Sandu and his son Antonio, in Channel 4's The Romanians Are Coming. Photo: Channel 4
Show Hide image

For many Romanian migrants, the phrase "freedom to move" is contradictory

The director of Channel 4's The Romanians Are Coming describes the choices and the journey faced by Romanians who move to the UK to work.

I spent a year filming Romanians in the process of leaving their country to come and live in ours. I was with them as they wrestled with the idea of leaving their homes; I was with them when they said tearful goodbyes to their wives, their children and their elderly parents; I was with them when they arrived in the "new country"; and I was there as they began to look for work and attempted to build some sort of a life here.

The decision to leave your family and move to another country cannot be an easy one to make. It’s something you would do only if you really needed to. Sandu really needed to. Of all the situations that I encountered on my various trips across Romania, Sandu’s was the worst. He lives in Baia Mare, an old mining city in the north of Romania, situated in a valley and encircled on all sides by hills and mountains. There hasn’t been much mining here since the Romanian Revolution of 1989. Although in recent years the city’s economy has improved, any trickle-down effect fails to reach a 52-year-old Roma gypsy like Sandu.

Sixteen years ago, the mayor of Baia Mare moved Sandu, his wife, their nine children and the rest of their community to social housing on the edge of the city. Over a thousand Roma families were forced to live in one-room apartments, some without running water or electricity. Controversially, a six-foot wall was then built around the site, which was designed, according to the mayor, to prevent traffic accidents. Human rights organisations say this amounts to institutional racism.

It’s impossible not to be a little overwhelmed on your first visit to the site where Sandu lives. This seven-storey shell of an apartment block – half-finished, with bricks missing and gaping holes without glass for windows, and with walls blackened by smoke from wood fires – rises out of a sea of rubbish which completely covers the muddy ground around it. In the middle of the site, a single tap provides fresh water. On my first visit, some young children were playing with a dead dog; they have no toys, someone explained.

If you live here, your options for earning money are few. Some, including the children, collect scrap metal from the numerous derelict buildings, remnants of the old copper-mining industry. Others beg in the city centre. Some of the women travel to Germany or England to work as prostitutes, while their husbands stay behind with the children. Some have given up and now walk around zombie-like, breathing in the fumes of the paint-thinner that they inhale from plastic bags. Every day, Sandu tours the city’s communal dustbins, looking for food. His son is ashamed, but for Sandu there is nothing shameful in providing for your family.

I met Sandu because he was planning to leave Romania to try to improve his life by seeking work abroad. He speaks no English, has no qualifications, and has no special skills that will make him employable, but he is happy to do any job, no matter how monotonous, back-breaking or dirty. According to Sandu you can only die in Romania, and he needs to go to a place where, in his words, "people will welcome and help you". For Sandu that place is England, a land he believes to be populated by gentlemen and ruled by a caring Queen who preaches fairness and equality.

This image of Britain is sadly not one I recognise, especially in relation to immigrants from Romania. The popular perception of people like Sandu is that they come to claim our benefits, steal our jobs and cheat us out of our money. Ukip’s unrelentingly negative politics focusing on Romanian immigration are perhaps one reason why. The press, too, is to blame, as coverage of immigration is often unequivocally negative.

Never once did Sandu profess to be attracted to Britain for any benefits he might receive. He needs a job, his children need him to have a job, and he is willing to go searching for one. Throughout my time filming this series, I found that people wanting to make the move to the new country have usually set their sights on something more than just hand-outs.

The need to move to another country in order to find work is not specific to Sandu’s situation. Although the poverty he lives in is extreme, in the process of making this series I met many people, from many different backgrounds, all hoping to work abroad. When you consider that the average wage in Romania is just under £4,000 a year, and take into account that things cost pretty much the same over there as they do here, perhaps you can understand why.

Mihaila. Photo: Channel 4

Mihaila is a middle-aged, middle class nurse living in the Black Sea coastal city of Constanta, with her husband, her teenage daughter and her elderly mother. Her house is comfortable, she can afford to eat out occasionally, she makes wine from the vines that grow in her garden. Her life is good. The trouble is, her life can’t get any better. She can’t afford to extend her house, or buy her daughter a car, or take her family on a foreign holiday, all those things that it is natural to want.

For Mihaila, and many others like her, Romania is a trap where it’s possible to live, and even live comfortably, but perhaps it’s not possible to do more. Britain offers an opportunity to do the job she is doing now in Romania but for much more money. In this way she shares the thoughts of all those who have ever considered working abroad for a few years in order to be paid more for their efforts. This tends to be more common for those who are young, relatively free, and embarking on their fledgeling careers, but Mihaila is facing this decision as a 50-year-old woman. That takes guts.

Making this series I was struck by the sacrifices people are willing to make to find work. There’s Stefan, who earns pennies as a human statue in Piccadilly Circus, trying to raise enough money for an operation to fix his daughter’s leg. There’s Adi, who works in a car wash for £30 a day and sends so much of his money back to his wife and child that he has had to sleep rough under a bridge for the past six years. That level of commitment and determination is impressive. British people moan that foreigners are taking British jobs, but I wonder how many Brits would be willing to endure what Adi does in order to support their family.

The fundamental right to free movement for EU citizens is important, correct and valuable, but let’s not be blasé. Leaving your family and friends behind as you move 2,000 miles across Europe in the hope of finding a job is not a decision that anyone takes lightly. It’s a scary and painful thing to do. It rips families apart and it destroys communities. It is not something that should have to happen. For many of the Romanians I met, the phrase "freedom to move" is contradictory, as where is the freedom in having no choice but to leave your country to search for work? It’s important and correct that we have that right to free movement, but let’s not confuse the life of a migrant worker with freedom.

James Bluemel is the director of Channel 4's three-part series, The Romanians Are Coming. The programme is produced by KEO films. The first episode airs at 9pm, 17 February

Getty
Show Hide image

Love a good box set? Then you should watch the Snooker World Championships

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. 

People are lazy and people are impatient. This has always been so – just ask Moses or his rock – but as illustrated by kindly old Yahweh, in those days they could not simply answer those impulses and stroll on.

Nowadays, that is no longer so. Twitter, YouTube and listicles reflect a desire for complex and involved issues, expansive and nuanced sports – what we might term quality – to be condensed into easily digestible morsels for effort-free enjoyment.

There is, though, one notable exception to this trend: the box set. Pursuing a novelistic, literary sensibility, it credits its audience with the power of sentience and tells riveting stories slowly, unfolding things in whichever manner that it is best for them to unfold.

In the first episode of the first series of The Sopranos, we hear Tony demean his wife Carmela's irritation with him via the phrase “always with the drama”; in the seventh episode of the first series we see his mother do likewise to his father; and in the 21st and final episode of the sixth and final series, his son uses it on Carmela. It is precisely this richness and this care that makes The Sopranos not only the finest TV show ever made, but the finest artefact that contemporary society has to offer. It forces us to think, try and feel.

We have two principal methods of consuming art of this ilk - weekly episode, or week-long binge. The former allows for anticipation and contemplation, worthy pursuits both, but of an entirely different order to the immersion and obsession offered by the latter. Who, when watching the Wire, didn’t find themselves agreeing that trudat, it's time to reup the dishwasher salt, but we’ve run out, ain’t no thing. Losing yourself in another world is rare, likewise excitement at where your mind is going next.

In a sporting context, this can only be achieved via World Championship snooker. Because snooker is a simple, repetitive game, it is absorbing very quickly, its run of play faithfully reflected by the score.

But the Worlds are special. The first round is played over ten frames – as many as the final in the next most prestigious competition – and rather than the usual week, it lasts for 17 magical days, from morning until night. This bestows upon us the opportunity to, figuratively at least, put away our lives and concentrate. Of course, work and family still exist, but only in the context of the snooker and without anything like the same intensity. There is no joy on earth like watching the BBC’s shot of the championship compilation to discover that not only did you see most of them live, but that you have successfully predicted the shortlist.

It is true that people competing at anything provides compelling drama, emotion, pathos and bathos - the Olympics proves this every four years. But there is something uniquely nourishing about longform snooker, which is why it has sustained for decades without significant alteration.

The game relies on a steady arm, which relies on a steady nerve. The result is a slow creeping tension needs time and space to be properly enjoyed and endured. Most frequently, snooker is grouped with darts as a non-athletic sport, instead testing fine motor skills and the ability to calculate angles, velocity and forthcoming shots. However, its tempo and depth is more similar to Test cricket – except snooker trusts so much in its magnificence that it refuses to compromise the values which underpin it.

Alfred Hitchcock once explained that if two people are talking and a bomb explodes without warning, it constitutes surprise; but if two people are talking and all the while a ticking bomb is visible under the table, it constitutes suspense. “In these conditions,” he said, “The same innocuous conversation becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: ‘You shouldn't be talking about such trivial matters. There is a bomb beneath you and it is about to explode!’”

Such is snooker. In more or less every break, there will at some point be at least one difficult shot, loss of position or bad contact – and there will always be pressure. Add to that the broken flow of things – time spent waiting for the balls to stop, time spent prowling around the table, time spent sizing up the table, time spent cleaning the white, time spent waiting for a turn – and the ability for things to go wrong is constantly in contemplation.

All the more so in Sheffield’s Crucible Theatre. This venue, in its 40th year of hosting the competition, is elemental to its success. Place is crucial to storytelling, and even the word “Crucible” – whether “a ceramic or metal container in which metals or other substances may be melted or subjected to very high temperatures,” “a situation of severe trial”, or Arthur Miller’s searing play – conjures images of destruction, injustice and nakedness. And the actual Crucible is perhaps the most atmospheric arena in sport - intimate, quiet, and home to a legendarily knowledgeable audience, able to calculate when a player has secured a frame simply by listening to commentary through an earpiece and applauding as soon as the information is communicated to them.

To temper the stress, snooker is also something incredibly comforting. This is partly rooted in its scheduling. Working day and late-night sport is illicit and conspiratorial, while its presence in revision season has entire cohorts committing to “just one more quick frame”, and “just one more quick spliff”. But most powerfully of all, world championship snooker triggers memory and nostalgia, a rare example of something that hasn’t changed, as captivating now as it was in childhood.

This wistfulness is complemented by sensory pleasure of the lushest order. The colours of both baize and balls are the brightest, most engaging iterations imaginable, while the click of cue on ball, the clunk of ball on ball and the clack of ball on pocket is deep and musical; omnipresent and predictable, they combine for a soundtrack that one might play to a baby in the womb, instead of whale music or Megadeth.

Repeating rhythms are also set by the commentators, former players of many years standing. As is natural with extended coverage of repetitive-action games, there are numerous phrases that recur:

“We all love these tactical frames, but the players are so good nowadays that one mistake and your opponent’s in, so here he is, looking to win the frame at one visit ... and it’s there, right in the heart of the pocket for frame and match! But where’s the cue ball going! it really is amazing what can happen in the game of snooker, especially when we’re down to this one-table situation.”

But as omniscient narrators, the same men also provide actual insight, alerting us to options and eventualities of which we would otherwise be ignorant. Snooker is a simple game but geometry and physics are complicated, so an expert eye is required to explain them intelligibly; it is done with a winning combination of levity and sincerity.

The only essential way in which snooker is different is the standard of play. The first round of this year’s draw featured eight past winners, only two of whom have made it to the last four, and there were three second-round games that were plausible finals.

And just as literary fiction is as much about character as plot, so too is snooker. Nothing makes you feel you know someone like studying them over years at moments of elation and desolation, pressure and release, punctuated by TV confessions of guilty pleasures, such as foot massages, and bucket list contents, such as naked bungee jumping.

It is probably true that there are not as many “characters” in the game as once there were, but there are just as many characters, all of whom are part of that tradition. And because players play throughout their adult life, able to establish their personalities, in unforgiving close-up, over a number of years, they need not be bombastic to tell compelling stories, growing and undergoing change in the same way as Dorothea Brooke or Paulie Gualtieri.

Of no one is this more evident that Ding Junhui, runner-up last year and current semi-finalist this; though he is only 30, we have been watching him almost half his life. In 2007, he reached the final of the Masters tournament, in which he faced Ronnie O’Sullivan, the most naturally talented player ever to pick up a cue – TMNTPETPUAC for short. The crowd were, to be charitable, being boisterous, and to be honest, being pricks, and at the same time, O’Sullivan was playing monumentally well. So at the mid-session interval, Ding left the arena in tears and O’Sullivan took his arm in consolation; then when Ding beat O’Sullivan in this year’s quarter-final, he rested his head on O’Sullivan’s shoulder and exchanged words of encouragement for words of respect. It was beautiful, it was particular, and it was snooker.

Currently, Ding trails Mark Selby, the “Jester from Leicester” – a lucky escape, considering other rhyming nouns - in their best of 33 encounter. Given a champion poised to move from defending to dominant, the likelihood is that Ding will remain the best player never to win the game’s biggest prize for another year.

Meanwhile, the other semi-final pits Barry Hawkins, a finalist in 2013, against John Higgins, an undisputed great and three-time champion. Higgins looks likely to progress, and though whoever wins through will be an outsider, both are eminently capable of taking the title. Which is to say that, this weekend, Planet Earth has no entertainment more thrilling, challenging and enriching than events at the Crucible Theatre, Sheffield.

0800 7318496