Mrs. Iginia watched it all from her balcony, clad in her pink boatiné robe …
The City Council yesterday finished the eviction of the very battered houses of the La Escocesa industrial complex, on Pere IV street, in Poblenou, in one of the last traces of Catalan Manchester. There were no incidents here. Very few found out what happened. Some of the squatters installed for years on this municipal property squatted behind its door, silent, hoping that the deployed urban guards would not see it, that they would settle for evicting the ground floor. Then the workers bricked up his house, and also all the others.
Colau ordered the purchase of this farm for ten million euros five years ago to fight against gentrification
“No,” says Mrs. Iginia, from her balcony, on the other side of the complex, “nobody kicks me out, I’ve been here for 40 years, with my daughter, paying the rent every month. In addition, this side of the building is fine, my house does not fall, and it is not owned by the City Council, but by Sareb. If they take us out, they have to take us to another place ”. On the next balcony, another tenant nods. “Sooner or later they will get us out of here, but otherwise … I’m waiting for a flat,” he adds.
Meanwhile, a few Algerian scrap metal dealers load their most valuable junk into supermarket trolleys. A social services worker urges them to go to the Center d’Urgències Socials on Llacuna street, which will surely provide them with accommodation there for at least three nights. Other scrap dealers are dwarfed at the end of Pere IV street, moving away.
The eviction proceeded without incident
Five years ago, the government of Mayor Ada Colau ordered the purchase of most of this place for ten million euros to combat gentrification, increase the public housing stock and stop the construction of one hundred luxury apartments. Only a small part of the farm remained in the hands of the Sareb. The municipal government always contemplated the long-term rehabilitation of La Escocesa. Before the pandemic, the most optimistic forecast referred to 2028. And as the neighborhood rebuilt, many lots and old warehouses disappeared, many scrap dealers with nowhere else to go settled here. Some flats were clandestinely resold. Others simply donated by those who found a better place. A few families built real homes here, while other homes became dunghills. The robberies and fights outraged many residents of the area. The degradation of the property, which is classified as a Cultural Asset of Local Interest, accelerated in a dizzying way. Before Christmas, a fire department report concluded that it was not a safe place, that no one could live here, that at any moment it could collapse. Now the rats are running around the backyard, amidst the rubbish.
The City Council told everyone that they had to go. The facade was filled with protest banners. Many activists showed their solidarity. We are talking about 50 adults, a dozen minors and their pets. The most vulnerable families, families with children and the elderly, were rehoused in bridge flats, and the formalities for definitive solutions began. Other occupiers reluctantly accepted other more provisional aid, always thinking of returning to La Escocesa as soon as it was exhausted. A few months ago the City Council put out to tender a special surveillance service to avoid reoccupations. And a fortnight of adults decided to hold on to the end. Jasmine regrets that no one told them that the last day was coming, that they have no way to collect everything. She is the only one of the Algerian scrap metal dealers who speaks Spanish.
One of the last neighbors of La Escocesa
“Yes,” Mrs. Iginia whispers from her balcony, “all this changed so much … but I have no problems with anyone.” “Well yes,” confirms her neighbor, from the next door balcony. “We are the last of La Escocesa.”
And at the moment the City Council is studying what it does with this historical vestige, with this ruinous property that cost it ten million euros.
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