On the road with the "villains" of eviction

There are 12 of them, like the apostles, and they walk the streets of Barcelona every day to fulfill a mission.

They are the first to arrive in the City of Justice, but also the first to leave.

They move in taxis;

often alone, sometimes escorted by the police.

Although at times they seem mediators or psychologists, they are judicial officials.

Their task is unpleasant, hurtful and leaves a mark: they execute evictions.

They are part of the system and, as such, they are seen by the platforms that defend the right to housing as the enemy.

“They make us feel like we are the most evil in the world, the villains.

I don't see it that way, ”says Estela Vergés, the judicial secretary who directs the 135 civil servants of the civil SAC, the service that delivers all notifications from the courts in Barcelona.

They are like the Amazon of justice.

Estela took command of the service four months ago, and she has given her liveliness and energy.

She is attentive to the phone to give coverage, from the office, to the officials who are in the trench: when there are vulnerable families or when a tenant asks for a postponement, she has the last word.

Estela encourages her team and reminds them that their work goes beyond obeying the judge's order.

“We do an important function: that whoever does not want to work, who does not contribute, does not win the game.

Are we kicking people out of their homes or restoring to other people what is theirs?

The point of view of the court clerk is that of the small owner who, after years of not collecting the rent, needs to get the apartment back to get ahead.

He admits, however, that the housing drama has many other faces (large forks, high prices, a lacerating unemployment that puts many families in trouble) and overwhelms everyone: “Everyone should have access to housing.

And we are in the middle of a social war ”.

The day with the "villains" of the eviction starts at 8:45.

The civil SAC divides Barcelona into three zones, and covers each one with four officials.

They work in pairs, which rotate.

This Thursday, December 10, Catalina-Nuria and Jaime-Enric will have the district of Horta-Guinardó, north of the city.

Here are eight releases planned.

They review the files before leaving.

They need to know if the judge has authorized the "unlocking" of the home and if he has ordered that, in addition to the tenants, the "unknown occupants" of the house are also expelled: it happens that, at the last minute and when they are already known outside, some tenants re-rent the apartment irregularly.

The officials verify if they have the support of the Mossos and if it is the first time that they go to that direction.

The most normal thing is that this is not the case: in Barcelona, ​​of the 4,770 launches indicated in 2019, more than half (53%) were suspended.

The opposition of residents and entities such as the Platform for People Affected by Mortgage (PAH) or the Tenant Union explains almost half of the suspensions.

On September 14, evictions were resumed after the moratorium dictated by the coronavirus crisis.

According to data from the City Council, since then every week there have been “between 60 and 90” evictions, although around 90% of those that affect vulnerable families are suspended, according to estimates by the council.

Neither are, in practice, evictions of large holders such as banks or investment funds.

"We have a court order, Mr. Alejandro"

At 9:30 AM, Catalina and Nuria arrive inside a patrol car at number 42 on Calle Trocador, in the Guinardó neighborhood.

Five, six, seven Mossos d'Esquadra vans sound their sirens and fill the street.

This is the second time that an attempt has been made to evict Alejandro I., who is 31 years old and has not paid a rent of 600 euros for a year and a half.

The first, the eviction had to be stopped by pressure from the neighborhood Xarxa d'Habitatge: 150 people blocked the entrance.

For this reason, the judge has ordered this time that there be a police presence.

Today there are fewer: just 30 young people guard the goal.

On the facade of the old building they have hung a banner: "Alejandro stays in the neighborhood."

Catalina, five years of service in the SAC, meets with the owner on the opposite sidewalk in the middle of an intense noise: the calls to order (“attention, attention, the police are talking to you”) overlap with the chants of the who support Alejandro (“out of our neighborhood police”).

Catalina wears a striking mask with red roses and does not take off from her folder with a sheet of paper, where she writes down what they tell her.

María Rosa, the owner (of the apartment and the building) is upset.

He is accompanied by the property manager and the attorney, two other bad guys from the film.

The woman says that Alejandro deals with drugs, that the neighbors want him out, that he rents the rooms, that he doesn't have a hair of vulnerability: “He just bought a motorcycle and goes to [the gym chain] Dir. life, this is not an NGO ”.

Catalina, 42, will tell later that she lives these moments with anguish, that she puts on each other's skin and suffers.

That if he sees elderly or vulnerable people, he suspends the eviction.

That you feel excessive weight on your shoulders.

But now it is concentrated.

Alejandro leaves the apartment and Catalina also takes him to the other side of the street, but further away, so that he and the owner do not get too close.

The muscular boy covers his head with a black hood.

He does not clarify whether he has a job or not ("I do something") while a girl who accompanies him and who looks like his lawyer tries to earn "a few days", to convince Catalina to stop the eviction, not to leave a woman on the street. person without resources.

"It makes no sense that he is thrown out and then offered a social rent," he claims.

The owner, who is nearby, splutters that this will not happen.

“With the people who really need it, am I going to offer him social housing?

Then we are the bad guys ... "

Although she intervenes in favor of Alejandro, the girl is not his lawyer: she is a worker of the Intervention Service in the Loss of Housing and Occupation (SIPHO) of the Barcelona City Council.

"He is exceeding his role," mutters a command of the Mossos.

The actions of these mediators - promoted by Ada Colau after coming to power in 2015 to prevent the evictions of vulnerable families by negotiating with property - has provoked criticism between the city council and the courts.

The TSJC asked Colau that the officials "refrain from actions that prevent the execution" of the eviction.

The mayor warned that the service would continue "using all the tools to deal with the housing emergency."

One more derivative of the "social war" mentioned by the judicial secretary, who now receives a discreet call from Catalina.

He asks if the launch goes ahead because social services, despite being notified, have not attended the appointment.

"They are all in Badalona ...", says a

mosso

.

The night before, the fire in an industrial warehouse used for 12 years as a slum by sub-Saharan migrants has left four dead in an example that, sometimes, the house is not only a drama: it is a tragedy.

The die is cast: Alejandro must go.

"My superior says that if the plaintiff does not accept the postponement [does not accept it], we will move on because there are no minors here," Catalina explains to the SIPHO worker.

The judicial official adds that the council "does not leave anyone on the street" and urges Alejandro to find a room.

He replies that he has a dangerous dog and that they will not accept it, but the official knows them all: the zoonosis service, of the City Council, can take care of the animal.

A strident voice is heard behind the police cordon: "We are from the Xarxa, you have advanced the eviction, is that legal?"

Catalina walks away.

The whole process is small negotiations at street level, on the fly and in the middle of the noise and tension.

The owner agrees that Alejandro will pick up the furniture another day, with police custody, but now he must take just enough and leave.

The news that Alejandro is leaving the neighborhood spreads like wildfire.

The screams continue and some young people light flares and enter the small terrace of the apartment, on the third floor: the door is open.

The

mosso

in command asks him to mediate with "his friends" so that they leave and no one gets hurt.

“If this is fair or not, it is no longer our business.

We have a court order and it must be executed, Mr. Alejandro ”.

The boy agrees, but when push comes to shove, he goes straight up to the floor to get his things and the public order agents take out one by one (the technique is known as "pulling onions") the boys, who have sat on the floor. ground and exert a peaceful, minimal resistance.

An hour later, with a clear path, the locksmith appears.

María Rosa, the owner, is still distraught.

"And if this man comes back in tomorrow, what do we do?"

The locksmith goes about his business.

If the eviction has a sound, it is that of a drill.

"Now I will put something temporary and then an anti-squat door and an alarm," he explains while Alejandro collects, in three trips, suitcases, bags, blankets and a huge package with food for his dog: a white and brown pitbull.

The apartment is very messy, there is a punching bag on the terrace.

Catalina examines him, as always: she opens large cabinets and looks under the bed.

"No one".

Later he will tell, among anecdotes (sometimes there are sick or dead people) that this procedure is necessary because they must restore the house "free of occupants".

And that is the worst moment: "When I enter an empty house, it is as if I intrude on someone's life."

The owner goes upstairs and closes the door of the building behind her, right where Alejandro now attends to the media.

Silent throughout the process, he is now loquacious to journalists: “There were ten policemen.

I'm not

El Chapo

so they come looking for me like that.

It is unfair that he sees me on the street, I have nowhere to go.

I will also have my dog ​​on the street ”.

Catalina is patiently waiting and calls him to sign.

She and Nuria must go to a new eviction, also with Mossos, in Warsaw Street, but it will not be done: the presence of a minor makes the attention of social services necessary.

The stench of abandonment

Jaime and Enric have continued their route without setbacks and arrive, alone, in the Carmel neighborhood.

The taxi drops you near number 33 of Tolrà street.

They greet the owners and the attorney.

There are no police because it is believed that the apartment is empty and it is the first time that an eviction has been attempted.

Still, there is always the anguish of what might happen.

Jaime, who is 57 years old, is a veteran.

He's usually been giving bad news for a lifetime.

He remembers his first notification: a conviction of Juan José Moreno Cuenca,

El Vaquilla

, who was already in prison anyway.

Jaime wears a black beret and always carries a small flashlight with him.

He greets the owners, who give him the keys to the apartment, and he goes up the stairs to the second floor of an old farm.

He rings the bell with a frenzy, knocks on the door forcefully, returns to the bell.

“Hello, judicial commission!” He yells.

Nobody responds.

The attorney opens the door with difficulty.

They come in.

"Oh, what a stench!" She yells.

A mountain of dirty diapers lying in the hall.

Open and scrambled cabinets.

Stacked medicine boxes.

Grimy chicken thighs on the dining room table, where all the seasons seem to come together: there is a fan, but also a stove.

"The window, miraculously, has been left open," sighs the attorney.

Jaime, who carries the same folder and the same form as Catalina under his arm, prefers to complete the information below, away from the stench.

There, Juan, 71, and Pilar, 68, await restlessly. They are the owners and have not received any type of rent for three years.

A man came to live with his mother ("no, he was not her caregiver," says Juan, who prefers not to delve into this matter) and, when she died, he decided to stay in the apartment.

"He said we couldn't kick him out."

Juan and Pilar live in an apartment and that is their only property.

Your child will go to live in the house.

“There was a lot of stink, right?” Asks the woman.

Jaime answers that the mask helps.

When she asks him what to do, the official recommends that she hire "a disinfection professional."

He reads aloud what he notes in the minutes: “Inside we find furniture and furnishings, which for all intents and purposes are considered abandoned.

We also found a lot of garbage… ”“ Oh my God! ”, Sighs Pilar, who has continued to pay religiously for all the supplies, water, electricity and gas.

"And above all: do not open the refrigerator because we will have a health problem," says Jaime before returning to the taxi to go to the last eviction of the morning.

Owner in capital letters

At number 6 Naïm street, in the Sant Genís dels Agudells neighborhood, Albert, a young locksmith, is already waiting;

Ana Blasco, the administrator of the farm;

and the attorney.

Again it is a non-payment of rent, a modality that for a long time in Spain exceeded the non-payment of the mortgage as the main reason for eviction: in 2019, the courts throughout Spain ordered 54,006 launches, according to the statistics of the General Council of the Power of attorney.

Seven out of ten were tenants.

It is the second time that the judicial procession has come to this floor.

"The first time it couldn't be done because there were animals, even a parrot," explains Blasco.

The Mossos are also going to participate because they fear that the occupant has rented the apartment.

“A neighbor called me and told me that she had heard the noise of locks changes.

It is possible that there are people illegally, ”predicts Blasco.

Acts on behalf of the owner, who lives abroad.

“We are not the bad guys in the film, this issue must also be seen from the other side.

The woman has not received anything for two years.

The owner is not always an owner with a capital letter ”.

The woman actually owns the entire estate, although Blasco says the building "is a ruin."

In November, the Catalan government approved a decree that sought to suspend the evictions of large holders at least while during the health and economic crisis caused by the coronavirus.

The patrol makes its way to the floor.

No one answers the call and the locksmith starts his job.

A woman walks up the stairs carrying two bags from the supermarket.

A mossa helps him pull them up, but he has to stop until the locksmith finishes.

He asks to open the window to let air in, looks at Blasco and asks him to put an elevator.

Meanwhile, one of the policemen checks the identity of the occupant, Óscar V, on a tablet.

Bingo.

Mike 1 for bank scam.

We just want to know what face he has ”, he says.

But when they open, the floor is empty, save for a frying pan on the fire and a full garbage can.

Jaime, experienced, notices that the lock has been changed recently.

“When they act like this, they want to pass the floor to someone.

Set an alarm ”.

Back to the Judicial City

Catalina and Núria have also finished their work and come to Naïm street to meet Jaime and Enric.

The day ends when it ends, but usually they wait to return together in the taxi to the City of Justice.

There are Estela, the boss, and Frederic, another veteran official who has developed his own philosophy about evictions.

This Thursday has been sent to a special launch: with "open date", to play with the surprise factor and avoid disorders.

The first time they found dangerous animals and 50 people protesting that, to prevent the eviction, they came to shake the taxi in which Frederic was traveling.

Things have gone better than I expected.

Estela encourages Frederic, who has been evicted for 30 years (he started in El Prat) to tell his story, which is also unique.

His presence is so common that the platforms for housing put him and have pointed him out on social networks.

"

Frederic, ets el nostre enemies, et volem kill

", they sing to him when he reaches a floor.

He says they define him as a sadist, but he tries not to give it too much importance.

Susana Ordóñez, a former member of the PAH and one of the founders of SIPHO - which also has 12 people to walk the streets of Barcelona - knows him: "The shifts are rotating, but Frederic is always there, and provokes, you don't respect us."

Ordóñez says that the new judicial secretary gives "guidelines" for the evictions to be carried out at all costs.

“It is not that officials are evil.

We have opposing positions, yes, but they too have to respect our work.

Sometimes they don't even want to talk to us. "

The worker criticizes the tendency to use police force and regrets the "value judgments" of the officials on the profile of the tenants.

"Only we can assess whether they are vulnerable or not, they have no information."

Officials say that the evicted are not always the victims: they speak of the use of children and the sick to extend their stay, of elderly owners, of fraudulently occupied Càritas flats.

Ordóñez assumes that there may be fraud and some cheekiness, but denies that it is the general trend in day-to-day evictions.

Frederic is clear that his job is "to enforce a judge's order", but he thinks that most of the time it is about "managing emotions."

Emotions sometimes turn against officials.

“Guilt, pity, anger… They all come out so that you succumb to one of them.

Guilt is a very powerful weapon, and it can lead you to suspend evictions, ”he says while Estela, half jokingly, covers her ears: she doesn't want to know.

“We are the owner's hero and the PAH devil.

I believe that neither one thing nor the other.

We are a part of the system ”.

Of the eight evictions planned in Horta-Guinardó, seven have been executed.

A complete success.

Or a collective failure.