Anatomy of an eviction - Village Magazine

42June 2015

“We’re being evicted”.

HIS was the text message that

I had been dreading – and yet,

one I expected sooner or later.

It came from a ‘squat’ in north

Dublin and the “we” was a

female squatter and her rescued

greyhound.

I grabbed my keys and headed for the

place…

Rewind to about  weeks earlier

when some friends and I responded to

the eviction call from the Grangegor-

man site near Smithﬁeld in the centre

of Dublin. A long-established squat,

replete with café, residential areas, and

a community garden, had been invaded

by Gardaí, workers who erected divid-

ing fences, and bailiﬀs.

We had attended to oﬀer solidarity

and, subsequently, much-loved and

needed sandwiches as a stand-oﬀ

intensiﬁed. Although I do not claim the

title of squatter for myself, I was

involved in a small way in the running

of a ‘squat-shop’ in the s in Liver-

pool which was situated across the road

from an anarchist book store called

New from Nowhere.

Since that time, I had trained as a

sociologist, studying and teaching

topics such as the sociology of crime

and the sociology of poverty. The soci-

ologist in me took an interest in the

Grangegorman case, so I trotted along

to court to witness events when “per-

sons unknown” were given some 

days to prepare their case – to get out,

eﬀectively.

As a de facto participant observer,

then, I stood in Dublin’s Four Courts

alongside a group of scruﬃly-dressed

squatters as they urgently consulted

with their casually-dressed legal repre-

sentative. How out of place they all

seemed among the suits and the uni-

forms. It struck me that this little

gathering, being looked down upon

and sniﬀed at by most present, proba-

bly had the most gentle and communal

of values of all there. They seems very

much out-of-place and, sociologically,

that is quite a dangerous place to be.

They didn’t seem to stand for money, or

power, or private property (obviously)

and they were clearly far out of step

with the general ethos in that building.

I remembered a point that was made

in an early criminology seminar I

attended at university. The lecturer had

us contemplate the vast number of jobs

Anatomy

of an

eviction

The Grangegorman

eviction was unnecessary

until redevelopment

was imminent.

By Roger Yates

POLITICS Property

June 2015 43

and careers that depend on the con-

stant commission of “crime” in any

given society. What damage the “crimi-

nal fraternity” could do to the social

fabric if they all stopped their unlawful

activities. What if no-one “stepped out

of line”? It certainly would not be great

news for criminal barristers and

solicitors.

So it was with all this in mind that I

agreed to act as observer (and, as it

transpired, helper and driver) when a

friend and friendly hound set up a

squat of their own. The site is a large

fenced-oﬀ compound comprising a

small boarded-up two-bedroomed

house, a large grassy area to the front,

and a huge derelict factory area to the

left. The front door was swinging open,

its window broken, so no break-in was

necessary.

The person who “cased” the joint had

been told that the site had been disused

for up to twenty years but documents

inside the house indicated that a tool

hire ﬁrm had operated there until

. Still, a decade is a long time to

stand alone.

The house itself was quite cosy but

some work was inevitably needed to

block a couple of holes and ﬁx a few

broken windows, especially the one in

the door. As ever with abandoned

buildings, large stones lay in some of

the rooms, thrown through the win-

dows from the street. In the time that

she had, our squatter had organised a

small gang of enthusiastic helpers to

assist with cleaning, painting, and yard

tidying. A passer-by who lived in the

area was pleased to hear that the place

was soon to be made less of an eyesore.

The house and gardens quickly began

to look lived in and cared for. However,

with no electricity or running water,

“arrangements” were necessarily made

for the provision of portable heaters,

cookers, and toilet-ﬂushing facilities.

Then the dread day: “We’re being

evicted.”

I arrived at the location not knowing

what to expect. Gardaí; or a group of

heavies; ﬂashing lights; trouble; tears. I

found only the latter as the squatter

had returned to ﬁnd that, earlier in the

day, some people (“my men” as it

turned out) had been inside the house

and had systematically smashed and

destroyed all the household items

there. A wooden bed was broken up and

thrown into the garden, clothes and

bedding thrown out and deliberately

had paint poured onto them. Solar-

powered lights not only removed from

the building but made unusable. It

seemed clear to me that some point had

been made, and made with force: try

setting up here, on my land, in my

property, even though I’m not using it

just now, and you’ll suﬀer as a conse-

quence. Every window in the occupied

bedroom had been smashed from

within to render it less hospitable. It

seemed like a cruel act.

As the squat organiser, and a friend

who had responded to the eviction

alert stood wondering what to do next,

the owner – or a man claiming to be the

owner – arrived. Shouting and clearly

furious, he began to push the women

about, issuing sexist and racist slurs

along the way. The greyhound wanted

to defend her human but was held back

as attempts were made to defuse the

situation.

The man, well-dressed in expensive

coat and shoes, insisted that this was

his property and that he was living in

the house. This was clearly untrue

since the house had been empty apart

from a broken washing machine and

oﬃce paperwork when occupied a few

weeks earlier. Access to the house

involved squeezing through a chained

gate, negotiating a wall, and a walk

through the overgrown garden area,

not something the suited gent seemed

likely to be willing to do.

When he realised that the people had

decided to leave peacefully the man did

calm down, now claiming that he had

bought the property some months

beforehand and intended to redevelop

the residence and set up a business in

the factory area. He rationalised his

anger by saying that he wasn’t NAMA

or the banks, just a simple businessman

trying to make a living. He needed this

site immediately and certainly wasn’t

going to tolerate anyone dwelling there

in the meantime.

As the “sociological observer,” my

task was to remain silent and watch

while this exchange took place. After-

wards, I did ﬁnd that I was angry with

myself for having not challenged some

of the claims made by this man. For

example, there was no evidence that he

actually owned the place, apart from

his assertion that he did, and his

apparent righteous anger. I pondered

on the claim that the site was to be

immediately cleared for imminent

development.

It has been a month or so since the

eviction. I travel past the scene almost

every day. The compound still stands

unused. There has been no sign of any

development – the chained gates are

exactly as they were once the squatters

had left. The property stands deserted

and smashed up by “his men,” while its

ugly blue fencing remains intact. I have

decided that I’m going to document just

how long it takes for work on the site to

begin – assuming it will.

One thing seems clear to me. The

man could have left the squat alone and

made an agreement with the occupiers

that they must move on when actual

development was imminent. By such an

arrangement, he would have got him-

self a free guard person (and dog) but

then he’s seemingly unconcerned about

the state of the place or any damage to

it, since he caused a good deal of it

himself.

I’m supposing that he’d argue that he

need enter into no such agreement with

uninsurable trespassers – someone

else’s need for accommodation is not

his business. Indeed, he said that there

and then. From a legal point view, he

was right – but morally? Perhaps he

would worry that in the two, six, twelve

months before redevelopment work

could begin, the squat would be estab-

lished and, therefore, that much harder

to bring to an end. Much easier to act

ﬁrmly and immediately – smash the

place up so much that no-one will want

to be there.

A house that was being transformed

into a cosy home better stood as an

empty shell.

The squat-organiser tells me that she

would have agreed to leave once work

was about to start. It appears – and

some will think this obvious – that

there is no trust between property-

owners and property-occupiers.

Perhaps this business person has had

dealings with squatters before and

found them unlikely to abide by con-

tractual niceties – perhaps he simply

acted like a bloody-minded indignant

property-owner who sees no reason to

consider the needs of those who seem

not willing or able to pay their way.

There are surely diﬀerent ways to

look at this. Anarchists argue that

property is theft. It seems, more so,

that property unoccupied and

neglected is preferred to property

made safe and homely by a stranger,

even in a housing crisis. •

They didn’t

seem to stand

for money,

or power,

or private

property and

they were

clearly far out

of step with

the general

ethos in the

Four Courts

“