The recent view that control of a Moldovan bank has been transferred to Canada by a Dublin-registered company with apparent Russian mafia connections, and the unhappy experience of 19 Moldovan workers detained in Mountjoy, draw attention to perhaps the least-known country in Europe.
One of the smallest states to emerge from the Soviet Union, at half the size of Ireland, Moldova is now officially poorer even than Albania.
Severe economic difficulties, a crisis of identity associated in part with language and with the nation's multi-ethnic composition, a lingering dispute with a secessionist region, and a political system that gives the voters little opportunity to influence the politicians: these are some of the continuing problems besetting a country that some say is simply unviable. The Economist asked plaintively last July: "Can Moldova get worse?"
It's a question Moldova's people are asking as they face early parliamentary elections on February 25th, with a presidential election by the new parliament shortly afterwards. These elections come at a critical time: the IMF and World Bank have repeatedly had to stave off the state's bankruptcy, and an official recently observed that the country is just not attractive to investors, who see it as "an extremely corrupt state".
Under Romanian rule between the two world wars, and with a Romanian-speaking majority, the country was Sovietised after the war. A prime agricultural area specialising in tobacco production, fruit and vegetable bottling and wine and brandy production, it now acquired industry, relying on materials from the rest of the Soviet Union. Energy production, clothing and footwear, iron and steel, cement, washing machines, tractor assembly and armaments manufacture were all developed, with a concentration in the "left bank" territory on the Ukrainian side of the River Dniester.
When the Soviet Union fell apart in the 1980s, pro-Romanians campaigned for unification with the western neighbour, and the authorities in the capital, Kishonev (renamed Chisinau), were among the first to declare independence after the anti-Gorbachev coup in August 1991.
This precipitated a declaration of independence by the Russian-dominated left bank, and the establishment of the self-styled Dniester Moldovan Republic, which still exists as an unreconstructed Soviet enclave, its capital city, Tiraspol, recognised by no one. A brief war in July 1992 was quickly ended by the Russian army's intervention, but not before scores of martyrs had been created and attitudes entrenched. Desultory peace negotiations continue, with Russia, Ukraine and the OSCE involved (plus efforts by a Belfast group), but so far to no avail.
Another area in the south, inhabited by Turkish Christians, the Gagauz, lives uneasily with a kind of constitutional autonomy.
Meanwhile, in the capital, the political elite has been rent with jealousies, corruption and incompetence, and has largely failed to meet people's needs. Learning from scratch to run an independent country, trying for the first time ever to make its way in the world, they have undoubtedly made mistakes. But circumstances don't make it easy.
Deprived of access to the breakaway area (where 40 per cent of the industrial capacity is located), Moldova is hard pressed to survive: tomato and apple juice, walnut and honey, wine and cognac, cannot support the needs of four million inhabitants. Severe drought last spring and hard frosts in November seriously affected last year's harvest and threaten this year's.
The World Bank and the IMF, in granting vital financial support, have required Moldova to meet all the requirements of the new century with no adequate preparation. Privatisation, competition, elimination of subsidies and general withdrawal by the state from economic activities have left citizens struggling, while foreign criminals have made millions. The border at the Dniester is scarcely policed, so that smuggling of tobacco, alcohol, weapons, and all manner of other goods, is rife. Some estimates put the level of black market activity as high as 80 per cent.
Ordinary citizens can merely try to survive. The political system is such that, once an election is over, politicians have no further need to consult their electors. Selected by their party, they are are seen as playing power games in defiance of the people's real needs. The government, chosen by a prime minister appointed by the president, finds it hard to get its programme through parliament, where members are polarised into the communists and their supporters and various anticommunist parties.
Meanwhile, President Petru Lucinschi, elected in December 1996, has been working for a presidential republic. After an inconclusive referendum in May 1996, he continued his campaign, exacerbating the standoff between himself and parliament, which last July finally rejected his proposals. The resulting political crisis has led, after much manoeuvring by all sides, to early elections.
Whether this will achieve much is doubtful. With 17 parties and blocs running a dirty campaign for the 101-member parliament, and every prospect that the communists will again emerge as the largest bloc (they held 40 seats in the last assembly), a shaky coalition will probably emerge, continuing past uncertainties
With such problems, it is not surprising that the rest of the world pays little attention. Since March 1999, the official long-term aspiration has been to join the EU.
But there is a strong yearning for regenerated ties with Russia. Moldova is caught between East and West, and the West shows scant regard for their plight, not prepared to risk involvement in a potentially unstable country. No wonder ordinary Moldovans shrug their shoulders and take any opportunity to seek a better life elsewhere.
Ron Hill is Professor of Comparative Government in Trinity College, Dublin. He has been visiting Moldova since 1967.