In New Caledonia, the social housing model is faltering with the crisis

At 54, Sabine now sleeps under a tarpaulin in a squat (the name given to shantytowns in New Caledonia) in Nouville, Noumea. A permanent caregiver, she supports her three children, a sister, and her mother alone, and was no longer able to pay her rent.

She was evicted in mid-September after years of litigation with her landlord. Her debt, which amounts to around 200.000 Pacific francs (16.000 euros), had become a dead end, and Sabine doesn't see how she can recover as New Caledonia faces an unprecedented economic crisis—11.000 jobs have been lost since May 2024.

"My two eldest children don't have jobs and in the current climate, I don't see how they could find one," sighs the fifty-year-old.

Like her, Denise has fallen into poverty. A single mother in her thirties, she lost her job "overnight in May 2024" during the violence triggered by the electoral reform.

She has just found work, but fears she will not be able to repay the more than 3.000 euros she owes to her landlord.

These stories are multiplying in New Caledonia, where the lack of minimum social benefits quickly pushes the most vulnerable households into exclusion. Unemployment benefits, capped at €1.200 and limited to nine months, are not enough to compensate for the loss of a job in a territory where life is 31% more expensive than in mainland France.

Landlords caught by the throat

"To avoid finding themselves in debt, some families have preferred to leave their homes," observes Maud Peirano, director of Sud Habitat, one of the social landlords in the region, and president of Armos-NC, which brings together all of the social housing projects in New Caledonia.

Sud Habitat currently has a vacancy rate of 14%, compared to 5% before the May 2024 insurrection crisis. At the Société immobilière de Nouvelle-Calédonie (SIC), the main landlord in the territory, one in six homes is now unoccupied.

In the residences, unoccupied apartments are now sealed with metal plates to prevent any illegal occupation, which "doesn't make the environment very welcoming," Denise regrets.

The cycle is vicious: less rent collected means less money for maintenance and renovation. Some homes become uninhabitable, while others turn off families who meet the criteria.

"We also have families who are struggling every day to continue paying their rent," insists Maud Peirano, who is concerned about the exclusion of the most vulnerable.

The paradox of the system: to access social housing, you need an income. People who have been permanently excluded from the labor market cannot claim it, in an area without RSA (Responsible Social Welfare) or a sustainable safety net.

At Côteaux des Oliviers, a large social housing complex in Noumea, Daniel Hama says he has been approached by more than 300 families in distress. This independence activist, president of the Unité CDO association, is calling for a freeze on evictions.

"We cannot continue to add crisis to crisis. These are families who, for the most part, do not know their rights. They need support, not to find themselves on the streets with a sword of Damocles hanging over them," he warns.

According to Armos, unpaid bills have skyrocketed. "They've reached 50% at Sud Habitat. And the situation is similar for other members," Maud Peirano points out.

In response, landlords have had to slow down or even freeze several construction projects. "Yet we are one of the main levers for reviving construction activity," Maud Peirano points out. This has further aggravated a sector already devastated by the crisis.