as a national
magnet. The Independent Street Children Centre estimates that only six
per cent of homeless children in the capital are actually Muscovites.
Sasha and his friends arrived at Yaroslavsky station about four years
ago, after leaving the small rural town of Kazovanova. By Russian standards
they now have a good life, earning between 400-500 roubles (?8-?10) a day
from begging on the metro - an income just below Russia's average wage.
"Life at home was bad because of all the drinking," says Sasha, while
munching some sunflower seeds which the boys had just stolen from an elderly
stallholder. "I had to get out so I came here."
Kolya's father left before he was born. Unable to cope, his mother abandoned
him to the state orphanage system. He ran away to Moscow when he was nine.
For now the priority is to survive the winter. Moscow has just suffered
a week of nights where the temperature has dropped to -4F (-20C) and temperatures
are still below zero. As Sasha, Kolya and Andrei begin to size up possible
sleeping spaces, a group of teenage girls, who also live at the station,
walk through the snow to say hello. One, a girl of 16, maternally embraces
Andrei and gives him a kiss.
"This is my family now, says Sasha, defiantly.