Closer | The Bouncers

A stately Art Nouveau corner house in Barcelona's Eixample district, not far from Plaça Catalunya. Next door to the Gambian Honorary Consulate, several law firms, and a facelifting massage studio, there's an office that, at first glance, could pass for just another law firm. But this one doesn't just interpret the law; it also takes action.

"What we do is necessary because the regular process in Spain is so slow," says Jorge Sorbera, lawyer and founder of "Okupas Fuera," an eviction company specializing in squatted houses and apartments. Owners call them in when they have problems with squatted apartments. They resort to them to avoid the lengthy process of going through the courts, says Sorbera. "We exert pressure to get the squatters to leave the apartments more quickly. If the situation were like in Germany, we wouldn't even exist," he claims.

On a bare, white wall of the conference room is a photograph depicting a handful of muscular men in company T-shirts. All tattooed and with full beards. These are his employees, Sorbera assures. He himself is shown on the website in a suit and without a beard or visible tattoos. His photo embodies the legal expertise alongside the physical dominance of his employees.

The company's concept seems as simple as its name: squatters ("okupas") out ("fuera"). How the employees persuade the unwanted residents to leave depends on the case, says the boss. "It's about mediating between the two sides," he explains, emphasizing: "Our methods are completely legal."

In Spain, squatting isn't always seen as a political statement, but rather as a pragmatic response to the shortage of affordable housing. Sorbera is convinced that squatting is also an organized business. Some people profit from the situation by changing the locks of vacant apartments and selling the keys to people looking for housing.

In Spanish law, the right to property is less strongly protected than in Germany, for example. If the occupation of a vacant property is only discovered after more than 48 hours, a court must first be involved for the eviction. Even though a tightened law that came into force in April provides for expedited procedures that are intended to lead to faster evictions, in practice the courts are often overloaded.

On the road with Mario

A few kilometers away, Mario from "Okupas Fuera" sets off to make initial contact. In the car, he receives the key details of the case from his coordinator via WhatsApp. "I never know what to expect at an address," says the boxer and former bodyguard. However, the solution to the situation is often the same: money is provided to get the unwanted residents to move out.

Mario typically visits up to three cases a day. Sometimes he directly connects occupiers with his colleagues in the office for negotiations. He visits some addresses multiple times. In case the residents aren't home, he keeps contact stickers in his glove compartment. The request beneath the company logo and phone number has a threatening feel: "For matters in your interest, contact us."

However, established tenants are also repeatedly driven into the muscular arms of the eviction companies. For example, when their lease is not renewed, but they refuse to leave their apartment due to their precarious situation. "Some of our members have been directly threatened by anti-occupation companies," says Carme Arcarazo, spokesperson for the Catalan Tenants' Association.

This usually happens when an attempt is made to evict an entire apartment block, for example, to set up lucrative vacation rentals . "The landlords start by evicting some people, then they send in these tough guys who try to intimidate them until they leave their apartments out of fear." Even tenants who have a valid lease are often affected.

Naturally, the sometimes brutal methods used by eviction companies are being discussed. Arcarazo is certain that the companies' goal is also to shift the discourse surrounding the right to housing. "There used to be a broad social consensus that landlords and their profit interests were the problem. Now, these actors have managed to make ordinary citizens who need a place to live seem like the criminals."

Mario is dealing with two cases today: an internal family matter and a former tenant who has suspended rent payments and allegedly sublet the apartment. Since this is the first encounter, he'll still accept the presumption of innocence, Mario says, and promises: "The next visits won't be so pleasant."

He rings the doorbell at the address in question. The young man is at home. In the stairwell, Mario pulls out his cell phone to film the interaction. "As a backup," he explains. "That way, no one can do anything to us afterward."

The conversation goes smoothly. The actual tenant is connected by phone, and both parties agree to vacate the apartment for a certain sum. "That was business," Mario assesses. "The guy says he's friends with the tenant, but didn't even know her name. She's probably handling this professionally."

The next stop, on the outskirts of town, is also quickly completed. Mario inspects and films the entire family property and reassures the elderly client, who has been worried about her safety since her adult daughter and niece began using drugs and receiving shady visitors. "Perhaps we can find an investor to buy the property," he suggests. "Then they'll automatically no longer be registered here."

Even though some companies claim to be smart mediators between the conflicting parties, they are also publicly warned against. Just in February, the Spanish House of Representatives voted on a motion by the left-wing party Podemos to ban the eviction companies, but the proposal was rejected. Podemos General Secretary Ione Belarra referred to the ban as "paramilitary, fascist, and violent organizations."

The left-wing online media outlet "Sistema 161" discovered links between Spanish eviction companies and the far-right milieu. More than 40 percent of these companies exhibited "fascist militancy." Expanding the question to include individuals who espouse ultra-right positions or organizations like the Vox party, more than half of the 50 companies surveyed for the research were affected.

Right-wing connections

A particularly prominent example is the company "Desokupa." Operator Daniel Esteve positions himself on the side of the political right on social networks and recently contributed to inciting xenophobic mobs in southern Spain.

Mario also makes no secret of his political stance. He's been a Vox voter since day one. Migration is one of Spain's main problems, he explains the next day on his way to his current case. "Get rid of all the criminal immigrants, and if you take up residence in someone else's house, you should be thrown out too," it's as simple as that. "Both are mostly foreigners." He believes, incidentally, that one should have the right to shoot intruders. But that's just his personal opinion, not the company's. Would he have the same opinion if he weren't in this profession? He considers: "No, probably not to such an extreme."

Another day, the topic is the suburban apartment of a pilot who bought it some time ago and now wants to move in himself. It's not the first time Mario has visited. However, dealing with the Senegalese migrant who lives in the apartment has been quite straightforward so far.

When the door buzzer of the five-story apartment building buzzes, Mario puts his phone in his pocket. "We're not filming this interaction." Once upstairs, the door opens. "How are you?" he asks the man, who introduces himself as Samba. "Something to eat?" the man offers. He offers rice with sauce. Mario declines and sits down at the kitchen table. "Such a clean apartment," he praises the 42-year-old squatter. He says he usually sees a lot.

Then they get down to the organizational stuff. Samba is supposed to leave the apartment in the next few days and receive severance pay. They agree on the following Friday. The owner has already agreed on €1,500. "If he can give more, I'll gladly take that," Samba remarks. He'll do his best, Mario promises.

"Of course, I can't tell the owner what a good guy his squatter is," says Mario outside, after updating the owner by phone. "He sees him as a criminal. But I managed to get a little more money out of him for Samba on top." He needs it more than the two of them. But the only victim here, he says, is clearly the owner. Then it's time to call it a night.

"The Desokupa phenomenon is extremely dangerous," says rent activist Carme Arcarazo. "It creates a concentrated power that manifests a kind of vigilantism and evades any public oversight."