Corona on the Streets
A fine rain blew through the air, mist on the back of the wind. Another Saturday morning, another Serve the City distribution walk, volunteering to bring food to SDFs—les gens sans domicile fixe, homeless men and women— on the streets of Paris. The sidewalk ridges were black with the guttering aftermath of rain. Across the grey vein of the Seine, on the île St-Louis, a tree bent its broken back down beneath fluttering clouds of yellow leaves. The bag on my shoulder was weighted with four baguettes, their ends long and pinched with the twist of the baker’s hands. The French paradigm: liberté, égalité, boulangerie. But as I strode down the sidewalk, face set against the wind, I reflected that I’m not sure that égalité, equality, can fully be counted amongst the Fifth Republic’s values.
We reached the pont d’Austerlitz. I handed a small cup of steaming coffee to one man, Iman, who sat in a thin black jacket. He took the cup of coffee and wrapped bare fingers around its paltry warmth. Beside him, Mohammed adjusted his scarf, wrapped high around the dark pile of his dreadlocks. I pushed my hands further into the pockets of my coat.The cold is harder to escape now; it is longer and more biting, more insistent. Behind me, I heard a man cough. The precarious conditions of life for SDFs means they are often in ill health—and now, they are particularly susceptible to Covid-19.
One of the leaders of the food distribution program, Peter DeWit, with Mohammed (at right) and another man
Forty percent of SDFs in Île-de-France have been infected by Covid-19, according to an October report, the first study of its kind in Europe, published jointly by Médécins sans frontières, Épicentre, and the Institut Pasteur. Forty percent. The first time I read the statistic, I recoiled in near-disbelief. Amongst the general population of France’s capital, twelve percent test positive for the virus. We are living through a pandemic, a slow and unfolding nightmare of restrictions and uncertainties. It is a crise sanitaire which has highlighted and aggravated existing social inequalities. The consequences spell suffering and sickness, especially amongst migrants and people on the streets: those who are most vulnerable.
Why such a stark inequality in the rates of infection? Most people tested in the study reported generally following the gestes barrières, but close living conditions make it impossible to avoid infection. Foyers de travailleurs, a form of social housing often used to house migrants in individual rooms with communal spaces, are epicenters for the virus. Between 82% et 94% of residents tested positive for corona, according to the study. Centres d’hébergement, the night shelters for the homeless, crowd five people to a room, a density that increases the rate of contamination by more than a factor of four. « C'est ce qu'on disait depuis le début, on savait que ces conditions d'accueil ne pouvaient pas fonctionner, que c'était impossible d'y respecter les gestes barrières, » said the French chief of Médecins sans frontières, Corine Torre. Impossible. Within the cadre of the French social services, it is impossible to avoid infection. The coldest months are coming, but for SDFs, to seek shelter may be to seek death.
On a run last spring, in the depths of the French confinement, I saw graffiti scrawled on a sign: « ÂLLLOOOOOO MACRON, T’AS OUBLIÉ LES SDF ??? » The same question can be asked now. The French authorities’ attitude towards the homeless is inconsistent: in the March height of the epidemic, the government organized housing for SDFs in the empty rooms of hotels, only to turn them out abruptly within weeks, back onto the street. Now, Covid-19 cases are once more rising at alarming rates throughout the metropole. Instead of an investment by the mairie in greater social supports for the homeless, the police engage in clean-up operations. A few weeks ago, police officers came in the early dark of five a.m. to throw out the tents, sleeping bags, blankets, and belongings of the men below the pont d’Austerlitz, in an attempt to clear out the small camp. Such senseless measures further fragilize the conditions of these people’s lives. Why can’t la belle France take better care of the people within her borders and on her streets? The government’s structures are failing those who are most in need. I think of the men who sleep huddled beneath the statue of Marianne at the place de la République. So many shiver below her laureled brow, beneath her blind gaze.
The virus aggravates the existing difficult life conditions of migrants and SDFs across Paris. Its impact is as deadly as it is complicated. Question after question arises. What can I do? Is it useless to even try to help in the face of such overwhelming forces of pandemic, infection, homelessness, and need? And how to reckon with the fears and risks associated with volunteering? To hand someone a croissant on a street corner is now a potential infection, an act fraught with uncertainty.
I think that it is times such as these, times of crisis and fear and fragilization, when it is most critical to reach out and help others. Difficulties are the crucible of our convictions. Government structures fail populations in need, far too often, and this pandemic has exposed more than ever their weaknesses and flaws. But this is the juncture to show more and more effort, greater and greater empathy, to those who are the most vulnerable to Covid-19. The vastness of the problems do not eclipse the small good each of us is capable of doing. So beneath the bridge, I broke off another piece of bread from the baguettes in my bag; I gave it to a Moroccan man, telling him « مع السلامه » as I left. With peace. His face, eyes shadowed purple with insomnia and drugs, broke into a smile. We may not be able to do much, but we can do something, individually, person by person. And in these days of contamination and cold, such compassion means all the more.
