Vilnius buying Heroin

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Vilnius buying Heroin

When a friend told Robertas he could get work as a security guard in Ireland, he jumped at the chance. He was told not to worry about the paperwork — someone else would fill out all the forms, ensuring that everything was legitimate. In Dublin, Robertas was taken to meet a Lithuanian man who confiscated his passport and said he would now need to head south to the city of Cork, where he would be working. Drunk, and with no English, Robertas hopped on a bus and hoped for the best. In Cork, things only got worse. Robertas was taken to the squalid basement where he would be living, then was told to accompany his new supervisor as he met with people on the street. Robertas soon realized what his new job really was: selling heroin. Reporters spoke to two people who saw the gang's crimes firsthand. One witness, who asked not to be named for their safety, said they saw a trafficked woman have her stomach sliced as punishment for eating without permission. By the mids, the Russians had become the first organized group to sell heroin in the country. Irish and Lithuanian authorities have identified at least 65 people, the vast majority of them Lithuanian men, whom the Russians forced to sell drugs in Ireland and Northern Ireland between and The group primarily preyed on the vulnerable: alcoholics, drug addicts, and those in financial straits. Some, like Robertas, were recruited via word of mouth, while others responded to advertisements online and in Lithuanian newspapers. A used needle on the ground in Belfast. Promised a well-paying construction job, he was brought from Lithuania to Dublin before being put on a bus heading north to Belfast. At first, things seemed normal in his new home, but when he went to take a nap he was woken by the sound of a man being beaten in the neighboring room, begging for his life. That's how I became a slave in Northern Ireland. Lukas said he was forcibly injected with heroin to keep him subservient. Every day he was blindfolded and driven to different locations around Belfast, where he would sell for hours before being picked up and taken back to the house. When Lukas finally escaped, gang members found him and almost beat him to death. As soon as police took one Lithuanian off the streets, another would replace them. A former gang member said the group relocated dealers that the police identified, creating a conveyor belt of trafficked people around the island of Ireland. Gintas Vengalis, who was convicted of working for the Russians in , holding a machine gun. Credit: Sunday World. Five supervisors received orders from two lieutenants, who arranged the distribution of drugs bought from Dublin gangs. Irish police started investigating the Russians in , but court records show Klemauskas had been on their radar for several low-level offenses for at least six years by then. Lithuanian police seized properties worth more than , euros belonging to Klemauskas, his partner, their friends, family, and other affiliates of the gang during the raids, according to documents seen by VICE World News and OCCRP. Klemauskas, who is currently awaiting trial in Lithuania, and his lawyers did not respond to requests for comment. His partner declined to comment when reached by reporters. The crime boss said he could take in up to 10, euros a day from selling heroin and crack, according to one former gang member. Tadas said the gang sold drugs over the phone, where buyers could call up giving their location, as if they were calling a taxi. The runners would then go to meet the clients, their mouths filled with wraps of drugs. If police stopped them, they were told to swallow what they were carrying. A guy leaves one day and may not return. Tadas said he left the gang after witnessing its brutal methods. Despite the horrors the gang inflicted, prosecuting alleged members is likely to be a lengthy and challenging process. Lukas and Robertas said they have received little or no protection from the authorities since they managed to escape the clutches of the Russians. They now live in hiding for fear their former captors will catch up to them. Meanwhile, other vulnerable people are still being preyed upon by traffickers. Advertisements exactly like the ones the gang placed in newspapers are still commonplace in Lithuania. Related Articles. They remain behind bars, despite warnings from the Organization of American States that their rights are being violated. March 30th, Drugs Gangs Police Operation. Ireland , Lithuania. Lukas initially refused to sell drugs for the gang, but they locked him up until he gave in. Join the fight. Hold power to account. Your cookie preferences. We use cookies to improve your experience by storing data about your preferences, your device or your browsing session. We also use cookies to collect anonymized data about your behaviour on our websites, and to understand how we can best improve our services. To find our more details, view our Cookie Policy. Audience Measurement Cookies. Essential Cookies. Accept my choices. Accept all. Close and accept.

The Lithuanian Gang that Took Over Ireland’s Heroin Trade Using Baltic Slaves

Vilnius buying Heroin

There are heroin-injectors from the slums of Nairobi, opium-eaters from the streets of Nepal, and crack-smokers from Kabul, alongside a number of health workers, human rights campaigners, and politicians. Like reading about drugs? For four days, the Radisson is a bubble of immunity for narcotics fans from Russia, Thailand, Vietnam, and other states whose citizens are beaten, slung in remote detention centers, and denied basic health care because of their drug habits. Outside, I talk to Sergey Uchaev, a year-old drug user activist and former heroin user from Uzbekistan. The Russian authorities have a track record of spying on activists in former states. Sergey had his leg amputated 13 years ago because of infections caused by shooting up. He was 17 at the time and had already been injecting for three years. He tells me he had no idea it was addictive or that you could get diseases like HIV and hepatitis C from using needles. Later in life, he was sentenced to five years in prison after he was caught with a spliff. Anastasia Teper, 30, who works for a charity called Vocal that helps young drug users, tells me in a thick Brooklyn accent that coming to this conference so close to Russia means her life has come full circle. In the early s, her impoverished Jewish-Gypsy family fled from Moscow, fearing persecution. They took refuge in New York, and at 15 she ended up falling in love with a heroin user, six years older than her. By 18, she was speed-balling and had a full-blown crack and heroin addiction. I had a death wish. Daniel Tinga is from Nairobi in Kenya. I was secretly using 1. I got very depressed. In order to buy heroin, I started dealing. I was also a mugger. I think I have the build for that job. Fred, a quick-talking Frenchman, has tigers tattooed on his neck. Perhaps not uncoincidentally, he spent his 20s DJing on the Paris catwalk scene, regularly hoovering up four to five grams of coke a day—for nine years. Life continued; it was cocaine, clubbing, and sex. I thought about that product, cocaine, more than my own existence. My future was to die young. I was depressed, but I had so much fun with cocaine. Brun Gonzalez, 24, also uses his experiences to help other people. His body is a walking drugs well. By his late teens, he was injecting cocaine, mescaline, and opium in the same session. He had become a psychonaut —someone who explores the mind using an array of new and old psychoactive substances. And he did. It kept me functioning how I wanted to function, it suited me. I have a very strong bond with drugs. The strange thing about Abdur Raheem, 49, from Kabul, is that after living one of the toughest lives imaginable, he is the mellowest person here. He started eating opium in an Iranian prison where he had been sentenced to 12 years after getting into a fight so he could numb a painful leg, allowing him to play soccer in the exercise yard. An injecting abscess in his groin led him to a new drug clinic set up by Medecins de Monde, and Abdur became the first Afghan to be treated with methadone. After seven detoxes, he quit methadone, has been off it for two years and is now part of the Afghan Drug Users Movement. Expecting a harsh rebuke, I ask him if he uses any drugs nowadays. Elsewhere, there are screenings of short films, one of which is called Carpet Drugged. Footage shows children in a hut in an Afghan village being fed opium by their parents to stem the pain from weaving carpets all day. When Bikash was caught with some heroin in his teens, he was interrogated and beaten for 53 days before spending nine months in a jail where half the inmates were there on trumped-up drug charges. There are other presentations about child glue-sniffers in Mombasa and teenage mephedrone-injectors in Bucharest. Having a conference about how best to help people with severe health problems is a perfectly sensible and laudable thing to do. But what makes a drug users conference at the Radisson hotel in Vilnius so absurd is the absurdity of the drug laws that brought these people here in the first place. None of the people I met were monsters. They seemed like good people who had suffered deep unhappiness, put themselves through a chemical wringer, and managed to come out fighting. By and large, they seemed to have done far more damage to themselves than to anyone else. Yet, what became clear from chatting to them is that, wherever they came from, the state had made it harder for them to survive and escape their situation for one reason: because they took drugs. Follow Max on Twitter: Narcomania. By Nick Thompson. By Sammi Caramela. By Paige Gawley. Share: X Facebook Share Copied to clipboard. Videos by VICE.

Vilnius buying Heroin