IN the heart of São Paulo, an area as large as London’s Soho stands as a heartbreaking symbol of Brazil’s more than 30-year war on drugs.
In Cracolândia, literally “Crackland” in Portuguese, hundreds of people gather to smoke crack in the streets.
It is one of the largest and most violent drug zones in the world, despite many attempts to dismantle it and rehabilitate its residents.
During the day, the streets are filled with zombie-like figures wrapped in blankets.
Their faces show the marks of years of addiction.
Some of them are only 13 years old.
Without shelter, running water or sanitation, many scavenge for recyclables, desperately hoping to gather enough for their next use.
Garbage piles up and a strong stench of sweat and garbage lingers in the air in what became known as Brazil’s version of America’s Skid Row.
Nearby, police patrol the streets or stand by, not to stop drug use, but to prevent robberies and violence.
Surrounded by scenes of deprivation, the area has survived several government attempts to dismantle it.
And according to a recent report, “mini Cracklands” have sprung up in other parts of the city.
In Cracolândia, a hit can cost just a few cents.
It makes it dangerously accessible to people from all walks of life.
From gangsters to former lawyers or doctors, they become trapped by addiction in the hell of drugs and become “walking corpses,” as the police like to describe them.
Office workers and students from nearby universities run by, just meters from a drug-fueled parallel universe.
Felipa Drumont, 26-year-old transgender, homeless and crack addict, has been living on the streets of Cracolândia for years.
“It’s a horrible life,” he said. the guardian in 2017.
“You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. All the money you can get goes to crack.”
Cracolândia is not hidden in a forgotten corner of São Paulo.
It is located next to Luz, the city’s busiest train station, and close to private schools, leisure centers and concert halls.
Even South America’s largest newspaper, Folha de São Paulo, has its offices just a few blocks away.
It’s a horrible life. You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. All the money you can get goes to crack.
Philipa Drummont
The harsh contract makes Cracolândia unique and a constant source of embarrassment for the mayors of São Paulo.
In 2014, Prince Harry visited Cracolândia to support the Opens Arms project, which aimed to reduce crime and drug abuse in the deprived area.
In the photo below, he is seen talking to residents.
Every new administration in Sao Paulo promises to “fix” the area and help residents.
João Doria, mayor of the city between 2017 and 2018 and former businessman, declared war on Cracolândia shortly after taking office.
In May of that year, he sent 900 police and security officers to clear the streets, using rubber bullets and stun grenades to disperse the crowds.
“The police showed up throwing bombs at everyone,” Drumont said.
She and others scattered, taking refuge in nearby gas stations or moving to shelters, she recalled, as authorities arrested dozens of small-time traffickers and confiscated weapons and drugs.
Doria then triumphantly declared, “Crackland is over and it won’t be coming back.”
But, like all mayors before him, Doria underestimated the “immortality” of Cracolândia.
In a matter of months, the “fluxo” (native term for the congregation of users) re-formed a few meters away.
Francisco Inácio Bastos, who led the last national crack survey in Brazil, told The Guardian: “What we see is a change of project in each administration, without any continuation.
“Everything is political. We need a minimum of consensus at the national level, not (just from the) right or left (wing) but based on scientific arguments at a global level.
“Without this, (Cracolândia) will continue as it is.”
A persistent problem
Cracolândia’s resistance is linked to Brazil’s broader struggles against drug addiction, poverty and inequality.
The country has the largest number of crack users in the world: there are an estimated 370,000 in major urban centers, according to figures from a national survey.
São Paulo’s location at the heart of Brazil’s economy and its proximity to cocaine-producing countries such as Bolivia, Colombia and Peru make it a center for drug trafficking, controlled by powerful gangs.
Efforts to dismantle Cracolândia are stuck in a tragic cycle.
Heavy-handed police raids disperse users temporarily, but the “flow” simply reconvenes nearby.
Programs like 2014’s Open Arms, which provided shelter and cash to addicts in exchange for small tasks, faced criticism and were eventually dismantled.
Meanwhile, new “mini-Cracolândias” have emerged on the outskirts of São Paulo, further dividing the problem without ever resolving it.
