One retired couple have too much money for social housing but not enough for rent, writes RUADHÁN Mac CORMAIC
RUMOURS HAD circulated among the tenants that something was afoot, but it was only when the official notice appeared in the letterbox in January that Philippe Moreau’s fears were confirmed.
The apartment building where he and his wife, Florinda, have lived for the past 10 years was to be sold, explained the owner, a large property investment fund.
The Moreau family would have two options: buy or leave. “For this apartment, they’re looking for more than €500,000,” Philippe says incredulously. “Nobody here has the means to buy at that level.”
Standing on the balcony of their top-floor apartment, in a 1960s building in the southwestern 15th arrondissement of Paris, Moreau points out the landmarks, from the business district at La Défense to the park just below us where the Citroën factory once stood. From a bedroom there’s a clear view of the Eiffel Tower and the dome of Les Invalides.
Phillipe and Florinda were born in the 15th arrondissement and have lived here all their lives. Both aged 63 and recently retired from their jobs in publishing, they share the apartment with their 33-year-old daughter. She has a full-time job in a designer boutique but can’t afford a place of her own; she has been on a social housing waiting list for the past two years.
The Moreaus’ building is owned by a trust named Gecina, one of the largest investors in Paris property. Thanks to a French law that prevents a tenant over 70 from being thrown out, the 84-year-old woman who lives next door can remain, but most of the 230 other households in the complex have been told they must leave when their lease expires.
Philippe and Florinda feel they belong firmly to the French middle class. Having worked all their lives, each had a net income of about €2,000 a month, and since retiring three years ago, their pensions have come to €1,300 a month.
“I feel I have a good pension,” Florinda says. “We know plenty of people who don’t get more than €700 or €800 a month.”
The Moreaus’ problem is that a huge housing bubble in Paris has priced them out of the market. Former working-class districts such as this have seen their prices rise exponentially – so much so that local agencies tell Philippe a small studio – “a studio the size of our living room”, as he puts it – is the only option within their reach.
“Our only solution is to leave Paris,” he says flatly. “We have too much money to have access to social housing, but we don’t have enough to pay rent. We’re trapped.”
The Moreau family’s case is far from an isolated one. In its annual report, the Abbé Pierre housing charity pointed to the growing numbers of middle class households who find themselves in a precarious position.The charity estimates that 10 million French people are affected in some way by the crisis.
The waiting list for social housing in France stands at 1.2 million, and there is an estimated shortage of 800,000 apartments in the private sector.
Residents increasingly complain that the city is becoming an enclave where only the rich and the poor can live, the latter owing to the city’s 190,000 social housing units.
All of this means political parties are paying particularly close attention to the topic in the run-up to the election. Both Nicolas Sarkozy and François Hollande have made housing a priority, with Hollande promising to introduce rent controls in badly affected areas and both trying to outdo one another on home-building pledges.
The issue has also focused attention on the wider question of the elusive middle as a political constituency. In their recent book The New Middle Classes, the sociologist Dominique Goux and the economist Eric Maurin argue that whereas blue-collar workers formed the heart of French society in the 1950s and 60s, the middle class, a term that loosely describes 30 per cent of the population, has since become “society’s centre of gravity”.
The authors argue that this 30 per cent have been the big winners in French society over the past 40 years, but polls repeatedly show people don’t feel that way. All the evidence suggests they’re wracked with anxiety about the future.
Speaking to the middle poses problems for both of the main parties. In a report last year, the left-leaning think tank Terra Nova baldly advised the Socialist Party to think less about the working class, which it said had drifted away from the party anyway, and focus instead on appealing to women, young graduates, minorities and big city dwellers.
To an extent the party already does this, but its forceful repudiation of the idea showed how vital a part of its self-image (if not necessarily of its support) the working class remains. Socialist leaders are also spooked by the prospect of leaking votes on the left flank. “That’s François Hollande’s difficulty,” says geographer Christophe Guilluy. “How to hold positions that are credible to the working class, hostile to globalisation, without making Boboland [mythical home of the so-called bourgeois-bohême] despair.”
The mainstream right, meanwhile, feels any appeal to the urban middle must be balanced with a more pressing imperative: stemming the flow of working class voters towards the far-right National Front.
None of this helps the Moreau family. As Florinda sees it, their only hope of staying in Paris is to find some part-time work, but with unemployment among older people chronically high, she doesn’t sound optimistic.
“I find it very sad,” she says. “I’ve spent my whole life here. I’m completely attached to the area. But that’s not the government’s problem. They couldn’t care less.”
IRISH VOICES: GETTING ON IN BUSINESS THROUGH USING THE NETWORK
KATE SIMPSON from Killiney, Co Dublin, has worked at the Paris Stock Exchange (NYSE Euronext) for the past three years.
“The business schools are extremely powerful in the world of commerce in France. It’s incredible. I didn’t realise their influence until I spent the second part of my master’s [CEMS International Management at Smurfit Business School] at HEC, a grande école in Paris.
“The business school you attend effectively determines your entry level, career path and salary in a company.
“I think it’s specifically French. When I look at Ireland, there are multiple deciding factors other than your education, in particular your work experience.
“When you’re hired by a company in France, they’re effectively gaining access to your alumni network and you’re expected to draw upon this throughout your career.
“Speaking French is essential. It opens doors and there’s a certain level of trust and ease when your colleagues know that you speak the same language. You also gain an insight into the unwritten rules of the workplace.
“Overall, business practices are more formal here. There’s a profound respect for following the rules. Agreements must be in writing.
“Decision-making takes slightly longer, but the advantage of this is that once is a decision is made, it is adhered to, there’s no going back.
“There are various stereotypes about French business – for example, that people take very long lunch breaks. This is, however, a means of conducting business. La brasserie is an extension of le bureau. If people want to speak in private, they’ll often go to lunch. It’s just a different way of getting things done.
“The 35-hour work week has long vanished in the business world – we’re definitely on parallel with London and New York.”