This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/jun/12/algeria-housing-climat-france-algiers

The article has changed 2 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 0 Version 1
Recipes for change abound in Algiers project where politics are peripheral Recipes for change abound in Algiers project where politics are peripheral
(40 minutes later)
He introduces himself as "Abdelkrim, terrorist". His neighbours, still scared stiff, endorse his claim. Between 1992 and 1997 Abdelkrim, now 46, belonged to the Armed Islamic Group (GIA), the military branch of the Islamic Salvation Front (FIS). "I collected funds for the GIA, and if I had to cut throats, I did so," he says without batting an eyelid. Sentenced to three years in prison, he was pardoned as part of the national reconciliation process in 2006 to heal the wounds left by the 1990s civil war. On his release he went home to the Climat de France housing complex in Algiers.He introduces himself as "Abdelkrim, terrorist". His neighbours, still scared stiff, endorse his claim. Between 1992 and 1997 Abdelkrim, now 46, belonged to the Armed Islamic Group (GIA), the military branch of the Islamic Salvation Front (FIS). "I collected funds for the GIA, and if I had to cut throats, I did so," he says without batting an eyelid. Sentenced to three years in prison, he was pardoned as part of the national reconciliation process in 2006 to heal the wounds left by the 1990s civil war. On his release he went home to the Climat de France housing complex in Algiers.
Overlooking the working class district of Bab el-Oued, this is the largest housing estate in Algiers. Its 5,000 dwellings were commissioned by the city council in the 1950s to accommodate soldiers and civilians escaping the Algerian war of independence. It concentrates all the ills of contemporary Algeria.Overlooking the working class district of Bab el-Oued, this is the largest housing estate in Algiers. Its 5,000 dwellings were commissioned by the city council in the 1950s to accommodate soldiers and civilians escaping the Algerian war of independence. It concentrates all the ills of contemporary Algeria.
No one can say exactly how many people live here: perhaps 30,000. Families, some with as many as nine children, cram into tiny two- or three-room flats. Several generations live under the same roof. The least fortunate have just one nine sq metre bedroom, with a stove in the corner, and no bathroom, just a toilet. Structures of bricks and corrugated iron have been built on the flat roofs of the housing blocks, and the cellars serve as bedrooms.No one can say exactly how many people live here: perhaps 30,000. Families, some with as many as nine children, cram into tiny two- or three-room flats. Several generations live under the same roof. The least fortunate have just one nine sq metre bedroom, with a stove in the corner, and no bathroom, just a toilet. Structures of bricks and corrugated iron have been built on the flat roofs of the housing blocks, and the cellars serve as bedrooms.
Le Monde visited the estate on 11 May, the day after the general election, but few people here bothered to vote. Moussa, 44, a security guard, is an exception. "I voted for the first time in my life, to get a stamp on my polling card," he says, convinced that this civic gesture will help his application for rehousing.Le Monde visited the estate on 11 May, the day after the general election, but few people here bothered to vote. Moussa, 44, a security guard, is an exception. "I voted for the first time in my life, to get a stamp on my polling card," he says, convinced that this civic gesture will help his application for rehousing.
Not so long ago the place was full of Islamists. The twin minarets of the Ennour mosque, long controlled by Sheikh Mohamed Saïd, one of the founders of the FIS and its ideological leader, overlook the tenements. Most of the "bearded ones" have left, replaced by a new generation of males wearing shell suits and trainers. There is still graffiti proclaiming "Long live the GIA and terrorism. Give us proper housing." In 1988, riots in Climat de France were among those in many Algerian cities, now seen as a foretaste of the Arab spring.Not so long ago the place was full of Islamists. The twin minarets of the Ennour mosque, long controlled by Sheikh Mohamed Saïd, one of the founders of the FIS and its ideological leader, overlook the tenements. Most of the "bearded ones" have left, replaced by a new generation of males wearing shell suits and trainers. There is still graffiti proclaiming "Long live the GIA and terrorism. Give us proper housing." In 1988, riots in Climat de France were among those in many Algerian cities, now seen as a foretaste of the Arab spring.
In January 2011, when the demonstrations erupted in Tunisia, local residents took to the streets again. But this time it was to build a shanty town, an extension of the complex. Three months later the security forces demolished the shacks, triggering violent clashes that left 50 people injured.In January 2011, when the demonstrations erupted in Tunisia, local residents took to the streets again. But this time it was to build a shanty town, an extension of the complex. Three months later the security forces demolished the shacks, triggering violent clashes that left 50 people injured.
Many people told us that Climat de France was dangerous. Police officers and tax inspectors never venture inside its walls. Unemployment is chronic, as is corruption. But with the right introductions, residents will talk freely about their lives. Many people told us that Climat de France was dangerous. Police officers and tax inspectors never venture inside its walls. Unemployment is chronic, as is corruption. But with the right introductions, residents will talk freely about their lives.
The Quartier Chevallier, with its courtyard and marketplace, is reminiscent of a prison yard. It has a colonnade with many little shops – none of which are legal. There are dealers selling Mother Courage, a powerful, destructive drug costing 200 dinars ($2.50) a tab.The Quartier Chevallier, with its courtyard and marketplace, is reminiscent of a prison yard. It has a colonnade with many little shops – none of which are legal. There are dealers selling Mother Courage, a powerful, destructive drug costing 200 dinars ($2.50) a tab.
"The police never come in here, but sometimes they encircle the estate, stopping buyers as they emerge," says Ridah, a resident. "They note the names of dealers, who are given 10- to 15-year prison sentences in their absence." Tewfik, another resident, adds: "The young people are unemployed all right, but the truth is they don't want to work for 18,000 dinars ($230) a month to do some rotten job when they can earn that amount in a day selling drugs.""The police never come in here, but sometimes they encircle the estate, stopping buyers as they emerge," says Ridah, a resident. "They note the names of dealers, who are given 10- to 15-year prison sentences in their absence." Tewfik, another resident, adds: "The young people are unemployed all right, but the truth is they don't want to work for 18,000 dinars ($230) a month to do some rotten job when they can earn that amount in a day selling drugs."
What is most surprising, however, is how many residents do have jobs. Ridah is an airline executive; Tewfik, a jeweller; Yayhia, a court clerk. But their earnings are often used to maintain extended families, and they don't have enough money to leave the estate. Many families have been here for several generations.What is most surprising, however, is how many residents do have jobs. Ridah is an airline executive; Tewfik, a jeweller; Yayhia, a court clerk. But their earnings are often used to maintain extended families, and they don't have enough money to leave the estate. Many families have been here for several generations.
Yayhia's father, aged 90, is one of the oldest. He arrived in 1956, fleeing the war in Kabylia. His three-room flat accommodates two of his sons and their families, 17 people in all. "I've been working for 28 years," says Yayhia, 48. "I've tried everything to find somewhere else, but to no avail." His youngest brother, Hocine, has built a shack on the roof.Yayhia's father, aged 90, is one of the oldest. He arrived in 1956, fleeing the war in Kabylia. His three-room flat accommodates two of his sons and their families, 17 people in all. "I've been working for 28 years," says Yayhia, 48. "I've tried everything to find somewhere else, but to no avail." His youngest brother, Hocine, has built a shack on the roof.
Residents are not impressed by the sweeping election victory of the ruling National Liberation Front (FLN). "Between 1962 [Algerian independence] and 2012 nothing has changed," says Mustapha, 58.Residents are not impressed by the sweeping election victory of the ruling National Liberation Front (FLN). "Between 1962 [Algerian independence] and 2012 nothing has changed," says Mustapha, 58.
They all have their own recipes for change: through violence, the awakening of civil society, an international boycott. Such is the disenchantment no one mentions political parties.They all have their own recipes for change: through violence, the awakening of civil society, an international boycott. Such is the disenchantment no one mentions political parties.
This article originally appeared in Le MondeThis article originally appeared in Le Monde