For many Argentinians, especially those from Buenos Aires, Villa 31 is a household name. It is the most famous – and notorious – slum in Buenos Aires, synonymous with poverty and violence (it has the second-highest murder rate in the city), and with the narcotráficantes (organised drug gangs) and paco, a cocaine paste that destroys communities in Argentina.

As inflation climbed to 55% last year and the national poverty rate crept to 32%, the neighbourhood lurched further into the grip of gangs, such as the Sampedranos. Murder stories from the villa dominate headlines, the most recent one being the discovery of a woman’s dismembered corpse in March.

Driving along the elevated Illia highway that hugs the port, the view of densely packed shacks of corrugated sheet metal, wood and scavenged bricks stretches out in either direction. This villa de emergencia (or villa miseria as slums and shantytowns are known in Argentina) is home to more than 40,000 people.

Of course it’s reasonable that some people will be fearful. It’s a very profound change Diego Fernández

Like most villas, 31 isn’t connected to an official power grid (cables hang across the settlement, illegally tapping electricity from nearby power lines), there are almost no paved roads, and no official sewage system or running water. When it rains heavily, the labyrinthine alleys turn into muddy, smelly canals. Emergency vehicles can’t squeeze through the narrow streets, and the neighbourhood is so packed with resident-built homes stacked on top of each other that the streets resemble a game of Jenga.

Out of necessity, it has developed a parallel economy, with housing, commerce and many social services being handled internally.

But a plan by the government of Buenos Aires aims to change all this, and to bring this maligned neighbourhood in from the cold. Its ambitious, $250m urbanisation project aims to transform Villa 31 into a barrio, an official neighbourhood, called Barrio 31 or the Barrio Padre Carlos Mugica, and integrate it into the city’s service infrastructure – and charge people for utilities.

Cables are draped over streets in Villa 31 to tap into nearby power lines, as it isn’t connected to the city’s official power grid. Photograph: Luisa Rollenhagen

The scheme will draw up property titles for the thousands of unregistered homes and parcels of land, and move a number of residents to 1,200 “improved” homes. There will be new schools, a medical centre, a new branch of the education ministry and an elevated park-bridge reminiscent of the high line in New York. The infrastructure projects are scheduled to finish this month.

But many in the neighbourhood cannot shake a deep mistrust toward the government that has been fed by decades of neglect, discrimination, and multiple attempts to eradicate the villas and displace their inhabitants. Saul Sanchez, who lives in 31, says residents still face huge disadvantages when applying for jobs or loans, since their address carries such stigma. The stereotype of the drug-addicted, violent villero is hard to shake. “It’s frustrating that we’re all painted with the same brush. And it hurts.”

And the fact that Villa 31 is sitting on highly valuable land in the central neighbourhood of Retiro has not gone unnoticed, either – a lot in the Güemes sector close to Retiro train station can go for 250,000 to 400,000 pesos (about £4,650-£7,440), for example.

Probably the biggest challenge will be moving the Illia highway, under which houses are stacked so high that their roofs scrape the underside of the road. The hundreds of families living there are to be moved into the new homes, but convincing people to leave has not been easy, and some refuse to move.

Diego Fernández, who leads the Secretariat of Social and Urban Integration, which was created specifically for this project, says the change will be positive for the people of the neighbourhood. “This isn’t supposed to be a painful process,” he says. “Of course it’s reasonable that some people will be fearful. It is a very profound change, and a very physical one, especially when you see all the construction and the new houses and the streets being built. But we want to finally integrate this informal city into a formal part of Buenos Aires.”

No one’s going to complain if they bring electricity and running water and gas. The problem is they want to do things their way Saul Sanchez

For some, the plan is proof that the city government is finally taking concrete steps in improving the villa and the life of its citizens. Fernández says: “We want to create opportunities for the people to increase their income and incentivise economic development.”

However the manner in which the work has been carried out has been criticised. Fr Guillermo Torre has lived in the neighbourhood since 1999, and runs everything from addiction rehabilitation programmes to after-school programmes for children. “People don’t think it’s a bad thing that the government is coming and doing things,” says Guillermo (or Padre Willy as he is known in the neighbourhood), who is acting as an intermediary between the secretariat and the people of the villa.

“The problem is that they come in with a fixed idea of what they want to do, and don’t talk to the people. The people don’t feel heard.”



He gives the example of children from the neighbourhood recently painting a mural in one of the new plazas. They ended up writing their names on the seating area, and representatives from the secretariat came round and painted over it, saying the children were vandalising and “appropriating” the place. “I told them, you don’t understand. They’re not appropriating anything.

Homes upon homes in Villa 31. Photograph: Luisa Rollenhagen

“They’re showing that they belong here, that this is their neighbourhood. There are many moments like that, where it seems like [the government] feels they need to come and ‘educate’ people.”

The serious lack of communication between the secretariat and the residents is making people feel their neighbourhood is being taken away from them, and it brings up deep-seated resentments about being talked down to, disrespected and dismissed. Fernández says the secretariat takes extensive measures to communicate with the people in the villa, but he acknowledges that there is always room for improvement.

One of the project’s aims is to gain control over the informal network of housing, by giving out property deeds that residents could use to apply for infrastructure services, as well as giving them a legally binding right to their property. Residents can buy their properties, with the option to pay in instalments.

Still, some people, such as Norma Rodriguez, think it is a strategy intended to drive residents away. “The truth is that 95% of the people here won’t be able to pay housing, and expenses, and utilities,” she says. “No one here has a fixed income, everyone’s living day to day, and social services keep getting cut. So what will happen? Those who can’t pay will have to go.”

The move into the new housing project has been less than thrilling for Rodriguez and her family, and she says many residents are equally disappointed. Firstly, people accustomed to living in houses, no matter how small, now have to live in apartments. Also, like Rodriguez and her husband, who has an iron-smith business, the majority of people in the villa operate some kind of small business from their home or nearby. In the new home, she says there is barely any space for her husband to work. “He’s basically working directly in the street.”

Then there were problems with the new houses themselves. Primarily constructed out of drywall, the houses had been hastily made and were not ready when the first families moved in, residents say. Additionally, there have been problems with the piping, and leaks.

Fernández argues that construction problems are to be expected and are usually fixed quickly. Responding to the concerns about people being able to afford their own homes, he says they want to “strengthen people’s ability to generate more income, afford better housing, and have more stability”.

Barrio 31 is emerging: the new neighbourhood has housing blocks with solar panels on their roofs. Photograph: Luisa Rollenhagen

And so the project doggedly moves forward and in some parts of the villa, the work does look promising. Housing blocks painted in blue and green sport solar panels on their roofs; some streets are already being pulled open to install piping underneath; there are some clean and airy plazas, complete with minimalist playgrounds and cement planters.



Villa 31 has always been a site of resistance, nuisance, shame, opportunity, or resilience, depending on who you ask. After residents have spent decades surviving on their own, many fear being scammed, displaced, or steamrollered by a large bureaucratic machine.

But some say this does not invalidate the project. Sanchez says: “They are investing a lot of money into this. And no one’s going to complain if they bring electricity and running water and gas. And I think it’s right to pay taxes for those things. But the problem is that they want to do things their way.”

Little things, like hiring outside contractors to water the lawn and the flowers in the plaza outside Rodriguez’s house, instead of giving residents that responsibility, show that lack of trust is still a major hurdle.

Fernández acknowledges this, saying overcoming cultural prejudices may be the biggest challenge. “We need to not only integrate the people of the Barrio 31 into the city, we also need to bring in the people from the rest of the city,” he says.

“For me, our work will finally be done when a person tells their friend, ‘hey, let’s have dinner tonight at that lovely restaurant in the Barrio 31,’ or ‘hey, do you want to get a beer at that awesome bar in that neighbourhood?’ Once that happens, and it’s a normal thing, then we’ve won.”

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