Povestea 6 - I.
I. este fără locuință încă din copilărie. De patru generații familia ei locuiește fără forme legale. S-au mutat de zeci de ori, ajungând chiar să locuiască „pe groapa de gunoi” sau în toalete publice. Cât a avut copiii mici nici măcar nu i s-a permis să depună cerere pentru locuință socială pentru că nu putea face dovada că va plăti facturile (nu putea munci în acel moment pentru că trebuia să aibă grijă de copii). Mereu o ia de la capăt și investește sume considerabile pentru a transforma locuințele abandonate în locuințe în care să poată locui.
I.
Povestea 5 - L.
L. a locuit în zeci de locuri, de cele mai multe ori fiind nevoită să se mute după evacuări brutale. Părinții ei au fost chiriași la ICRAL și, după ce au fost nevoiți să plece de acolo, nu au reușit să închirieze altceva decât camere în case părăsite. Fără apă, uneori și fără electricitate, chiar și pe groapa de gunoi. Deși condițiile de locuire sunt improprii, chiria este considerabilă pentru aceste camere. Una dintre preocupările principale este ca cineva să fie mereu acasă în aceste locuințe, pentru a nu fi jefuiți. Acum se străduiește să își țină copiii departe de traumele evacuărilor și de stigma asociată cu viața în forme de locuire improprii.
L.
Povestea 4 - G.
Conform statisticilor Eurostat, România are cea mai mare rată din Uniunea Europeană de deprivare socială și materială în rândul tinerilor. În spatele acestor cifre sunt tineri precum G., fără certificat de naștere în primii 12 ani de viață, deci fără acces la educație și victimă a nenumărate evacuări. Deprivarea materială nu este ceva ce ni se petrece, ci este consecința directă a injustiției sociale și a acțiunilor violente ale autorităților publice. Uneori, tot ce își doresc acești tineri este “să am o viață mai normală, o viață de puști, normală”.
G.
Povestea 3 - D.
Locuirea fără forme legale este foarte scumpă. După majoritatea evacuărilor, oamenii lasă în urmă tot ce au pentru că nu au unde să și le depoziteze sau pentru că au fost scoși cu violență din imobil. Cu fiecare nouă formă de locuire, trebuie să o ia mereu de la capăt, începând cu cele mai mărunte lucruri din gospodărie. Am auzit deseori sintagma “o luăm mereu de la lingură”. Nici chiria în aceste locuințe nu este mică, raportat la veniturile lor și la condițiile de locuire. La aceste cheltuieli se adaugă și amenzile pe care le primesc pentru că locuiesc fără forme legale sau pentru că nu au contracte cu salubritatea (deși este imposibilă să facă aceste contracte pentru că nu pot face dovada rezidenței). D. a trăit încă de la începutul anilor 90 în forme precare de locuire. A fost evacuată din baraca în care a locuit mai bine de 15 ani, pentru a se face locuri de parcare pe locul unde trăia o comunitate numeroasă. Acum este nevoită să locuiască în clădiri abandonate, fiind în mijlocul unui ciclu constant de evacuări. Pentru că nu are un loc în care să-și ducă bunurile între aceste evacuări, este nevoită de fiecare dată să amenajeze locul de la zero. Nici să facă rost de apă nu este o sarcină ușoară, fiind nevoită să aducă de la cișmele care nu sunt mereu în apropierea locuinței. Copiii ei s-au născut în această insecuritate și continuă să trăiască așa.
D.
Povestea 2 - L.
În București există încă forme de locuire informală, unde oamenii locuiesc în foste fabrici, clădiri abandonate sau camere improvizate din lemn găsit la gunoi. Sunt oameni aflați în stare profundă de vulnerabilitate, pentru care locuirea socială este singura formă posibilă de locuire în condiții decente. Și asta pentru că salariul minim pe economie nu le acoperă cheltuielile lunare cu chiria, facturile și alimentele. Dar locuințele sociale sunt foarte puține în București, deci ajung să petreacă decenii în aceste comunității. L. locuiește într-un astfel de loc de 20 de ani. Povestește aici cât de greu este să supraviețuiești unor astfel de locuri, de multe ori chiar împotriva autorităților. Din cauza amenzilor luate pentru că locuiește fără forme legale, nu a putut accesa diferite forme de sprijin social care erau destinate tocmai oamenilor aflați în sărăcie profundă. Statul pedepsește pe cei mai vulnerabili dintre noi pentru chiar nepăsarea în ceea ce privește lucruri fundamentale precum locuirea publică. De-a lungul anilor a pierdut mai mulți copii, luați în sistemul public de protecție. Deși a fost foarte dureros, a înțeles că nu le poate oferi condiții potrivite de locuire. Mai jos, povestea lui L., care a stat 16 ani fără electricitate și pentru care “lumina este un lux” în București.
L.
Povestea 1 - M.
Locuirea precară nu este doar despre lipsa apei sau a căldurii. Nu este doar despre frig și mucegai. Este despre ceva mult mai profund - frică. Veniturile reduse ale persoanelor pe care Parada le sprijină conduc la locuire nesigură și, deci, la temerea că copii vor fi instituționalizați din cauza condițiilor de locuire improprii. Instituțiile publice, care ar trebui să sprijine familiile cu venituri mici pentru a-și crește copiii în siguranță, sunt, de fapt, unul dintre principalele motive de teamă pentru persoanele afectate de sărăcie. M. este o mamă singură, fost copil instituționalizat, persoană cu dizabilități. După 18 ani în grija statului (perioadă din care își amintește despre “bătăile” primite), a fost lăsată să se descurce singură. O perioadă a lucrat, însă apariția copiilor a făcut imposibil orice alt loc de muncă. La scurt timp după a doua fetiță, soțul a murit și a rămas singurul adult din gospodărie. Acum, deși îngrijește copiii cu responsabilitate și iubire, se teme ca aceștia să nu repete povestea ei - să ajungă să fie preluați în sistemul public, departe de ea. Locuința ei este într-o zonă de locuire informală, cu acces greoi la apă și cu insecuritatea că se poate descurca cu cheltuielile sau că nu va fi dată afară de proprietar.
M.
The census with its feet in the door and with the special forces unit
Sara has been living in a former factory in Bucharest for 21 years. She also remembers her first night there:
And when I came, with five children. It was the boy, he was four months old. There were no doors, no windows, nothing. And it was minus 15 degrees outside. I had no beds, I had absolutely nothing. I sent T*** to get these mats from the doors, from the blocks. Yes, I'm not lying to you. To wrap the children. I stayed on some cardboard until the next morning. The next day I had friends around Bucharest, to whom I sold stalls. That one gave me a duvet, that one a blanket, that one a bed. A carpet, that one.
Sara came here after her in-laws kicked her out of their household. She summed up her housing situation in the brutally simple sentence I never had my house. The process by which the deserted space in which he took refuge became habitable was a complicated one, but fast because of the cold:
I covered up. Eeee, all good and beautiful, I didn't know how to make a stove. What to do? How is the stove made? I carried bricks. With the bag. Mom, they were frozen. And put them side by side, I set fire here on the terrace. I heated water and thawed earth.
21 years later, Sara is in the same place, almost under the same conditions. Because he never owned a property, he never had an ID with an address. Year after year, she is forced to resort to the solution of an identity card without an address. In the absence of an address, she cannot conclude contracts with the providers of various public services. And hence a whole string of fines. For example, because it does not have a contract with a sanitation company. Although she tried to make such a contract, in the absence of proof of residence, on the identity card, she cannot conclude this contract:
I got 3 million fines. Let me go to *** [name of the sanitation company], where the headquarters is, to make me a contract for garbage. Well, how can they, madam, give me a contract on garbage, when I don't have a stable home, a bitter bulletin board without space. That I was, I asked and it's not possible. And he told me that if I don't take them within the period of I don't know how long [the contract], until the end of the month, he will come and give me another fine.
She got another set of fines because of the PETs he collects to sell. Although the work of collecting PETs is extremely difficult, and the payment is absolutely ridiculous (somewhere at 25 lei/a sheet), she is forced to do this work in order to cope with the household's daily expenses.
And with the PETs, he said they harm the state. I'm sorry I don't have the fine anymore. He said we were thieves. But I have not stolen in my life, I have not done ..yes, we harm the state, yes. He wrote this on my fine.
When I met her (July 2022) she told me that despite the fines, this is her main source of income even now, only she works secretly. Sometimes they also perform various other jobs around people's households. He had also just been cherry picking. After a day of work, the orchard owner did not pay her for the work.
15 years ago she applied, with the help of a non-governmental organization, for social housing. Because she did not know that the annual file had to be updated, she never went again. She continues to live here despite the constant stress. Gendarmes and policemen systematically come here with their feet in the door.
They would come in the morning at five, wake up at five, with their feet in the door. And a week or two ago, they said they were doing the census. Census foot in the door? I have to get the kids out of their sleep, take pictures of the kids. They also come with masks because they are afraid of people.
Sara's community is in the middle of a booming area. On one side real estate complexes are being built, on the other a hypermarket has recently appeared. People feel more and more oppressed by the buildings around them, but they don't even see where to take it now. Everyone feels the insecurity of living there:
They, as many times as they haven't told us that it's done, that's it, they're evacuating us. But what should we do?
If we don't have a home,
we have no purpose.
I met Mrs. Doina on a Sunday morning, in the Old Center of Bucharest. She was trying to raise money for the monthly rent by asking people passing through the area for support.
She was 74 years old then, born in Bucharest, a widow for a very long time already. She had just moved into a new apartment, where he had rented only one room. He decided to leave his former home because:
Where I stayed before, I left, as the vagabonds came upon me. They would come at night and push the door with their foot and enter on top of us. Here where I am now, no one comes over us.
The house she lived in, however, had a much more serious effect on her extended family. A few years ago, one of her granddaughters died in Dâmbovița. According to the stories, the young woman was addicted and, one night, she drowned:
She was hanging out with all kinds of people. I could find her during the day, but at night how would I know about her?
The lady had two children, one of whom in turn had six children. Because the grandchildren needed constant supervision, while they were very small, she had to give up her job in a factory in Bucharest. At the time I met her, she had no form of income, although at her age she should have received a pension to cover basic needs. However, he was unable to obtain the documents from his former workplace and was never able to file for this right.
At the time I met her, she didn't even have any identity documents because they were stolen from her on the street.
In the absence of identity documents, the lady was blocked. He could neither advance in any way with obtaining his pension, nor access any form of social assistance. Beyond the lack of identity documents, he had no idea what forms of help he could have received from public institutions. So, to get the money needed for the rent, he calls on public mercy.
He kicks me out if I don't pay the rent. If we don't have the house, we have no purpose. It's hard, ma'am. I have no pension, I have nothing, madam.
She lived in one room with one of his sons and a grandson. The son worked in a mall, he was an employee of the cleaning company. Their income was not enough to rent more than this room, where they had nothing but bedroom furniture. For cooking he used a bottle located somewhere in the yard of the house and they had a toilet outside the house.
Because she didn't have a pension, she didn't have health insurance either. She said that he does not remember the last time he went to the doctor, but that she wants to go because she is known to have blood pressure problems.
Despite the lack of identity documents, a minimum monthly income or health problems, her only concern, month after month, was to collect the money for the rent. Everything else could wait, but the rent couldn't:
It's hard if you don't have money to pay the rent. But if I don't pay the rent, he kicks me out of the house. She [non-owner] doesn't know that I don't have money, she doesn't care, she wants the rent.
The census with its feet in the door and with the special forces unit
Sara has been living in a former factory in Bucharest for 21 years. She also remembers her first night there:
And when I came, with five children. It was the boy, he was four months old. There were no doors, no windows, nothing. And it was minus 15 degrees outside. I had no beds, I had absolutely nothing. I sent T*** to get these mats from the doors, from the blocks. Yes, I'm not lying to you. To wrap the children. I stayed on some cardboard until the next morning. The next day I had friends around Bucharest, to whom I sold stalls. That one gave me a duvet, that one a blanket, that one a bed. A carpet, that one.
Sara came here after her in-laws kicked her out of their household. She summed up her housing situation in the brutally simple sentence I never had my house. The process by which the deserted space in which he took refuge became habitable was a complicated one, but fast because of the cold:
I covered up. Eeee, all good and beautiful, I didn't know how to make a stove. What to do? How is the stove made? I carried bricks. With the bag. Mom, they were frozen. And put them side by side, I set fire here on the terrace. I heated water and thawed earth.
21 years later, Sara is in the same place, almost under the same conditions. Because he never owned a property, he never had an ID with an address. Year after year, she is forced to resort to the solution of an identity card without an address. In the absence of an address, she cannot conclude contracts with the providers of various public services. And hence a whole string of fines. For example, because it does not have a contract with a sanitation company. Although she tried to make such a contract, in the absence of proof of residence, on the identity card, she cannot conclude this contract:
I got 3 million fines. Let me go to *** [name of the sanitation company], where the headquarters is, to make me a contract for garbage. Well, how can they, madam, give me a contract on garbage, when I don't have a stable home, a bitter bulletin board without space. That I was, I asked and it's not possible. And he told me that if I don't take them within the period of I don't know how long [the contract], until the end of the month, he will come and give me another fine.
She got another set of fines because of the PETs he collects to sell. Although the work of collecting PETs is extremely difficult, and the payment is absolutely ridiculous (somewhere at 25 lei/a sheet), she is forced to do this work in order to cope with the household's daily expenses.
And with the PETs, he said they harm the state. I'm sorry I don't have the fine anymore. He said we were thieves. But I have not stolen in my life, I have not done ..yes, we harm the state, yes. He wrote this on my fine.
When I met her (July 2022) she told me that despite the fines, this is her main source of income even now, only she works secretly. Sometimes they also perform various other jobs around people's households. He had also just been cherry picking. After a day of work, the orchard owner did not pay her for the work.
15 years ago she applied, with the help of a non-governmental organization, for social housing. Because she did not know that the annual file had to be updated, she never went again. She continues to live here despite the constant stress. Gendarmes and policemen systematically come here with their feet in the door.
They would come in the morning at five, wake up at five, with their feet in the door. And a week or two ago, they said they were doing the census. Census foot in the door? I have to get the kids out of their sleep, take pictures of the kids. They also come with masks because they are afraid of people.
Sara's community is in the middle of a booming area. On one side real estate complexes are being built, on the other a hypermarket has recently appeared. People feel more and more oppressed by the buildings around them, but they don't even see where to take it now. Everyone feels the insecurity of living there:
They, as many times as they haven't told us that it's done, that's it, they're evacuating us. But what should we do?