Beneath the large letters proclaiming a resounding ¡FOR HOUSING!, the pencil marks that served as a sketch could still be seen. Aelo and Javi erased them with an eraser, carefully, after tracing the typography with a permanent marker. The large canvas was held against the wall of the Casa Amarilla on three poles: plastic curtain rods bought at a Chinese bazaar. Everything so artisanal, humble, and full of dignity that it moved me upon arriving at the concentration. I imagine them before, in the intimacy of their home floor, rehearsing the slogan that completes the banner: Towards the general strike. Jorge, with his small megaphone in hand, shows me the manifesto on a folded paper so I can give him my opinion; they spent a good part of the night to draft it. They are tired, but even so their enthusiasm transcends everything. Seeing them, I can only think of how brave they are and how much we owe them.
We all expected that, after years in which the housing crisis in Spain (and laceratingly in the Canary Islands and Lanzarote) has only worsened, a spark would finally fly. Although evictions accumulate daily throughout the country (with heartbreaking images like that of Mari Carmen, an 87-year-old woman recently expelled from her apartment in Madrid) and institutional paralysis outrages many of us, at the local level we tend to trust that "others" will take the step. In Lanzarote, we do not yet have a tenants' union nor are we organized. That is why someone had to assume the procedure of registering the concentration. And there were Jorge, Javi, Aelo, and some other friends, showing their faces and giving their time for the collective. For me, they represent the best of society, all those anonymous people who believe in the fight for the right to decent housing.
The workers and humble people, those of us who have seen how the market and political inaction have eroded the material foundations of our lives, can only organize from the bottom up. Little by little, the surroundings of the Cabildo Viejo began to fill with people. Many familiar faces, "the usual ones," those who get involved in every struggle; and yet, many more people turn up than one might expect for a peaceful Sunday in Arrecife. I suppose something as fundamental as the right to housing makes it propitious. Cardboard and cardstock signs appear with slogans like "Your speculation is my precariousness" or "Sleeping under a roof is a right," accompanied by giant keys cut out of cardboard. They are neighbors who are simply demanding houses to live in, not to speculate with.
The problem is complex and does not admit simplistic analysis. On an island with limited and protected territory, the demographic pressure derived from a tourism model that attracts cheap labor clashes head-on with the capacity of our infrastructure, where building without control is neither viable nor sustainable. At the same time, conflicting visions coexist: while it is demanded to penalize empty housing in the hands of banks and funds, as well as its accumulation, and to regulate vacation rentals (or prohibit them directly), it is essential to address the reality of the small property owner. In such a tense context, the response requires a comprehensive strategy that, among other aspects, protects tenants, provides certainty to small property owners, brings empty housing stock to light, regulates or prohibits vacation rentals and the accumulation of real estate assets, and makes a decisive commitment to public housing.
What does it mean to have a home today? Over the years in Lanzarote, I myself, like many people of my generation, have had to navigate this need in multiple ways: enduring exorbitant rents, properties in deplorable condition, or abuses by landlords, but I have also had conscientious and respectful landlords, I have lived in a shared apartment (an unforgettable experience), and finally, I have faced the purchase of my own apartment with the help of a banking institution. I know precariousness and, above all, the value of closing a door and knowing that no one will kick you out next month. This last point is the minimum that anyone should have.
Recent literature has, of course, come to the rescue of this unease. The example can be found in two books I have read recently and would like to recommend. In Que tenga una casa, Florencia del Campo delves into the home as that symbolic reference point upon which we build our identity. For her part, Llucia Ramis, in Un metro cuadrado, X-rays the anguish of being a tenant in a country where putting down roots has become a luxury. Having decent housing should not be the unattainable utopia it has become for young and not-so-young people.
We cannot continue to accept with such anesthetized naturalness the systematic expulsion of our people. We are witnessing the emptying of entire neighborhoods, the city center of Arrecife to a large extent, turned into vacation showcases, the dismantling of communities by gentrification, and the relentless entry of large holders commercializing every corner. It is a form of social violence: the elderly whose pensions are not enough for the rent increase, families on the verge of eviction, and immigrants crammed into deplorable conditions. Even those of us who enjoy the privilege of a stable roof (how sad and symptomatic it is to call "privilege" what should be a basic right) feel the community fabric around us crumbling. We cannot look the other way, we cannot live like this.
The people gathering near the Cabildo Viejo, encouraging themselves to turn Sunday's concentration into a demonstration around the Charco de San Ginés gives me hope. The canvas held with curtain rods in the hands of Jorge, Javi, and Aelo advances alongside the Puente de las Bolas with its fundamental message: against the cynicism of speculation and the complicity of political forces that turn their backs or block any housing solution, collective response is an urgency. A general strike, almost inevitable. If there are early elections, a responsible vote for parties with firm commitments to regulating vacation rentals, declaring stressed areas, creating public housing stock... If we do not defend the right to the city and housing for working people today, Lanzarote will end up being a perfect backdrop where almost no one will be left to inhabit it. Now that we have started walking, we will continue.
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