It was supposed to be a normal evening watching soccer—friends over, a plate of bami on my lap, watching my favorite team play again. Around 7 p.m., the doorbell rang. I opened the door and saw two familiar faces, along with a friend they had brought along, who was, of course, also welcome. “Hey man, come on in.” As I sat back on the couch, I took a quick look at the new guest. I had never seen him before, and he didn’t look particularly happy.

He opened the large bag he was carrying, revealing a massive amount of cocaine and some tools to cut it. “Oh no, I don’t want that stuff here,” I said. I may occasionally use a bit myself, but this is my house, and I absolutely don’t want that kind of thing here. I asked them to leave. “You’d better not make a fuss, Ed,” was the response I got. When I tried to get up, I was suddenly struck on the head with a metal object. It turned out to be a firearm. While my friends told the stranger not to be too hard on me, he pushed me toward my bedroom. “To my room? Man, I’m a 52-year-old guy!” Nevertheless, I was forced towards the bedroom, and the door was locked. From that moment on, I lost control of my own home, and everything that happened over the next few hours was out of my sight.

It was going to be a long night. I could hear all kinds of noises around the front door. Cars stopped, cars drove off. People came in and went out. This went on for hours. I noticed it was getting light outside when suddenly there was a lot of noise. The bedroom door was unlocked, but remained closed. It was the police. A raid. While my unpleasant guests were busy getting rid of the evidence, I cracked my bedroom door open so the officers could find me. People were arrested and taken away, including me.

However, I was soon back outside. Naturally, they didn’t find any of my fingerprints or DNA on the seized items. At the prosecutor’s request, I was released. But going back to my home was out of the question, as my house of 21 years had been closed and boarded up by order of the mayor for three months. After all, the municipality doesn’t want people in the neighborhood to become victims of drug crime… Ironic, isn’t it?

During the closure, I registered as homeless with the municipality. However, shelter wasn’t an option; according to their “self-sufficiency matrix,” I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. It felt like my entire situation was reduced to a few checkboxes on a form, without any regard for my actual circumstances. Meanwhile, those circumstances only worsened.

Because my house was closed, I no longer had access to my mail. A sealed mailbox meant that bills piled up unseen and important messages didn’t reach me. It felt like I was losing all control over my own life. I lost my income and benefits. I also no longer had a phone, which meant I couldn’t access my government DigiD system and couldn’t sort out government matters or reapply for benefits. I couldn’t set up payment plans and meanwhile my debts continued to rise.

Among the missing mail was a message I had never expected: my landlord had terminated my lease. The reason? Because of the criminal activities that had taken place in my home! Since I hadn’t received this message due to my lack of an address, I couldn’t respond in time.

A court case didn’t help. After a long plea in which the landlord’s lawyer painted me as a criminal mastermind, the judge ruled that the lease termination was legal. Termination is allowed if criminal activities take place in a residence.

So, there I was, on the couch, a plate of bami on my lap, with a soccer match to watch. Then two friends dropped by with an extra guest, and I let him in…

Background
The so-called Doorzon Covenant grants municipalities the authority to close homes purely because of the presence of drugs. Housing associations, too, gladly use their rental agreements to terminate the lease for the same reason. This leads to distressing situations, which we covered in-depth in Spuit 11, summer 2020 (see www.mdhg.nl/spuit-11). This article tells one of those stories.

As told to Audrey Beelen