Hosting Refugees

Klaudia Kosicińska

Pictures made by childrens. From Host archive

In the first months of 2022, traveling to the border with humanitarian aid is one form of support, as my interlocutors often mention, but many of them are also opting for a different approach. They are opening the doors of their apartments to female refugees from Ukraine and their children. In public discourse, this phenomenon is described in terms of solidarity and heroism, but in the private spaces of their homes, it takes on more complex meanings. Sharing a home can resemble a family arrangement, albeit without a clearly defined framework. And although hosting was often initiated and managed by women, there were also cases of hosting by men living alone. For some, this is a substitute for closeness, sometimes turning into an emotional burden. Clear preferences are also emerging regarding whom to host – many hosts avoid hosting young women and small children. This stems primarily from fear of potential misunderstandings or accusations. In the case of children, there is also a lack of caregiving skills and a fear of situations requiring special attention. These choices can be interpreted as an attempt to maintain the comfort of both parties, but also as a fear of overcommitment.

Tomasz, for example, was such a person: "I had perhaps not an idea, but rather an expectation, or a desire, to have, for example, an older person with, say, a son and a daughter (...). Meanwhile, I received, in quotation marks, a relatively young woman with two daughters. It was a somewhat more difficult situation for me."

A relatively older person with almost adult children or grandchildren seems "safer" to the male hosts themselves – they are socially perceived as sexually neutral, which puts the male host outside the zone of discomfort and potential suspicion. Especially when sharing the intimate space of the home. In the case of a younger refugee woman, there is also the concern about jealousy and potential rivalry when her husband or partner is far away, across an impassable border, often in the army, but still trying to fulfill his role from a distance. Male hosting is full of pitfalls.

Although Tomasz uses the phrase "more difficult situation," he avoids specifying precisely what that difficulty was. And I, sensitive to any discomfort from my interlocutors, don't ask, understanding what he might have meant.

Tomasz continues: "I also thought it would be nice to have some time together, because that's how I imagined it, to go somewhere together or something. Not necessarily all the time, because we lived together. But it almost never happened."

Refugees and their children often operate at their own pace, determined by longing, uncertainty about the future, and the simultaneous search for work and managing daily life. Tomasz is quick to point out that he doesn't want to generalize and that he "met a special person," which could be interpreted as an attempt to protect both himself and his host from accusations of ungratefulness or lack of commitment.

The feeling of being lost is particularly evident in the relationships of single men with small children. Darek, who works long hours and is often absent from home, noticed that the girl he was hosting began to transfer her emotions toward her absent father onto him. He knew that his occasional appearances and disappearances at the apartment further upset the child. He didn't know how to navigate this situation – he wasn't a father, after all, but he wasn't a completely indifferent roommate either.

So it was safer to adopt a strategy of minimal involvement. This is how Paweł coped: "From the beginning, I didn't plan to get so involved (...), because there are mothers, and they'll take care of these children. I was supposed to be the person in the next room."

However, being on the margins of home life and emotionally absent proves difficult to maintain for several months of living together. The children are happy to see him, and he admits that the experience of returning from work knowing someone is waiting at home is surprising and pleasant for him. Although he isn't part of the family and doesn't aspire to be, he experiences snippets of everyday family life. Some of them seem incomprehensible to him: "I see among friends somewhere that around 7 or 8 p.m., they're probably already putting the kids to bed. But for us, it was completely different: we'd actually still be taking a walk somewhere until late in the evening."

The men who hosted refugee women and their children in their homes suddenly had to navigate new roles, torn between culturally imposed figures of masculinity and their denial, driven by a sense of powerlessness. They were replacing their Ukrainian husbands, simultaneously fearing being labeled as competitors. They provided care for Ukrainian women, exposing themselves to accusations of malicious intent. They oscillated between being part of everyday household life and someone "from the other room."

For most of the men I spoke with, I was the first person with whom they told me they could share this experience. Several years after these events, it was during conversations with me or while preparing for a meeting that they began to approach their experiences with self-reflection, allowing themselves to revisit what had happened.

In February 2022, images from Ukraine flood into homes through phone, laptop, and television screens. This prompts some to take swift action. Among them is Darek:

"Right when the war started, I was already in Ukraine at the beginning of February, driving to the border with a friend in my car. We had the same feeling as probably millions of Poles: sitting there, and yet, oh God, such terrible things are happening right next to us. Such inaction. And I don't have a family, I'm more mobile, I had a car at my disposal."