Surrogacy, Exploitation and Europe’s Legal Gaps

In the heat of Summer 2023, as tourists swarmed Crete’s postcard-perfect beaches, Greek police raided a fertility clinic in the port town of Chania. What they uncovered was a sophisticated operation involving illegal surrogacy and human trafficking. 

I first heard about the case through the Greek community in Melbourne. Some of the commissioning parents involved were known within those circles and word of the investigation in Crete circulated quickly. At first, the details were unclear, but over time, a fuller picture emerged.

According to Greek authorities, nearly 200 women had been brought to Greece from countries like Ukraine, Georgia, Moldova, Albania and Romania. Many were targeted, lured under false pretences and coerced into becoming surrogates or egg donors for “clients” from all over the world. They were housed in highly controlled apartments, kept under constant surveillance and received just a small fraction of the €70,000 – €120,000 that commissioning parents were paying.

The most high-profile raid of its kind in Europe, this case exposed the flaws in Europe’s fragmented surrogacy laws and underscores the imperative for policy reform.

In the absence of a unified legal framework, surrogacy in the EU is regulated individually by each member state, leading to inconsistent and often conflicting policies across the union.

• Permissive (altruistic) frameworks: Countries like Greece, Ireland, Portugal and Cyprus allow surrogacy, but limit compensation to basic expenses.

• Prohibitive laws: Countries including France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Sweden, Bulgaria, Lithuania, Malta, Slovenia and Croatia ban commercial and altruistic surrogacy outright. 

• Legal grey zones: In places like the Czech Republic and Belgium, the absence of clear laws leaves surrogacy in a state of legal ambiguity.

What we have seen is this patchwork of policies creates precisely the conditions under which exploitation can thrive. Citizens of countries where surrogacy is banned can travel to more permissive states to engage surrogates and return home with children, a practice coined “reproductive tourism”. 

Although designed to guard against exploitation, altruistic surrogacy arrangements in Europe often mask profit-driven deals. To meet legal standards, contracts are often falsified, payments concealed and paperwork altered to create the illusion of pre-existing relationships between surrogates and commissioning parents. 

A handful of governments have begun to respond. Spain recently prohibited its embassies from registering children born via surrogacy abroad. Italy has introduced restrictions preventing citizens from traveling overseas for surrogacy. Such arrangements remain the exception rather than the rule. Their rarity also exacerbates the problem of legal uncertainty for children, whose parentage and citizenship can be left in limbo across different EU jurisdictions. 

Meanwhile, the global surrogacy industry is booming. Valued at $21.85 billion in 2024, it’s projected to reach $196 billion by 2034. Europe and North America are expected to drive the bulk of that growth, as demand rises among those facing infertility, some from the LGBTQIA+ community and many constrained by the prohibitions in their own country. 

Clinics in loosely regulated jurisdictions market themselves as affordable and accessible pathways to parenthood. Yet the women whose bodies make these arrangements possible are frequently left without real protections. Pregnancy and childbirth already carry significant physical and psychological risks – risks only heightened by coercion, limited legal protections, poor access to healthcare and the potential emotional toll of surrendering a child. 

There is also the critical issue of informed consent. In the absence of standardised policies, there is little to guarantee that surrogates fully understand the medical procedures and associated risks, their legal obligations and parental rights, or the financial arrangements involved. Equally important is ensuring that consent is genuinely voluntary, free from undue pressure, financial coercion or manipulation. Yet, given that many surrogates come from economically vulnerable backgrounds, the question of whether true, informed consent exists remains pressing. 

Nowhere is this clearer than in Ukraine. Even amid war, the country remains a surrogacy hub, prized for its permissive laws and low costs. Clinics have stayed open despite the war, while the war has intensified the vulnerabilities. Economic desperation, crumbling infrastructure and interrupted healthcare have made these arrangements riskier and more exploitative than ever.

What the Crete case made impossible to ignore is that the fertility industry has become globalised, agile and transactional. Meanwhile, the law remains national, fragmented and often ineffective. In the raid’s aftermath, Greek authorities promised tighter controls. However, in a continent where regulation is left to the discretion of individual nations, these promises are unlikely to meaningfully shift the landscape. 

At the EU-level, progress has been hesitant. A new directive on trafficking prevention recognises exploitative surrogacy as a form of human trafficking. While this is a start in acknowledging the EU’s broader responsibility towards women’s rights, bodily autonomy and protection from trafficking and coercion, it’s a symbolic gesture, rather than a structural fix. 

What’s urgently needed is a coordinated, EU-wide framework that standardises baseline protections, enforces transparency, accountability and centres the rights and welfare of surrogates and children. Without it, inconsistent national laws will continue to leave the women who carry other people’s children at the mercy of fragmented laws and a system willing to look the other way. 

Image: Flickr/Prachatai

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