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Assemblages of care and the analysisof public policies on homelessness inTurin, ItalyMichele LancionePublished online: 12 Feb 2014.

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Assemblages of care and theanalysis of public policies onhomelessness in Turin, ItalyMichele Lancione

This paper investigates the ways urban policies on homelessness are discursively framed andpractically enacted in Turin, Italy. The notion of ‘assemblages of care’ is introduced to showhow these policies contribute to the constitution of different experiences of homelessness, bymeans of their discursive blueprints and practical enactments. Relying on 10 months of eth-nographic fieldwork, the paper questions four policies. Three of these interventions arefound to have negative impacts on homeless people’s emotions and ways of life; the remain-ing policy, I argue, holds the potential to produce alternative assemblages and more positiveengagement with the individuals encountered. The conclusion provides more general criticalreflections on urban policy and homelessness.

Key words: assemblages of care, power, homeless people, homelessness policies, urbanethnography, Turin

‘How sweet the air does smell—even the airof a back-street in the suburbs—after theshut-in, subfaecal stench of the spike!’1

(George Orwell, Down and Out in Paris andLondon, 1933)

Introduction

Public and private institutions alwaysplay a role in shaping individuallives. They set rules, codes, normative

behaviours and patterns that we, con-sciously and unconsciously, follow andchallenge. This is true not only when thepower of the institution takes the form ofphysical containment (Basaglia 1964; Fou-cault 1991; Goffman 1961), but also—as inthe case here—when this power is dilutedinto everyday practices of care (Darling2011a). These practices of ‘care’, where thelatter term is more broadly understood as‘the proactive interest of one person in

the well-being of another and as the articu-lation of that interest (or affective stance)in practical ways’ (Conradson 2003a, 508),do indeed have effects that are notobvious at first sight (Green and Lawson2011; Mol 2008). Scholars have investigatedthe constitution of ambiguous spaces ofcare in the provision of services for home-less people (Johnsen, Cloke, and May2005a, 2005b), people with mental healthproblems (Parr 2000), refugees (Darling2011b) and other populations (Fyfe andMilligan 2003). On the one hand, thesespaces provide important material, andsometimes spiritual help to the ones inneed, and they also compensate (especiallyin the case of faith-based organisations,FBOs) for the withdrawal of the publicsector from the arena of social policy(Romanillos, Beaumont, and Sen 2013;Staeheli and Brown 2003). On the otherhand, they contribute to the normative

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characterisation and sometimes stigmatis-ation of their recipients (Parr and Philo1995), as well as affecting them throughemotionally painful encounters (Lancione2014; Liebow 1993).

The paper ethnographically investigatesthe policies of care for homeless people deliv-ered by the City of Turin, Italy, thus contri-buting to the literature concerned withsimilar interventions and their relativespaces (Conradson 2003b; Milligan et al.2007). It does so by following the mostrecent developments in homelessness scho-larship, which departs from the canonicalevaluation of public policies as ‘punitive’(Davis 1992), ‘annihilating’ (Mitchell 1997;Mitchell and Heynen 2009) or ‘revanchist’(Smith 1996, 1998) forms of control towardhomeless people (for a critique of theseapproaches, see DeVerteuil, May, and vonMahs 2009; DeVerteuil 2006). The new ‘per-formative’ scholarship proposes instead tounderstand homelessness ‘from within’,positing a specific attention on homelesspeople’s ‘performativities [that are] boundup in complex ways with the architectureof the city’ (Cloke, May, and Johnsen 2008,2010, 62). In proposing detailed accounts ofhomeless people’s own experiences, thisscholarship is then able to provide nuancednarratives of life on the street that mayinform the subtle effects of policymaking(DeVerteuil 2003; May 2000).

Building upon this scholarship and onrelated publications (Lancione 2013a,2013b), the paper confronts its case studythrough two interdependent perspectives.2

First, it denies overarching meta-narrative:the institution is not neo-liberal a priori, itdoes not necessarily harass homeless peopleand, even in the case of it doing so, the aimis to understand how the harassment comesinto being more than stating—or shouting—that we are confronted with an harassment(on the apocalyptical language of the ‘puni-tive approach’, see DeVerteuil 2012).Second, it proposes to evaluate these policiespaying attention to the ‘emergence andprocess’ and at the ‘multiple temporalities

and possibilities’ (McFarlane 2011a, 206)that arise in the way they assemble withtheir recipients. The paper offers, in thissense, an exploratory engagement with theprocess of assemblage that takes placebetween policies, the spaces that they enactand homeless people (Farıas 2011; on assem-blages and policymaking, see McCann2011). In order to provide a critical evaluationof this process, the paper focuses on thepower that is relationally translated by theseinterventions (Allen 2011; Ruddick 2012):both in the ways they target homelesspeople and how they are practically put inplace. In the first case we can recognise a dis-cursive form of power: policies create a ‘dis-course of homelessness’, which in the endserve to sustain their scope of action(Gowan 2010; Takahashi 1996). In thesecond, we see a practice-based form ofpower. Care is performed through volunteer-ing, social assistance, provision of beds, blan-kets, waiting rooms, schedules, IDs, etc.These are actants having pivotal agenciesboth in shaping how the service is delivered(Johnsen, Cloke, and May 2005b) and incharacterising its particular affective atmos-pheres (Anderson 2009, 2012).

The approach proposed in this work con-sists, then, of the thick ethnographicaldescription of public policies as assemblagesof care—which are made up, as any assem-blage, by their discursive ‘expression’ andpractical ‘content’ (Deleuze and Guattari1987; Dewsbury 2011)3—and in their criticalanalysis from the contextual and hetero-geneous responses they provoke from home-less people (McFarlane 2011b). Through thisanalysis one does not intend to reject the rel-evance of the work that the City of Turindoes concerning homelessness, but to takefully into consideration the relational powerexpressed by it. What follows is an investi-gation of policies that, for the most part,should not be dismissed but implemented ina different way: taking into considerationthe non-obvious diagrammatic effects(Huxley 2007), sometimes positive and some-times not, which they procure to their

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recipients (on assemblages and diagrams, seeDe Landa 2000; Deleuze 1988; Legg 2011).

The paper is organised as follows. The nextsection introduces the ethnographic casestudy. The third section presents the mainapproach on homelessness promoted by theCity of Turin through the analysis of threerepresentative policies. The fourth sectionthus presents one other policy adopted bythe city, which relies on a slightly differentapproach than the one previously outlinedand provides different outcomes. The con-clusion re-reads these accounts providingreflections to inform both the analysed prac-tices and other similar cases.

The case study: Turin and the ‘ServizioAdulti in Difficolta’

The paper relies on materials collected in anintensive 10-month ethnographic fieldworkthat I conducted from September 2009 toJune 2010 in Turin, Italy. The fieldworkinvolved extensive observations with home-less individuals on the streets (at least 4times a week), participant observations (andvolunteering) in a soup kitchen and a shelter(4 times a week), observations undertakenwhile frequenting a multifunctional centreand shelter, owned by the city and managedby a group of social workers called ‘Educa-tiva Territoriale’ (on which I will returnlater), as well as in-depth interviews withhomeless people (43; plus a set of longitudinalinterviews with selected individuals), prac-titioners (16) and a collection of secondarydata (Lancione 2011a). Since homelesspeople mostly felt uncomfortable with thepractice of audio-recording interviews, tocollect data I relied on a mixture of intensivein-field note-taking, post-field notes andphotos representing the investigated contexts.The verbatim quotes presented in this workcome, however, from taped interviews.

To begin with, it is worth noting that Italydoes not provide a clear and well-definednational policy or strategy on homelessness.Cities, as also seen in other European

contexts (Filipovi, Somogyi, and Teller2009), are almost left alone to manage thematter. Turin is no exception. Besides theimportant role played by FBOs (Lancione2014), the most relevant services aremanaged by a public body called ‘ServizioAdulti in Difficolta’ (SAD—Service forAdults in Need). Access to the SAD’s ser-vices is not automatic and is related to theresidential status of the recipient, whichusually takes two forms: people deprived ofany identity document (ID) and hence ofany formal residence, and people in posses-sion of documents testifying to their residen-tial status in another municipality other thanTurin.4 In these cases the SAD offers twopossible routes.

In the first, individuals are encouraged toapply for a ‘fictive residence’ in the so-called ‘Via della Casa Comunale, 1’. This isa fictive route created for administrative pur-poses: by obtaining an ID that shows theirresidential status in this fictive street, home-less people formally declare their homelessstatus, thus becoming fully eligible for theresources offered by the SAD (Citta diTorino 2009a). These include access to allthe first-aid public shelters of the city, on abasis of 30 consecutive and renewable days;the possibility of attending a personalisedcolloquium and receive assistance in orderto get financial aid from the city; assistancefor the procedures necessary to get socialhousing; the possibility of following one ofthe reintegration paths proposed by theSAD, which include smaller first andsecond-level residential dormitories (wherethe individual is monitored by social educa-tors); and specialised sanitary assistance.The second route is for the ones that do notapply for the fictive residence and are there-fore deprived of any of ID recognised bythe city. Individuals are allowed to takeadvantage of a few services, but only inaccordance with specific, limited, modalities:access to dormitories is granted only forseven consecutive nights (which are renew-able only according to availability); andmedical assistance is provided for free only

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by the multifunctional services located nearthe main train station. For this secondgroup of people it is then impossible toaccess the second-level services and dormi-tories; to apply for any financial help orsocial housing; and to be formally helpedand monitored by a social worker (theycould do so only taking the first route:obtaining a fictive residence in ‘Via dellaCasa Comunale, 1’).

I will evaluate SAD’s policies against thesteps previously outlined: first, by showingtheir expression (discursive rationale) andcontent (practical enacting); and second, bypaying attention to how homeless peopleexperience the interaction with them. Fol-lowing this approach I have been able toidentify three cases in which the policies ofthe city were negatively affecting homelesspeople and one in which a different kind ofassemblage was put forward.

Normative assemblages

An interview with the Social Services’ Munici-pal Councillor of Turin (the highest rankingpolitical figure in the city in this field) offersa starting point to retrieve the discursiverationale underlying most of the city’s inter-ventions. Asked to whom the services thatthe city offers were directed, he answered:

‘The target audience is represented by peoplewithout economical and personal resources,to which we should add relational fragilityand social marginality. Often there is thecoexistence of problems that are competencyof the health system, such as addictions and/ormental disease/distress, or even problemsrelating to the competency of the Ministry ofJustice. The variety of the problematic meansthat there is the necessity to offer integratedanswers to complex needs, in particular to theones of health.’ (M.B., Jun. 2010; italicsadded)

This picture of homeless people is centred ontwo particular discourses: the personaldeficiencies of the individual and their health

issues. The first are represented by thoseelements that push the individual away fromthe stereotype of the productive occidentalman—with a job, a wide and strong socialnetwork, and certain codified personal abilities(Takahashi 1996). The second is a discoursethat tends to associate certain pathologieswith the condition of homelessness, withoutquestioning if these are a default characteristicof a homeless person or if they are successiveemerging features of their relational life onthe street (Gowan 2010). The SAD putsimilar discourses forward:

‘[The SAD] takes care of homeless people,some of whom hold a fictive residence, “Via[della Casa] Comunale”. [ . . . ] The problemexpressed by the users is related to the lack ofa house and a job, but behind it are hiddenpersonal difficulties and suffering. There aremany alcoholics with health issues, addicts andpsychiatric patients. Our operators, as well asthe one in the shelters, escort these people tothe therapeutic facilities [of the city].’ (A.G.,head of the SAD at the time. Quoted inFallico 2011; emphasis added)

Available documentation produced by theSAD plays along similar lines (Citta diTorino 2009b). The issue is not related towhat this discourse does say—it is indeedundeniable that health and mental problems,as well as the addiction to substances, arepart of the homelessness matter. Rather, theissue is related to what this discourse doesnot say, and to the implications of framinghomelessness in this way. The homelessperson that emerges from these discursiveframes is recognised and depicted more forwhat s/he lacks (economical and personalresources) than for what s/he has (or couldhave); more for her/his health problems(addictions and metal diseases) than for her/his potentialities. Moreover, a strong stressis put on the health issues of the individual,which is typical of a ‘disease’ model approachto homelessness criticised by many scholars(Barnao 2004; Gowan 2000).

This particular way of discursively framinghomelessness—as a matter of lacking

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something—is the (mainly unconscious)blueprint for the kind of normative practicesthat the city put in place. ‘Normative’, in thiscase, stands for the fact that these practices ofcare do not challenge the main discourse, butreinforce it by means of assembling with it.As the following cases show, the assemblagetakes place through policies largely inatten-tive to the specificities, and necessities, ofeach subject. The assemblages of care inTurin are not, in other words, designed (ordiagrammed) from an understanding of theheterogeneity of homelessness (whichincludes wishes, desires, personal expec-tations, capabilities, etc.); but from the cano-nical and pathological discourses framing it(Canguilhem 1989).

The ‘1 + 1’

The first case is related to the so-called ‘1 +1’ system. As previously noted, if someonedid not have a residence in Turin (either realor fictive) they were entitled to a bed in apublic dormitory for no more than sevendays. Afterwards, they were placed on awaiting list for a new dormitory and, whilethey waited, often for several weeks, theyhad three options: to sleep on the street (orin trains or in other liminal spaces); to sleepat the ‘Emergenza Freddo’ camp, but onlyduring the winter (‘Cold Emergency’, seebelow); or to try the so-called ‘1 + 1’, aday-by-day venture to get one of the twonon-bookable places that every dormitoryallocated per night.

Silvano5 was a homeless person I met at thebeginning of my fieldwork. His descriptionof the ‘1 + 1’ system is very emblematic(and was shared by all the homeless personsthat I encountered). The first thing to noticeis the emotional frustration of having todeal with such a system:

‘You have to stand in front of the dormitoryat 4, 5 p.m., and start queuing. You stay there,and wait. You can’t go later on . . . you won’tfind any bed. The place is full of people that

just stand in front of the dormitory all daylong. There are even people that take the placefor someone else . . . and then you have tofight. It’s insane.’ (Silvano, Oct. 2009)

Then, there is the waste of time that such asystem implies, a waste that influences theways homeless people spend their days:

‘If you go there at 4 p.m. . . . you know whatthis means? That you can’t do anything else.You wake up, you go to the nuns [at a soupkitchen managed by the Vincenzianicommunity] then you hang around a bit andit’s time for lunch. When you start to look fora job, it’s already time to queue at thedormitory: what kind of life is this? Tell me.How am I supposed to deal with this? To getout of here?’ (Silvano, Oct. 2009)

In the end, there is the stress of sleeping onenight in one place without knowing what isgoing to happen the following night:

‘When you go out in the morning you knowthat you have to start all over again, from thebeginning. I can’t leave my stuff anywhere. Ican’t settle. I’ve nothing with me, I can’t thinkof anything else but where I’m gonna queuethat afternoon. I can’t go on like this. I’ve toget away, to find another way.’ (Silvano, Oct.2009)

Dealing with the ‘1 + 1’ affected homelesspeople emotionally on a daily basis: fromfeelings of success (having secured a place)to failure (the contrary). Moreover, the ‘1 +1’ forced them to physically move aroundthe city, continuously changing dormitory.Besides the obvious physical distress of thisventure (Figure 1), one should not forgetthe emotional freight associated with suchmovements, not least because the spaces ofthe dormitories ‘have moods and physiolo-gies as much as people did’ (Desjarlais 1997,58). Homeless people doing the ‘1 + 1’were negotiating every day new relationalpatterns, receiving contradictory and mul-tiple stimuli, which in the end reduced thepossibility of alternative endeavours (Snowand Anderson 1993).

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In getting closer to the assemblagesforming the ‘1 + 1’ one could better appreci-ate the implication of this policy on its recipi-ents. Some of the people I encountered werepurposively refusing to engage with thissystem because they perceived it as denigrat-ing. Ivano was one of them:

‘No way am I going to queue there. You see?Everybody sees you. And you have to wait forso long [ . . . ] I go to the Martini instead [one ofthe major public Turin hospitals]. I go there at9.30 p.m. I go in the waiting room. They don’task you anything. You just sit. And they gotRTL 102.5 playing [a popular Italian Radio].[. . . ] I sleep on the chair . . . Wine helps. But thechairs are hard!’ (Ivano, Feb. 2010)

Central to Ivano’s account of the ‘1 + 1’system is the queue, the assemblage where

this policy took its most evident materialform. The queue is an assemblage with a par-ticular aesthetic, which is immediately under-stood by those passing by it and looking at it.Five to 10 homeless individuals, drinking andsmoking, sitting on the pavement or on thestairs leading to a dormitory signify onlyone thing: poverty. Their arrangement/assemblage, perpetuated every day in timeand space, represented like a mirror what‘we’ canonically expect to see: deprived indi-viduals waiting for help. The ‘1 + 1’ was thennot only a queue, but a normative spectaclebroadcast every day on the street. Thepower expressed by it took at least threeforms: (a) it reproduced a particular kind ofaesthetic, which had an effect on howpeople perceived themselves (Goffman1990); (b) it moved the subjects assembledwithin it, by means of stress, tensions andfights, producing a particularly unpleasantaffective atmosphere; and (c) it moved sub-jects away from it, as showed by Ivano avoid-ing the queue and preferring a chair instead ofa bed, in order to dissociate himself fromsomething that did not represent him.

The relational powers enacted by the queue(of self-deprecation, stress and avoidance)were not intentionally designed in the ‘1 +1’ policy. They were contingent and contex-tual effects brought about by the arrangementsat play in the enactment of that policy: by par-ticular discursive framings on homelessnessand poverty (‘the poor will wait under anycondition, because s/he is lacking somethings/he desperately needs’); by the location ofthe queue (on the pavement); by the proximityof bodies; by cigarettes, alcohol and smells; by10 names on a list from which only two will beselected; by the joy and fear, tensions andrelief, brought forward by the act of waiting;and so on.

Via della Casa Comunale, 1

The second example concerns the bureauc-racy that surrounds the obtaining of thefictive residence in ‘Via della Casa Comunale,

Figure 1 Homeless person resting in the premises of theVincenziani soup kitchen. ‘When you miss the 1 + 1 youwon’t sleep. So what do you do? You try to survive untilthe morning. And then you sleep wherever you can’ (Sil-vano, Oct. 2009) (Source: Lancione 2011a)

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1’. As it has been previously noted, in manycases this residence was the only way toavoid the ‘1 + 1’ system, and although themajority of homeless people did not like itbecause of the stigma attached to it, someothers chose it anyway. To gain access, indi-viduals needed to demonstrate to the SADtwo fundamental things: that they did notreside anywhere and that they had no posses-sions. If the first point was quite easy todemonstrate by everyone, the second posedsome issues.

Daniele was a homeless individual withoutany documents, as he had lost them and wasunable to get another copy from his originaltown of residence (a condition commonamong many other homeless people that Iencountered). Although he was not enthu-siastic about the idea of getting a fictive resi-dence in ‘Via della Casa Comunale, 1’ hedecided to get it anyway. However, althoughno longer in possession of it, Daniele was stillformally the owner of a car. For this reasonthe procedure to obtain the ID was takingmore time than it should have:

‘I got this car . . . I can’t even remember when.[Pause]. I don’t have it anymore, of course!But their fucking PC still says that I’m theowner. But owner of what?! I don’t have thatcar anymore.’ (Daniele, Apr. 2010)

The only solution for him was to cancel own-ership of the car, but this would have costabout 80 euros and implied yet further paper-work. The SAD could not provide thismoney to him, as he was not entitled toreceive any help from the city:

‘How can I pay for this? I’m stuck. They donot pay for me. I don’t have the money. I can’tget the residence. And that’s it. I do notunderstand this system. [Pause]. The bestthing would be to go there [to the SADoffices] and say: fuck you all! Then to runaway.’ (Daniele, Apr. 2010)

The bureaucracy necessary to obtain thefictive residence in ‘Via della Casa Comunale,1’ could be viewed as a kind of

‘governmentality’, as a way ‘to arrangethings in such a way that, through a certainnumber of means, such-and-such ends maybe achieved’ (Foucault 2000, 211), where the‘certain number of means’ were the two con-ditions necessary to get the card (which is theaim to achieve). This diagrammatic form ofgovernmentality had particular effects onthe individuals that related to it. Danielewas stressed, incredibly angry toward the‘system’, and could not understand whythings could not be easier for someone inhis position. When speaking about thismatter he would tell me: ‘They do not wantto help you, they want to drive you crazy!’(Daniele, Apr. 2010). He was losing faith inthe system of care provided by the city, andevery time he met with someone from theSAD, or tried to obtain information fromother city offices, he was returning depressedand demotivated (Figure 2).

Encountering the governmentality of ‘Viadella Casa Comunale, 1’, individuals becameincreasingly frustrated due to the difficultiesin understanding the process. Moreover,when the residence was finally gained, therewas a further stigmatising effect difficult—ifnot impossible—to overcome. Giuseppe—another long-term homeless individual andpart of my study—was claiming that to havewritten in his ID that he was residing at‘Via della Casa Comunale, 1’ was likewearing a badge advertising he was a home-less person. In this sense, Giuseppe’saccount is similar to the one portrayed byLiebow (1993), when he reported the storyof a woman arguing that it was impossiblefor her to find a job because the only tele-phone number she could give to her possibleemployer was the shelter in which she wassleeping:

‘To give the shelter telephone number as one’sown is, in effect, to announce that one ishomeless, staff at the day shelter answer thephone with “Mainlie Church Day Shelter forWomen”. Shirley protested that she couldnever get a job as long as shelter staffanswered the phone that way.’ (53)

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In the end, the ‘Via della Casa Comunale, 1’policy was proposing to the individual a stan-dardised and monolithic procedure withoutbeing able to take into account one’s ownspecific matters (as with Daniele’s old carissue or Giuseppe’s wish to work), thusembroiling the subject into a powerful,highly binding and conditioning, assem-blage-bureaucracy.

The ‘Emergenza Freddo’ camp

The third case regards a place where home-less people who couldn’t sleep in dormi-tories or on the street, could go during thewinter season: the ‘Emergenza Freddo’camp (Figure 3). The ‘Emergenza Freddo’was located in the middle of one of thebiggest public parks in Turin, on the farwest side of the city. The project started in2003, and was ‘finalized at hosting homelesspeople during night’ in the cold season(it was usually open from November tolate March) (Citta di Torino 2009c). Thecamp was made up of 15 containers, whichcould accommodate up to eight people

each in bunk beds. It was open from7.30 p.m. to 8.00 a.m. every night, andoffered, apart from a place to sleep, ashared bathroom, two showers and freecoffee both in the evening and in themorning. Two people, one from the MilitaryCivil Protection and another from the RedCross, monitored the entrance of the campand slept in a separate container locatednear the others.

Homeless people entered the campwithout any documents and slept there aslong as there were free beds. Although for-mally forbidden, the consumption ofalcohol and smoking was a common practicein the units and violent verbal and physicalfights were the norm. For this reason theassistants of the camp were calling thepolice almost every night. It was thereforepossible to get into the Emergenza Freddocamp without documents and then have freereign. In this sense, this place could be seenas ‘exceptional’ from the other shelters ofthe city, where control was much tighterand the codes of conduct were strictlyimplemented. In the Red Cross’ Vademecumfor the activities of the camp was written:

Figure 2 Two young homeless individuals waiting to be served at one of the city’s offices (Source: Lancione 2011a)

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‘Service staff must register the guests askingthem their generalities: Name—Surname—Nationality—Sex (it is not necessary to askfor any Identity Document, as this area [theCamp] is recognized as “free zone” unlike allthe other dormitories of the city).’ (CroceRossa Italiana 2008)

In this sense, if ‘being outside and yet belong-ing: [ . . . ] is the topological structure of thestate of exception’ (Agamben 2005, 35), theEmergenza Freddo camp was a state of excep-tion outside of the city’s normal rules, but runby the city itself and established within itthrough the suspension of the norm. In thecall for the public financing of the camp it ispossible to ascertain the reasons why such anexceptional space was created:

‘The project has among its objectivesthe assurance of a service that protectsthe physical integrity of vulnerablesubjects, and to protect the general interest ofthe whole community under the profile ofsecurity, health, public order and ofcivilized living.’ (Citta di Torino 2009c;italics added)

Moreover, in an interview that I conductedwith the head of the camp, he told me:

‘Listen to me. This is a thing that has beendone to remove dangerous people from thestreets. The Mayor does not want them on thestreet. They create problems, especially whenthey are drunk. Here, instead, they are left totheir own destinies without annoyinganyone.’ (A.P., Feb. 2010)

The discourse that emerges from these com-ments is one that aims at creating an excep-tion (the camp) for two reasons: to offer awarm place during winter in order to‘protect the physical integrity of vulnerablesubjects’, and to control a population per-ceived as dangerous and deviant. Both dis-courses are evidentially related to the mainnormative framework underlying this andthe other analysed policies. However, theexception was not only responding to thetwo needs for which it was created, but wascreating other, much more relevant, effectson homeless people’s subjectivities. Thecamp-as-policy, if understood as an

Figure 3 The ‘Emergenza Freddo’ camp (Source: Lancione 2011a)

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ongoing set of assemblages, reveals its truepower.

The aesthetic and materiality of thecamp—expressed by the containers—andits geographical location—on the edge ofthe city—were powerful characteristics ofthis assemblage. Marco, a young homelessindividual, was shocked by his first encoun-ter with the ‘Emergenza Freddo’. When hefirst arrived there, he felt that he was enter-ing ‘the bottom of society’ (Marco, Jan.2010): he couldn’t stand the long queue toget in, or the 45 minutes by bus to getthere, or the idea of sleeping so closely tocomplete strangers; he was terrified by thetiny space that was allocated to him; and hefelt humiliated by the free coffee in aplastic glass offered every morning by aRed Cross volunteer. Moreover, the darkand cold containers where homeless peoplelike Marco were sleeping were tacitly speak-ing to the rest of the city, as much as the ‘1 +1’ queue or the fictive ID was doing. Thesecontainers, originally designed for the trans-portation of goods, were now removingunwanted bodies from the streets of Turinoffering them a bed, but at a particularlyhigh price.

This emotional price becomes evident if welook closely at the exceptional nature of theassemblage-‘Emergenza Freddo’. The fol-lowing accounts by Roberto—a long-termhomeless individual—are illuminating inthis sense:

‘At the Pellerina’s [the park where the Campwas situated] people do whatever they want.They drink, they fight, they masturbate, andthey shit, everything: no rules. The Red Crossman shuts himself in his container and that’sall—people can do whatever they want. Andif you are there the choices are just three: youdrink and you try to pass the night, you fightwith someone, or you are lucky that you areso tired that you fall asleep. [Pause] But itdoes not last long. Someone or somethingalways wakes you up!’ (Roberto, Dec. 2009)

The exceptionality of this place subjectedthese people to a whole set of encounters

that are unusual at night—noises, smokingand drinking, shouting and fighting:

‘You can’t sleep there! You’ve to trust me.Would you sleep if someone is smoking,someone else snoring like a pig, and in theother container a fight has just broken out?Would you tell the one who is smoking andtalking with his friend to stop doing so? Theyare crazy. It is full of Moroccans andRumanians there. They always have kniveswith them. I go there just ’cause it’s warm,that’s it. But I’m gonna stop with it, it’s shit.’(Roberto, Dec. 2009)

The assemblage-‘Emergenza Freddo’ wastherefore characterised by a tremendouslyuncomfortable and stressful affective encoun-ter. If the first part of the project’s documentstates that its aim was to protect the ‘physicalintegrity of vulnerable subjects’, the suspen-sion of the norm at best did not allow forthis protection. Homeless people likeRoberto were thus deeply demoralisedbecause of spending the night there. Alcoholwas their companion, increasing dependencyand risks to their health. A sense of defeatpervaded them, because they already knewbefore going into the camp that inside itwas barely possible to sleep without beingawoken by some fight or other issues. Thestrong aversion of homeless people for thisplace was demonstrated by the fact that thecamp never reached its full capacity and thatmany of them preferred to sleep in trains oron the street rather than going into thosecontainers.

What emerges from this analysis is thatthe constitution of an exception like the‘Emergenza Freddo’ camp had conse-quences that cannot be simply understoodfrom its aims, and cannot be simplylimited to Agamben’s logic of the camp(Diken and Laustsen 2005). This site wasneither only a practice of care, nor only aform of control of homeless people—but amachine that through its assemblages (dia-grammatically activated through the suspen-sion of the norm) deeply affected thesubjects it encountered.

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A different assemblage of care

Besides these normative policies, the City ofTurin also provides services that seem torely on a different kind of approach, onewhich pays greater attention to the hetero-geneity of each subject. In what follows Iam going to present one of them, called ‘Edu-cativa Territoriale’, which will inform someof the reflections proposed at the end of thepaper.

The ‘Educativa Territoriale’

The ‘Educativa Territoriale’ was a group ofthree social educators based in a multifunc-tional centre located near the main trainstation of the city, in a street called ‘viaSacchi’, which also gave the informal nameto this space. The ‘via Sacchi’ centre consistedof assemblages such as a shelter, a smallmedical clinic and a space used for counsel-ling. The discursive blueprint for the prac-tices of care enacted in this space is clearlyexplained by what B.B. (the head educatorof the centre) told me:

‘We have to monitor the situation ofhomelessness on the streets of Turin,producing reports on it, and trying“coupling” [get in touch] with the newhomeless people that we encounter.’ (B.B.,Apr. 2010)

Although the main aim of this service was tointroduce homeless people to the world ofpublic assistance, the Educativa Territorialealso offered another important service. The‘Educativa Territoriale’ project was designedto take into consideration the complexity ofthe urban homeless subject. B.B. was awareof the fact that homeless individuals are co-constituted with the city:

‘The existence of a homeless people is suckedaway by the street. The city is at the sametime a resource, but also what changes you inyour daily struggle to survive.’ (B.B., Apr.2010)

B.B. and his team were approaching homelessindividuals paying attention to their personalissues and street’s histories, listening to themand spending time with them on the street,creating a good emphatic atmosphere thatfacilitated exchange and mutual respect. Theapproach of the ‘Educativa Territoriale’ wastherefore aimed at taking into considerationthe effects that the city had on homelesspeople (which were investigated and moni-tored), and at providing non-normative,free-to-use and loosely organised services(like the showers, the teas and the provisionof basic medical care offered in the centre).Thanks to this approach B.B. was a widelyknown and respected figure among homelesspeople in Turin, and he really had a grasp ofwhat was going on in train stations, meetingplaces and other hidden refuges. This knowl-edge, and the kind of work that he and histeam were doing, were acknowledged andappreciated by homeless individuals them-selves. Davide, a long-time street liver, likedthe ‘via Sacchi’ centre not only because hecould take a shower there and be visited bya doctor, but also because

‘I like the way they treat me. You see, I canspeak with B., I’m one of his friends. And Ican go to the doctor too, all in the same place.’(Davide, Mar. 2010)

The overall atmosphere of the centre can bedescribed as positive and supportive (DeVer-teuil and Wilton 2009). This was a contextwhere people could come and go withoutfeeling controlled, or pressured to achievesome specific, institutional ends. During theafternoon, when the medical clinic wasopen, homeless people were gatheringaround the place to chat, exchange infor-mation or simply relax. They were havinghot teas, taking showers and shavingwithout being bothered with too many ques-tions by the social workers of the ‘EducativaTerritoriale’, whom interacted with them in afriendly way without being paternalistic. The‘via Sacchi’ centre was a fixed point on themap of many homeless individuals in thecity. People like Valerio, a homeless

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individual with a history of behavioural pro-blems, were going to the centre every day at4 p.m., and staying there for at least acouple of hours chatting and enjoying aspace that they perceived as ‘OK’ (Valerio,Mar. 2010).

Gathering in front of the centre, or step-ping outside, was not perceived as detrimen-tal—like it was in the case of the ‘1 + 1’queue. People were not queuing or waitingto receive a ‘service’: in front of the anon-ymous door of ‘via Sacchi’ (Figure 4) peoplewere just hanging around, mixing with thepedestrians walking that same path, com-menting on the cars passing by or simplywatching the flow of the city in front ofthem in a peaceful manner. Rules and codesof behaviour were implemented in thecentre (for instance, it was not possible toconsume alcohol there). However, the atten-tion to the needs of the individual and thefriendly atmosphere of this space allowedB.B. and his team to avoid fights, or

arguments, between their guests. The assem-blage of care going on at the ‘via Sacchi’centre was experienced, in other words, as avaluable resource and everyone was carefulto avoid jeopardising it: they were perceivingit as a place to share, more than one to fightin. The diagram belonging to this assem-blage-policy was one of allowing people toexpress, to exchange, to lead toward a posi-tive (even if momentary) de-structuration,rather than one binding them to an unwanted(and stigmatising) territorialisation.

Openings

Refusing a priori meta-explanations and cat-egorisations, the assemblage-approach takenin the paper allows for a grounded, vitalistand processual investigation into Turin’shomeless policies. The aim has been toshow how these assemblages of care contrib-ute to the constitution of different

Figure 4 The entrance to the ‘via Sacchi’ multifunctional centre (Source: Lancione 2011a)

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experiences of homelessness, by means oftheir discursive blueprint and practical enact-ments. Since the effects of these policies aremostly contingent, the question is then howmay it be possible to control them, and howmay we construct alternative arrangements(perhaps learning from the more positiveendeavour shown in the previous section).In this sense, the paper concludes with threepropositions that may also inform other con-texts where similar interventions have beenput in place.

First, attention should be given to theexpression of these policies. For the mostpart they are not able to move away fromcertain fixed categories and a pre-determinedunderstanding of homelessness, contributingto the constitution of highly stereotyped dis-courses on the matter—either from the sani-tary, the material or the public securitypoints of view. Without diminishing theimportance of acknowledging issues ofhealth, addiction and lack of personalresources, a new discourse highlighting thecapabilities, inventiveness and resourceful-ness of homeless people should be advanced.It is only by acknowledging these productiveforces in meaningful ways that a new mode ofthinking, imagining and designing policywould eventually take place. The first stepwould hence be to ‘restore an oppositionalvalue system affirming that one can live alife of dignity and integrity in the midst ofpoverty’ (hooks 1994, 170), not last throughthe public rejection of an exclusively norma-tive understanding of homelessness. AsModood (2007, 40) has argued, ‘labels hadto be contested and rejected through collec-tive protest, the summoning and building upof group pride and the projection of positivelabels and images to overcome the stigmatis-ation of involuntary identities’. Academicshave a relevant part to play here (Baeten2004), also through non-academic-relatedactivities.6

Second, there is the necessity of a thought-ful investigation of the non-linear, un-inten-tional and diagrammatical effects of thecontent of these policies. Proposing

redundant, undifferentiated and standardisedservices, these policies rigidly codify thestreet life of homeless people, withoutgiving much space for other positive encoun-ters. The ‘1 + 1’, as well as the ‘Via della CasaComunale, 1’ residence, are cogent examplesin this sense. Since these policies do notentail any degree of flexibility in relation totheir audience, they can easily lead to the cre-ation of repetitive sets of practices that haveconsequences both on the ways homelesspeople live their lives and on how they feel(as the example of Daniele and his old carshows). The work done by the ‘EducativaTerritoriale’ could serve, in this sense, as apositive example to re-work the other inter-ventions of the city, because it is carriedfirst and foremost on the basis of the inter-personal relations of trust that B.B. and histeam have with each homeless individual.The assemblages of care enacted by the ‘Edu-cativa Territoriale’ are indeed orientedtoward positive, flexible and open relationsto the subject that they encounter. In asense, they assemble ‘care’ in a different waythan the normative policies presented in thefirst half of the paper. Caring about each sub-jective experience on the street, and providinga safe and open environment for interaction,they allow for the free expression of the self(Parr 2000). Although the large-scaleimplementation of such practices definitelyrequires further investments in humanresources, basic arrangements—like the re-imagination of the ‘1 + 1’ odd queuingsystem; or the insertion of flexible parametersin the evaluation of the fictive residence—could be provided at virtually no costs tothe city.

Third, the articulation of these discoursesand practices territorialise into assemblagesthat express particular affective power,which deeply influence homeless people’swell-being (Robinson 2011). Assemblageslike waiting lists, schedules, fictive ID cards,bunk beds, chairs, waiting rooms, etc. arethe more-than-human means through whichthe encounters between homeless peopleand the city’s interventions are framed

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(Amin 2012). In this sense, these actants needto be challenged and re-worked in order tochange the kind of affective experience thatthey provide. The ‘trans-human materialculture’ (Amin 2007, 110) enacted by thecity’s policies is then the arena that policy-makers have to re-discover and re-think,even in those cases where local adminis-trations are confronted with national cuts inthe provided budget for public expenditure(something that seriously threatens the pro-vision of those services). Most of thechanges related to these assemblages can bevery cost-effective. In the case of the ‘Emer-genza Freddo’ camp, for instance, thenumber of bunk beds per container couldbe reduced in order to increase the qualityof the sleeping experience without affectingthe overall service, since the camp neverreaches its full capacity. Rules could beimplemented more effectively, and basicfacilities—like drawers or lockers to storepersonal belongings, which may foster amore intimate encounter with the place—could be easily provided. Moreover, with astronger political will: (a) the camp could bere-located closer to the city centre; (b) thecontainers could be replaced with morefriendly prefabricated solutions (recycledwood is durable and affordable, and couldoffer an opportunity in this sense); and (c)the ‘camp’ could also provide collateral inter-ventions similar to those offered in the multi-functional centre of ‘via Sacchi’.

Scholars, policymakers and practitionersface the challenge of imagining how different,non-normative, political paths could beimplemented in order to dismiss the draw-backs of canonical policies of care for home-less people. Urban policymakers will need topay attention to ‘the ways in which theiractions and reactions are responded to’(Darling 2011a, 415), but they will also needto confront the emotional consequences ofthe diagrammatical assemblages that they(mainly) unconsciously enact. Investigatingthe ‘smell of the spike’, and taking itseriously, is the best starting point for thisendeavour.

Acknowledgements

The author wishes to thank the participantsto the research, as well as Ash Amin, Fran-cesca Governa and the DIST of Turin,Stewart Clegg, Geoff DeVerteuil and Leofor their support. Thanks also to JonathanDarling, City’s Editorial Board and the twoanonymous reviewers for the comments pro-vided (the usual disclaimers apply). Thispaper is dedicated to Amos, Pancri, Paoloand Cardu.

Notes

1 ‘Spike’ is the jargon used by Orwell to indicate ahomeless shelter.

2 Note that these perspectives—the refusal of grandnarrative and the explorative engagement with urbanprocesses, which include also an attention to non-human agencies—represent two of the three tenetscharacterising critical assemblage thinkingaccording to McFarlane (2011a).

3 The distinction between ‘expression’ and ‘content’ isonly analytical. In the process of assemblage they arearticulated on the horizontal axis, with noprominence or causality of one toward the other, andon the vertical one—entangling in territorialisationand disentangling in de-territorialisation (Deleuzeand Guattari 1987; Dewsbury 2011).

4 A third possible case is of someone with a formaladministrative residence in Turin (although obviouslydeprived of a physical accommodation). In this casethe person is not managed by the SAD but by thegeneral Social Services of the city.

5 The names of the homeless people reported in the texthave been modified to protect their privacy.

6 I played my part, in the Turin context, by ‘translating’my research in a non-academic form: that of a novel.The book, called Il numero 1 (from ‘Via della CasaComunale, 1’; Lancione 2011b), was initiallyplanned to be an auto-produced book to bedistributed among the participants in the research.However, it was eventually published and reached awider audience. Il numero 1 features also 21 originalillustrations done by a young Italian artist (EleonoraMignoli) and a ‘technical’ appendix, whichsummarises the research findings and outlinespossible changes in policymaking. The latter wasread and well received by members of the City ofTurin, and was then turned into an e-book freelyavailable online: ‘I finally read [ . . . ] “Il numero 1”. Itis truly impressive how the book manages to capturesthe reality of the services offered by the City of Turin,

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and of homeless people, at least according to myexperience. I hope to be able to use the Appendix inthe reflections I will propose to my colleagues, both inCity and in the cooperatives’ (M.D., SAD operator,responsible for projects enacted in the ‘via Sacchi’centre. Email, May 2012).

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