What did Edesio mean by this? The case of Favela do Metro, which I visited today, serves as the perfect paradigm for Edesio's theory.
 |
| Favela do Metro, as seen from Av. Marechal Rondon. Note that Metro is physically separated from Mangueira by the traintracks. Photo credit: O Globo |
Unlike Vila Autodromo, Favela do Metro residents live on privately-owned land. This is somewhat unusual tenure situation for a comunidade in Rio, and it has its roots in the construction of the second line (Linha 2) of Rio's metro system. When work on the new line began in the late 1970s, cheap labor was brought into the city from the countryside by the now privately-held MetroRio. These migrant workers were not provided with on-site housing, and thus constructed their own makeshift homes on a nearby plot of land. When the project was completed, some workers abandoned the area and returned to the country, while others remained and converted the flimsy structures into more permanent housing. Vacant houses were either occupied by "invasores" ("invaders"), or purchased outright on the informal market from their original owners.
Favela do Metro is currently undergoing a process of forced eviction by the municipal government in preparation for the Olympic Games and the World Cup. Because of its extreme proximity to Maracana, which will host the soccer matches for both events, Metro lies within the "security perimeter" that the municipal government is establishing around the stadium. Although the Municipal Housing Office's (SMH) official rationale for the community's removal has been vague, the generally accepted belief among Metro residents is that the government does not want tourists to come face-to-face with the realities of poverty. The solution, therefore, is to once again esconder a sujeira debaixo da tapete - literally, "hide the dirt under the rug".
As in Vila Autodromo (see last month's series of post on this community's struggle), the SMH entered Favela do Metro and grafittied the facades of each house with their blue insignia. Residents were forced to sign papers confirming the expropriation of their houses by the government, and were told to make a split-second decision regarding their fates: accept, or decline, the government's compensation proposal.
Many accepted. Of approximately 900 original families, community leader Franci tells us, nearly half have already left Favela do Metro. Most have gone either to Minha Casa Minha Vida housing projects in Cosmos. Let me take this opportunity to remind you that it is common knowledge that the Cosmos projects are dominated by the militia, poorly-served by public transportation and more than 50km away from Favela do Metro. Other families have been relocated to the nearby Mangueira 1 residence, a social housing project provided via the state's Morar Carioca (Live Like a Rio-Dweller) iniative. We visited Mangueira 1 together with Franci after she led us on a walking tour of Metro. Mangueira 2 (identical to Mangueira 1), is being constructed nearby, and will house any remaining Metro residents who agree to sign the government's eviction papers. While Franci says Mangueira 1 is "highly preferable" to Minha Casa Minha Vida housing, she underscores that the best option would be for residents to remain right where they are. It should be noted here that unlike some other evictees, Favela do Metro residents are not compensated financially, and instead are offered housing in the Mangeuira or Minha Casa Minha Vida residences in exchange for their homes. Although the municipal government promised residents that they would subsidize rent in both Minha Casa Minha Vida and the Mangueira residences, Franci tells me that this money has yet to materialize. Instead, displaced residents are paying rent and utilities out of their own pockets.
And what of residents who do not view Minha Casa Minha Vida nor Mangueira 1 apartments as a fair trade for their current homes? What of residents who refused the government's quid pro quo? These residents - some 300 families - have remained in Favela do Metro, watching over there homes day in and day out with the hope that their on-site presence will preclude the destruction of their homes by the SMH. They have refused to bow to government, and will not accept relocation to Minha Casa Minha Vida as an option. As Mangueira 2 is only scheduled to be completed in November, the prospect of homelessness looms for these families; Franci informed us that the SMH has threatened to bulldoze the remaining homes as early as this weekend.
On our walk, we see a young woman standing alone in a field of rubble. Her gaze is set on the one home in our field of vision that remains standing; a two-story brick house nestled under an overpass. Newly-stray cats and dogs (Minha Casa Minha Vida housing prohibits pets) circle her feet, hoping for a handout.
We stop to talk to her. I ask her how long she has been here. I meant today, now, standing here alone. She interprets my question differently. "Since January", she says. She appears to acknowledge my quizzical eyebrow-raise, and adds, "I left my job in January to stay and watch over the house, so that they [the SMH] don't come and destroy it". She goes on to explain that although her family has accepted the government's resettlement offer and has moved to Mangueira 1, she still wants to keep a watchful eye on the home she left behind. I ask her where she will go when her house is demolished. "Talvez Mangueira," she says. "Maybe Mangueira (the comunidade). "Sei la," she adds. "I don't really know".
I press her for more details on the living conditions at Mangueira 1. Overall, she says, it is "okay". The biggest downfall is that regardless of size, families receive the same size unit, which consists of two rooms and a kitchen area. While the Mangueira units may be an upgrade in terms of size for some, many comunidade families had at least 6 members living in the same house (often with two or more stories). For these families, the move to Mangueira has resulted in severely cramped living quarters.
We continue our walk.
I had always assumed that evictions take place quickly, completely, and thoroughly. Bulldozers enter, knock down all of the "informal" structures, and leave. This has not been the case in Favela do Metro; much to the contrary, the SMH has adopted a strategy of what Metro residents call "minando" - literally "land-mining". "Minando" is the real-world manifestation of the children's game of Battleship, in which a player destroys his opponent's boats one at a time with the objective of eventually dismantling the entire fleet. In Battleship, there is no fun to be had in bombing all of your enemy's boats at once; the game would end quickly and there would be a fuss. Similarly, instead of taking out Favela do Metro in one fell swoop, the SMH has chosen to demolish only a handful of houses with each bulldozing. In some instances, homes have been left half-standing, with one side completely destroyed and the other perfectly intact. Why? Because - like Battleship - there is a certain appeal in backing your enemy into a corner and forcing him to surrender. Apart from making one's victory all the more gratifying, the "minando" strategy has the added benefit of having a "smoking out" effect on any residents who refuse to cede their homes.
How does this "smoking out" strategy manifest itself in Favela do Metro? It's not pretty, I can tell you that. What I saw this afternoon was nothing short of appalling. Mounds of rubble left behind by SMH bulldozers have created squalid conditions for the remaining residents. Cockroaches, rats, and mosquitoes can be seen swarming around the gaping holes in the ground where houses used to stand. The air reeks of human waste, the result of what Franci describes as "crackheads" using the half-demolished houses as drug dens. As the rubble pile-up has interfered with water drainage, ominous, algae-filled puddles have appeared on the sides of the becos - breeding grounds for dengue and leptospiorsis. The rubble-piles have also become the area's de-facto landfill, as other parties have taken to dumping their own trash on top of the heaps of wreckage.
There is also the issue of security. Franci brings us to the house of Eomar Freitas, one of the residents who has chosen to remain behind to watch over his home. I assume that, like the young woman we spoke to earlier in the visit, he means that he thinks his physical presence in the house will preclude an SMH bulldozing. He corrects me. He keeps watch over his home to dissuade potential thieves. "I've been robbed five times in five months," Eomar explains. "They took speakers, the air conditioner - even a glass window from the wall!" Eomar is not sure who is responsible for the theft of his property, but he is positive that the collapse of security within the community is due to the sporadic eviction process. "This place is a ghost town now, no one is left on the streets," he laments, adding that Metro never had a problem with breaking and entering prior to the SMH bulldozings. Eomar ends his diatribe by telling us that he sleeps in his empty house (his family has moved many belongings elsewhere, but what they left behind has been stolen), alone, every night.
Like Vila Autodromo's situation, Favela do Metro's eviction is laden with questionably legal justifications. But unlike Vila Autodromo, Favela do Metro residents do not hold title deeds, and they do not live on public land. This renders their legal case against removal different in nature, because by Brazilian law, informal residents occupying privately-held land cannot petition for concession of real right to housing (a legal instrument Brizola may have leveraged in order to grant titles to Autodromo residents). Instead, Metro residents wishing to file a lawsuit would have to try to win on the grounds of usucapiao - or adverse possession granted after 5-15 years of "illegal" occupation of private land. Usucapiao is notoriously difficult to demonstrate in court. Given that the municipal government mysteriously "re-assigned" public defenders assigned to communities threatened by removal, the chances of a successful class action lawsuit look slim.
After the visit was over, I walked back toward the metro station with another researcher. I thought about what Edesio had said in class, about the city's hypocritical exclusion of those who keep it running. I felt a pang of guilt, realizing that I had just visited a community which made possible the very transport system that had brought me to see it. A community of rail workers, maids, bus drivers, doormen. A community now being exiled from the very city it helped to create and continues to sustain.
No comments:
Post a Comment