Wave of Evictions Leads to
Homeless Crisis in Spain
SEVILLE, Spain — The first night
after Francisco Rodríguez Flores, 71, and his wife, Ana López Corral, 67, were
evicted from their small apartment here after falling behind on their mortgage,
they slept in the entrance hall of their building. Their daughters, both
unemployed and living with them, slept in a neighbor’s van.
“It was the worst thing ever,”
Mrs. López said recently, studying her hands. “You can’t image what it felt
like to be there in that hall. It’s a story you can’t really tell because it is
not the same as living it.”
Things are somewhat better now.
The Rodríguezes are among the 36 families who have taken over a luxury
apartment block here that had been vacant for three years. There is no
electricity. The water was recently cut off, and there is the fear that the
authorities will evict them once again. But, Mrs. López says, they are not
living on the street — at least not yet.
The number of Spanish families
facing eviction continues to mount at a dizzying pace — hundreds a day, housing
advocates say. The problem has become so acute that Prime Minister Mariano
Rajoy has promised to announce emergency measures on Monday, though what they
may be remains unclear.
While some are able to move in
with family members, a growing number, like the Rodríguezes, have no such
option. Their relatives are in no better shape than they are, and Spain has
virtually no emergency shelter system for families.
For some, the pressure has been
too much to bear. In recent weeks, a 53-year-old man in Granada hanged himself
just hours before he was to be evicted, and a 53-year-old woman in Bilbao
jumped to her death as court officials arrived at her door.
Yet at the same time, the country
is dotted with empty housing of all kinds, perhaps as many as two million
units, by some estimates. Experts say more and more of the evicted — who face a
lifetime of debt and a system of blacklisting that makes it virtually
impossible for them to rent — are increasingly taking over vacant properties or
moving back into their old homes after they have been seized.
Sometimes neighbors report such
activities. But often, experts say, they do not. It is a temporary and often
anxious existence. But many see no alternative.
The Rodríguezes fell behind in
their payments trying to help their daughters, who both lost their jobs and
have three children between them. Their daughters had come to live with them
after being evicted themselves. “I could not let my children and my
grandchildren starve,” said Mrs. López, who used to work as a cleaner in a home
for the elderly.
No one tracks the number of
squatters. But Rafael Martín Sanz, the president of a real estate management
company, says squatting has become so common that some real estate companies
are reluctant to put signs on the outsides of buildings indicating that an
apartment is available.
“The joke is that half the people
touring apartments that are on the market are actually just picking out which
apartment they want to squat in,” he said.
Most of the evictions take place
quietly, with embarrassed families dropping the keys off at the banks. But in
some working-class neighborhoods, there are weekly clashes with the police and
bank officials, as housing advocates and volunteers try to resist the
evictions.
In Madrid’s Carabanchel neighborhood,
a crowd protesting outside a basement apartment recently shouted “shame on you”
to a cluster of bank and court officials who had come to evict Edward Hernández
and his family. But Mr. Hernández’s lawyer, Rafael Mayoral, sized up the
picture and predicted he would be able to negotiate a postponement. The crowd
of supporters, he said, outnumbered the police officers.
Mr. Hernández, 38, who worked in
construction, bought the apartment for $320,000 in 2006, but he lost his job
three years later, he said. He thought he had negotiated with his bank to pay
less for a while. But one day, he said, he got a letter saying that his
apartment had been auctioned.
Mr. Hernández and his wife have
their eye on an empty apartment they intend to occupy. Failing that, the couple
will have to split up, he said. His wife would go back to live with her mother,
who is behind in her own mortgage payments and already housing her other adult
children. Mr. Hernández would live with his brother, who lives with his young
family in a studio apartment.
By the end of the morning, bank
and court officials had agreed to postpone Mr. Hernández’s eviction for six
weeks. He still faces a debt of more than $330,000, more than he paid for the
apartment. In Spain, mortgage holders are personally liable for the full amount
of their mortgages. Then penalty interest charges and tens of thousands of
dollars in court fees are added at foreclosure. Bankruptcy is no answer, either
— mortgage debt is excluded.
Trying to stem the flow of
homeless, the Spanish government has asked the banks to adhere to a code of
conduct that protects, to some degree, the very poorest Spaniards, and many of
the banks have signed on. But advocates say that the code offers relief to such
a narrow slice of homeowners — those who have no working adults in their
household and who paid less than $260,000 for their homes — that it is unlikely
to have much effect.
Elena Cortés, the councilor for
public works and housing for Andalusia, the region that includes Seville, said
that during the boom years the government rarely built any low-income housing.
On top of that, the country has never had much rental property. Now, as
families are evicted they have nowhere to turn. In a written statement, Spain’s
banking association, the A.E.B., said banks were looking to avoid evictions
whenever they could through negotiation.
The Rodríguezes began living in
the luxury block, Corrala Utopía, in May with only a few belongings, a move
that was organized by members of the 15-M movement, the name given to people
who became organized after the countrywide protests that began on May 15 last
year. One member of the group, Juanjo García Marín, said the property was
chosen because it was mired in legal proceedings that might give the families
more time to stay there.
Neighbors have given them
furniture, and donations of food arrive most days. On a recent evening, Mrs.
López was using a generator to keep her lights on and her refrigerator running.
Others in the building also have generators, but some cannot afford the
gasoline to keep them running.
After dinner, Mrs. López’s
13-year-old grandson arrived, announcing that he needed a place to do his
homework. His mother’s apartment upstairs had no lights.