RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL – GDP growth is uneven and is leaving the most vulnerable behind, affected by rising unemployment. São Paulo’s homeless population, composed mainly of single men, has seen a growing presence of couples, single women and children.
São Paulo is experiencing a contradiction. In the wealthiest Brazilian city, capital of the richest state in the country, over 20,000 people live on the streets. The crisis became more pronounced during the coronavirus pandemic and has been driving whole families into the streets.
Such is evidenced by couple Maxwell Oliveira, 36, and Verônica Aparecida Medeiros, 33. Together with their children Pablo, 10, and Brenei, 8, they were forced to abandon their home late last year.
“Because of this pandemic, I lost my job on December 7. I had been working as an attendant at Burger King for three years,” says the man. His wife worked as a cleaner for a company and lost her job at the same time.
What happened to both is a reflection of what the numbers on the Brazilian Gross Domestic Product (GDP) released on Tuesday show: despite growing 1.2% in the first quarter this year, beyond market expectations, the recovery of the Brazilian economy is uneven – the service sector grew only 0.4%, affected by the drop in household consumption, while unemployment in the same period increased and now afflicts 14.8 million people.
For economists, the lack of effective actions against the pandemic, such as mass vaccination, raises the prospect of an even more gloomy future.
It is noon on May 4, a Tuesday, and the family is in a line along with 500 other people waiting for a lunchbox donation. Every day, at this same time, they head to NGO Movimento Estadual da População em Situação de Rua (State Movement for the Homeless), a few blocks away from City Hall, for something to eat. When they were working, Maxwell and Verônica together earned about R$2,500 (US$492,51) per month.
It’s not much for an expensive city like São Paulo, but it was enough to pay the R$800 rent for a two-bedroom house in the Belém neighborhood in the capital’s East Zone. “We had everything. But when we lost our jobs, we couldn’t afford the rent and moved to the streets. Fortunately we were taken in by a shelter,” says the man.
The family’s routine has changed completely since becoming homeless. During the day, the adults, almost always accompanied by the two boys, send out résumés to companies and businesses in the hope of landing a job. “I’m used to working. I’ve always worked, and this situation is very difficult for us. It’s really hard,” says Maxwell. Breakfast is served at the City Hall shelter, but they are always looking for donations for their other meals.
Their children study in municipal schools in the neighborhoods of Santa Cecília and Bela Vista, but the ups and downs of restrictions have affected their school routine, their leisure time and their time with other children, as well as their parents’ work flexibility. They are allowed to stay at the shelter all day, but after a certain time they can no longer leave.
“I keep thinking about the children, who have that extra energy, and can’t study…,” says the father. The family says they are in constant contact with the teachers, adds the mother. A cell phone is the tool that allows the children to keep up with the learning content online. “But we don’t always have credit, so it becomes difficult,” she says.
Largely made up of unaccompanied men, São Paulo’s street population has been undergoing a change in profile that intensified during the health crisis. Now, whole families, including women who are single mothers, are swelling this contingent.
This is the case of Monica da Silva, 33 years old. After her separation, returning to her mother’s house and facing family conflicts, she decided to leave everything behind almost a year ago and move to the streets in full pandemic with her children – Maria Eduarda, 12, Julia, 8, and Alana, 2. They moved to Praça da Sé square with dozens of other people.
“Being a single mother is being both a father and a mother at the same time. You can even earn a minimum wage, but then you have rent, food, clothes, shoes… And you also have to pay someone to watch your kids while you work, because no one does it for free,” she explains. Her flexibility is reduced further with interrupted on-site classes, she says. Still, the older girls are enrolled in a municipal school in Bela Vista, although they can hardly keep up with the online classes.
In her last marriage, Monica and her husband earned around R$3,000 per month. She worked as a housemaid and once worked with a signed employee’s card. She lived in a three-bedroom house in Belém. Now, separated and estranged from her family, she sees her jobs becoming increasingly scarce because of the pandemic.
She has to collect and sell plastic bottles and cans to a recycling center, and with this she manages to earn up to R$400 a month – but her ex-husbands haven’t paid pension for a long time, since before the pandemic.
“In regular times there are more ways to make a living. You can do some cleaning here, sell candy there. But now there are fewer ways to earn money,” she explains, while breastfeeding her young daughter. “I want to set up a scrap yard, but my financial limitations don’t allow it. I didn’t finish my studies either, so that narrows down my options.”
Data is scarce and a recent count of the size of the street population in the city of São Paulo has yet to be conducted. The last census dates from 2019, when 24,344 people living in this condition were recorded. The Municipal Secretariat of Assistance and Social Development confirmed that it will advance the next count to the second half of this year; it was scheduled to be conducted only in 2023. The pandemic prompted this change of plans.
The increase is visible to anyone walking around the city. “The chance of registering more than 30,000 people is very high. The pandemic has exacerbated this situation, but this population had been increasing even beforehand,” explains Juliana Reimberg, a student of political science at the University of São Paulo, researcher at CEBRAP of the homeless population.
The only national survey, conducted by the Institute for Applied Economic Research (IPEA), estimates that in September 2012 there were over 92,000 people living on the streets nationwide. By March 2020, when the pandemic was just beginning, there were more than 221,000 people in this situation.
Almost half of the homeless people in São Paulo are housed in City Hall shelters, as is the case of Maxwell and Veronica’s family. In other cases, such as that of Vanessa Ferreira and her three daughters, the solution is to live in a camping tent under an overpass – on Cruzeiro do Sul Avenue, near the Santana subway station in the North Zone. They lost their home in 2019, when the Zaki Narchi favela in Carandiru burned down. They have been on the streets ever since.
“I still haven’t raised the money to buy materials and set up my shack,” explains Vanessa, who does odd jobs as a saleswoman. But the pandemic economic crisis also further complicated her life and delayed her return to the favela. “If there was a soccer event, I would get my water and sell everything. It was impossible not to make money,” she says. “In a month I would make about R$3,000. Since we didn’t pay rent, we lived well. Now we can’t do anything.”
Increased poverty
The data on this recent social mobility are also limited, but they show that hunger and poverty have come back to haunt millions of Brazilian families. According to FGV Social, the economic shutdown coupled with the interruption in December of the first emergency aid, of R$600, drove millions of Brazilians into poverty. In 2019, Brazil had approximately 24 million people, 11% of the population, living on less than R$246 per month, in extreme poverty. The figure rose to 35 million, 16% of the population, according to FGV -which used data from the Continuous National Household Sample Survey (PNAD).
The C class (with a monthly family income of at least R$2,004, according to FGV Social) is being pushed into the D and E classes. These, in turn, are often driven to the streets. “When this big change happens, it is because family ties were weakened or because of factors such as drug use. In the case of women, many are victims of domestic violence,” explains Reimberg.
These factors are more related to classes D and E, continues the specialist. In the case of class C, a part of the population has been greatly impacted by the lack of jobs, defaults and evictions. “But these are people who haven’t had their family ties broken yet. They will first ask their families for help before turning to the State,” adds Reimberg. In an attempt to mitigate this situation, the Chamber of Deputies has just passed a bill banning evictions from properties during the pandemic.
“Many of the new residents were about to lose their homes, but the aid came and they were able to support themselves a little longer,” explains Robson Mendonça, founder of the Movimento Estadual da População em Situação de Rua. His NGO, which used to assist residents with documentation, job and course referrals, treatment for chemical addiction, and cultural events, has now begun to distribute lunch boxes.
“Many residents began to complain that they hadn’t eaten for two days. On the first day we distributed 20 meals. On the second, 150. On the third day, 400,” he says, estimating that he distributes between 500 and 700 lunch boxes daily, 7 days a week. From February 27, 2020 to May 3, 2021, 15,000 meals and 460 basic food baskets were distributed.
“The profile of those who are now coming to the streets is totally different. In terms of education, in terms of posture, and the way they talk to us,” explains Kaká Ferreira, founder of the NGO Anjos da Noite (Night Angels), which also distributes food on Saturdays. “When we donate clothes or food, even the way they store it is different. They are very sad people, discouraged, who are not used to living on the street.”
Challenge for public policies
To Reimberg, the change in the profile of the homeless population also represents a challenge in terms of public policies. The traditional model is that of shelters, most of which are for unaccompanied men. “These are services with more than 100 people, with bunk beds next to each other, sometimes in warehouses,” she explains.
The challenge is to make sure that people who had a certain autonomy and are forced onto the streets by the economic context, because of evictions, are also welcomed. “These centers are designed for people who have already severed family ties and spent the night on the streets,” she explains.
There are few shelters that accommodate whole families. In men’s shelters, schedules are more restricted and men are not allowed to enter with children. In women’s shelters, children are allowed to enter, but they can’t be left alone. “How is a woman going to get a job like this?” asks Reimberg. “This assistance is reproducing patriarchal principles, in which the woman has to stay with the children and the man has to look for work.”
Veronica experiences these predicaments on a daily basis, although she is in one of the few family-oriented shelters. “We have to be there by 8 PM. There is a shared laundry room and many rules. I need to regain my autonomy, but it is very difficult because of this pandemic,” she laments. Her husband, Maxwell, details the day-to-day life in this shelter.
“There are many drug users, and there are always fights and conflicts. The other day a man wanted to grab the girl in the elevator. How can I do this, with two children and no door to close?” His family is very reserved and tries to keep away from this daily routine. “I keep thinking about my wife. When you have to change clothes, it’s an embarrassing situation. But thank God we managed at least this.”
Source: El Pais