Sans Domicile Fixte: Part One

There are a few issues out there in the world that really push my buttons.  Homelessness is one of them.  I am usually at a loss as to what to do when I am approached by a homeless person.  Sometimes I give the person change...on occassion I may buy a sandwich and bottle of water and go back and give it to him or her.  I have provided information about a local church or shelter.  My practical response is to give generously at church or to a reputable charitable organization like Project Bread which serves to feed the hungry.  Most of the time, and even more so now that I am in Paris, I tend to not "see" these people.  And that pushes my own button...

In the US, the cultural "policy" for the issue of homelessness is to allow those professional organizations, whether local government services agencies or charitable non-profits to deal with the problem.  I have been advised that these entities are properly prepared to address the wide ranging needs of the homeless people.  Many have mental and physical health issues.  Others are families who need help to cut through economic red tape.  As a passerby, my role is to treat the person with dignity and respect...but that is easier said than done...so I usually look the other way; a character flaw I must learn to correct so as to improve as a human being and still do what is in the best interest of the homeless...tres difficile!

In France, the word homeless is politically incorrect...it is foul language.  The French phrase for this situation is Sans Domicile Fixte or SDF.  It means without permanent housing.  I think the French mean well by using this label, but I think it is a cop-out too.  Apparently, for the government, being SDF is a choice.  It is also a way to segregate a growing immigrant population, which is something of a sore subject in the EU and especially France these days.  SDFs are not treated the same as other EU citizens...on a government level.  But in the neighborhoods...something unique happens. 

Let me tell you about "Pimkie".  When we moved to Paris in January, we noticed all around the city were these odd collections of folded cardboard boxes, newspapers and sometimes bags tucked behind statues, stuffed into crevices of walls and fences.  The oddity is that Paris has a very dedicated Public Sanitation Department, with a huge cadre of workers, sweeping, washing, collecting debris from the streets, but these caches of detritus remain untouched.  About three days after moving into our flat, we got up early to take Reilly out for her morning constitutional.  It was a very cold, windy, wet morning.  As we hustled down to the corner, we passed a women's clothing store called Pimkie...cute, modern, trendy stuff, geared for teens and 20 somethings.  There on the raised threshold of the door was a makeshift cardboard shelter, soggy and sagging under the assault of the winter elements.  From within, we heard snoring.  An SDF had taken shelter in this little alcove.  Well Reilly's business needed attention so we hurried up the street to the park and the SDF was a short term memory.  Reilly did what she needed quickly and started pulling us toward the warmth of home.  Back to the corner, across the street and passing Pimkie, our neighbor was awake, rolling up a sleeping bag kind of thing and packing up his shelter, which he would store behind a statue of Montaigne down the street aways.  He was bundled up in layers of clothing, and carried his possessions in a pretty big backpack.  He took out a towel and wiped down the raised stoop.  Just as he was finishing up, one of the store clerks arrived to open for the day.  She handed the man, whom we dubbed Pimkie, a cup of Starbuck's coffee and a bag that must have had something for his breakfast.  The exchange happened without words or eye contact and we hustled by to our door. 

So it seems that Pimkie resided on this step from 11pm to 8am.  The raised step is a real find.  There is a little niche up off the sidewalk with a bit of a roof, providing shelter from the elements and there is some heat provided from the store.  The cardboard house traps the heat and voila, an un-fixed domicile.  Also, when the street cleaners come by in the morning with their high-pressure hoses, showering the walks and gutters, Pimkie is up high enough to not get soaked. From what I understand, this is a very typical situation in Paris, SDF's taking up residence in doorways of businesses.  And, compared to stories about other SDFs in other neighborhoods, we are lucky that Pimkie is our resident SDF.  He does not yell in the night.  He does not urinate on the buildings and for a homeless guy, he is pretty clean.  Paris provides public toilets and showers for the SDF population, as well as for students backpacking across France or anyone in need of some personal hygiene time. 

Pimkie stayed on the store step until a real cold spell in February.  One morning, Bill took Reilly out at little later than usual, he noticed that Pimkie wasn't awake yet.  The store clerk was calling to him, asking him to leave the step, it was time for her to open the store...but no answer.  Another woman in the store appeared to be calling the police.  Bill and Reilly headed off to the Jardin.  Upon their return, they saw the police and an ambulance at the Pimkie store and the situation did not look good.  Apparently the temperatures dropped into deadly numbers during the night and Pimkie died in his sleep.  Bill told me about this and I felt so very sad.  I also felt guilty and angry.  Why did this guy have to die alone in the cold on a stoop of a store?  Did Paris respect his choice  to live SDF or did Paris ignore a citizen in need?  Button pushed!!!

Later in the week, we noticed that the store clerk at Pimkie had left some cardboard sheets on the store stoop.  This is not the usual way of recycling boxes.  We soon realized her reasoning.  We were coming back from Reilly's last walk of the evening and there on the stoop at Pimkie was a cardboard shelter.  A new neighbor moved into his SDF.  And next to his domicile was a little handle bag from Starbucks. 

We do not have a nickname for this man...it doesn't seem right somehow. He's just the guy.  Now that the weather is warmer and it is not quite as rainy, the guy seems to be sleeping elsewhere, but when the forecast is for rain, we are pretty sure to seem him on the raised stoop...after 11pm.  Location, location, location.

I have learned from my new friend, Jannine, that Paris does have a policy for dealing with SDFs.  After 11pm, the police go out into the city in their "paddy wagons" and round up any homeless person who wants to go to the jail for a hot meal and a night inside.  The choice is up to the people, not the police however.  And the aforementioned public toilets and showers are advertised for the people's use.  Is it enough?  I don't know enough to say...but I am learning.