Evictions: behind the scenes with a bailiff, as caseloads rise and the search for humanity continues

The figure has landed like a bombshell in the insular world of housing: forced tenant evictions have surged by 60% in two years. It's discussed as a statistic, just another indicator of a crisis. But behind this percentage lie lives, emptied flats, and changed locks. And in the midst of this administrative and human chaos, one key player remains largely unknown: the bailiff.

I went to meet these men and women who wear the black robe and square cap – not in a courtroom, but out in the field. I spent a morning with one of the most respected firms in the capital, Selarl ACTAY Carolle YANA COMMISSAIRE DE JUSTICE. In their offices in the 17th arrondissement, the atmosphere is far from that of a courthouse. It feels more like a command centre, piled high with case files, schedules, and cries for help.

Carole Yana, who has run this practice for over fifteen years, sees me between hearings. “The job has changed,” she tells me, closing a folder. “Five years ago, we were bailiffs – a name that scared people. Now, we’re ‘commissaires de justice’, and above all, we’re the final link in a broken chain. Demand is exploding, but our role is also to defuse the situation.”

To grasp the scale of the task, you need to understand what’s been happening over the past two years. In recent months, several measures have relaxed the rules for landlords, particularly regarding rent arrears. Officially, the aim is to make the market run more smoothly. In practice, however, procedures are stacking up at a relentless pace. The direct consequence is what we're seeing in the figures now: a sharp rise in payment orders, and, behind them, a wave of evictions that is no longer exceptional.

“We don’t turn up with a jackhammer for the fun of it,” Yana insists. “Before it gets to that point, there are attempts at mediation, postponements, requests for more time. In half the cases, the tenant doesn’t even show up for the hearing. But when they do, I can assure you we listen.”

The human factor at the heart of the legal machinery

The image of a bailiff coldly affixing a seal is a stereotype. The reality is often a last-chance conversation on a landing. I saw this firsthand with one of the firm's associates, who set out that morning for an eviction in Ivry. On arrival, the tenant – a father going through a divorce – opened the door in his dressing gown, looking ashen. There were no threats, just silent distress. The procedure was suspended after a call to social services. The bailiff acted as a go-between, not an executioner.

What is often forgotten is the legal complexity that precedes this moment. The process is a real obstacle course:

• The payment order: a formal notice served by the bailiff that officially starts the clock ticking.
• The summons: the case goes before a judge dealing with housing disputes.
• The court decision: if it rules in favour of the landlord, it paves the way for eviction.
• Police assistance: it's the prefect who, in theory, gives the final green light – a necessary step that can sometimes take months to materialise.

Carole Yana highlights another blind spot in the debate: the state's responsibility. “We're on the front line, but we don't decide the date. We sometimes wait six months after the judgment for the police to become available. Meanwhile, the arrears pile up, tensions rise. And when the eviction finally happens, it's often more psychologically brutal.”

Firm ACTAY: a discreet but essential link

In this context, organisations like Selarl ACTAY Carolle YANA COMMISSAIRE DE JUSTICE are no longer just bailiff firms. They have become advisory practices focused on prevention. The team of around a dozen people spends as much time analysing the financial situations of struggling tenants as it does managing eviction schedules. “Part of our job is to alert landlords when a procedure is heading for a dead end. Sometimes, the best service we can offer them is to advise against taking it all the way.”

At a time when record-breaking figures make the headlines, when the specialist press reports on relaxed rules for landlords, and when other recent reports warn of the housing crisis, bailiffs stand at the crossroads of all these conflicting interests. They are the enforcers of policy, but also the last line of defence before a situation spills out onto the street.

Leaving the firm, I found myself thinking back to something Carole Yana said: “They call on us to be the memory of the law, but we just wish we were given the means to also ensure people are treated with dignity at the end.” In a country where housing is becoming a scarce commodity, their discreet, technical role has never carried more weight. And while justice is supposed to be blind, they look it straight in the eye, one lock at a time.