Outdoors, suitcases, backpacks, bags and other items extracted from a plant form a square the size of a room. Together with them, three evicted: María del Mar Mejías Flores, Javier Carrecero and Lourdes Fernández. “Honey, put on ‘China’, because they call me that way,” the latter asks me.

When the eviction of the journalists who have approached this delicate education emerges, it becomes increasingly heated and becomes more nervous. Then, turning to the police furgons he had behind him, he shouted rage: “How easy it is for those who live comfortably to say goodbye!”, he says sometimes; “to see if you ever stay like me… to see what you do!”, on other occasions; and he adds an insult almost always.

Then, he turns around again and, with the help of his colleagues, continues with the explanations: “A week ago, Municipal Police officers came and said they had to carry out a health inspection of the coronavirus. But they treated us very badly, and we saw that it was just an excuse to take pictures inside the house. Next time they came to kick us out and now we're on the street. They say that we entered when the lockdown began, but it's not true; it was February 22, because the building had been abandoned for years. Everything was filled with pigeon droppings, completely obsolete, and it looked like a big nausea. We clean it, we repair it, and what for? They prefer housing to be a waste rather than a home for us.”

Sitting on the portal sidewalk is Javier Carrecero, 26 years old. Although much younger, her last experience is like that of Lourdes. But he speaks very low, more than angry, seems desperate. Half a year ago, he remembers that his life was completely different. “I lived comfortably in my house with my dog, but the company did not extend the contract and from day to day I was on the street.” “It can happen to anyone,” he says.

In telling what he has lived since then, the young man does not mention the demands of the okupa movement, but he pents for himself: “What do I do now?” he asks with his head down while the door is covered. Uncertainty about the future cannot be removed from the head and it makes continuous reflections such as: “I don’t think almost nobody is intentionally robbing, but now I can understand how you can get to do these things if you don’t have a solution. I entered this house illegally because of necessity, and now what am I going to do to survive? I have never stolen and I don’t want to be a thief… However, I can’t go to the hostel,” he says, while Maria del Mar and China confirm his words.

Asked about the renunciation of the hostel, Javier says: “When I was homeless, I first went there and I never want to go back. On the one hand, I didn't like to be subsidized, and in the abandoned houses, I became okupa, hoping to find work. On the other hand, the hostel goes all the people who live in the street, and you know… among the poor, drugs and other problems are very common. And now there's going to be too many people out there, and I think you can get infected more easily than on the street. For me, the environment is not safe and pleasant.” “That’s why we prefer to be on the street,” the three members say.

Madrilwood María del Mar Mejías Flores is aware of what it means to be homeless. He has three children and since his former partner is from Navarre, he moved to live in his village of Tirapu, in the south of Navarra. After being ill-treated by her, she left home with her 20-year-old son and went to the hostel in Pamplona/Iruña. “In the end, I denounced my former partner, started collecting rent for being a victim of gender-based violence and rented a floor.” However, the money received did not take much time. His son is now in a public hostel in Madrid, where he has been rehoused in the house he occupied on Calle Mayor de Pamplona. “Until recently I’ve never been occupied.”

View of the neighbours

In addition to these three people, a dozen people were in the property evicted by the City Council of Pamplona/Iruña. Of the fourteen people in total, some lived in numbers 13 and 66 on Jarauta Street last year, and had serious problems with neighbors. As a result, the Youth Movement of the Casco Viejo and dozens of neighbors concentrated in front of those portals and, in solidarity with the victims of the clashes, wanted to force the Okupas to leave.

However, as many people who live in the nearby streets have said, not everyone who was on the Gran Vía has created problems and it seemed that there were very different people. In addition, several neighbors agree that “now is not the time to judge”. As a neighbor says, “it’s a total nonsense to dismiss people in any way during confinement.”