IIn the rust zone of northeastern Hungary, a new economy is flourishing, built on human blood. Private companies have found a way to profit from the desperation of the region’s most marginalized population, the Gypsies. For many, donating blood plasma has become a lifeline, a grim way to survive in a landscape of chronic unemployment and deprivation.
Plasma donation is a process in which the liquid part of the blood is collected from the donor, while the red blood cells and platelets are returned to the donor by a machine. In Hungary, plasma donations have exploded in recent years. There are more than 50 plasma centers across the country, with companies collecting up to 2,600 liters of plasma per week in facilities that run six days a week, often at full capacity. By law, donors can only be paid 7,500 forints (£15.30) in cash, but there are no regulations on additional incentives. As a result, plasma centers have gamified the process, offering points, bonuses and lottery entries as rewards for frequent donations. On every 10th, 20th and 30th visit, backers can receive shopping vouchers or be entered into drawings for prizes like e-scooters or (pun intended) plasma TVs.
These centers are mainly concentrated in eastern Hungary, where unemployment is high and locals – many of whom are Roma – struggle to make ends meet. For the poorest, plasma donation has become a regular, albeit dangerous, form of income. “It’s like gambling,” a local donor told me. “You keep coming back, hoping for that prize.”
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Pétervására. A woman watches her daughter play after donating plasma to buy her a birthday present, Pétervására, Hungary
The lack of regulation in the system is clearly visible, contributing to the creation of a wild west of healthcare providers in these underserved regions. Although Hungarian law only allows plasma donations twice a week, there is no effective mechanism to track how often individuals donate. Plasma centers do not share donor information with each other, and many donors visit different centers in the same week to game the system and maximize their income. Some medical professionals have been accused of turning a blind eye to this practice. “Doctors can see from my arms that I donated to another center the day before, but they still take my plasma. For them it’s all about the numbers,” said one donor.
It is claimed that the medical teams at the plasma centers often overlook the most basic health conditions when selecting donors just to increase the number of donors. I met a young man, now 18, who said he started donating plasma when he was just 16 – two years under the legal age limit. He and his mother regularly commute for two hours from their village of Tornanádaska to the provincial town of Miskolc, where four different plasma centers operate within walking distance of each other. “We both donate,” the mother explained. “This is how we feed our family of ten.”
For many in this region, plasma donation is no longer just a source of shame – it is a necessary evil. Outside a donation center in Miskolc, I spoke to a Roma woman who waited with her child while her husband gave plasma: “We only get enough money to buy food for a few days,” she said in an anxious whisper. must come back again.”
The stigma surrounding plasma donation is clear. Many donors were reluctant to be photographed and agreed to show only their arms, covered in needle marks. One donor, who has befriended the doctor at the center he visits, told me, “She said she would never give plasma herself, not for any amount.”
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Miskolc, September. After donating plasma, a man, still pale, explains how he fainted during the process
He went on to describe his own experiences. “I just fainted during donations because I didn’t drink enough water beforehand, and my immune system isn’t what it used to be. But what choice do I have? When there is no work, I have to feed my family – literally with my blood.”
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Miskolc, September. Hungary has a legal limit of 45 plasma donations per year, but this man found a way to bypass the system by donating 300 times. Despite his unhealthy appearance, he insisted he was doing well
In the Northeast, where public transportation is unreliable and employment opportunities are scarce, some plasma donors travel long distances to maximize their income. On a bus to the former mining town of Ózd I met a man who was driving an hour and a half from Pétervására. He looked weak and weighed barely more than 100 pounds. “Yesterday I gave plasma in Salgótarján,” he said, pointing with his hands in the opposite direction and explaining that he needed money to buy a gift for his daughter’s birthday. His wife, he added, did the same.
Another donor from the large city of Debrecen, where six plasma centers operate, talked about his own astonishing experience. Over the course of a year, he had donated plasma more than 300 times – far more than the legal limit of 45 donations per year. “I donated 220 liters of plasma in one year, in just one center,” he told me. “The law says that someone can only give 34 liters during that time. But they don’t care about that here. All they care about is the money.”
The lack of oversight and regulation has made it easy for these companies to take advantage of an already vulnerable population. For many Roma in the rust belt, plasma donation is no longer a choice. It’s a matter of survival.
Frequent plasma donors are often blind to the toll it takes on their bodies. In the desperate daily struggle for survival, caring for personal health becomes a distant concern. I can still remember the appearance of the man who had donated more than 300 times: low weight, pale skin, hollow cheeks – the epitome of literally being exhausted. When asked about the impact, he shrugged it off, saying that even though the smallest cold now knocks him down, he still considers himself “healthier than ever.”
This form of self-exploitation is subtly encouraged by companies that often minimize the risks and relentlessly promote the life-saving nature of plasma donation. It’s true that plasma saves lives – but what happens when the rescuer’s health is sacrificed in the process?