Nearly 70% of the world population lives in urban areas and nearly 75% of economic activity is located therein. Urban areas concentrate not only wealth but also extreme poverty and environmental degradation. Despite the significant progress in urbanization, still a billion people live in the slums of urban areas. Thus the issue of urban transitions to sustainability is a major challenge. In Europe, the 2007 Leipzig Charter puts “sustainable cities” on top of the agenda for sustainability. Two years later, the situation report of the European Commission on the European Union Sustainable Development Strategy considered the issue of “sustainable cities” to be crucial. But what cities are we speaking about?
In the minds of many people, sustainable urbanization is identified with the historical model of European cities, with their dense center and their suburbs. Thus, “compact cities” are often perceived as the universal model of urban transition to sustainability.
I’d like to ask two very simple questions, however incongruous they might seem: Is it feasible? Is it desirable?
Urban sprawl in the Paris metropolitan region, near Versailles: Where are the limits? Photo : Medy Sejai, Wiki 2005.
For over half a century, whatever huge efforts were made by public authorities wherever in the world to limit urban sprawl, they failed miserably. Sprawl has become the usual mode of production of the contemporary city, whatever its size, institutional and administrative configuration or its policy choices. Even “shrinking cities” and those facing decline and abandonment, have to deal with fragmentation and urban sprawl.
In the compact city, sustainability generally means making a better use of what is already there, by recycling their urban fabric and their urban functions without going through phases of obsolescence and degraded neighborhoods, and without squandering soils, as mentioned by Mark Whitehead (and see Note 1 at the bottom). This is all well and good but there are other aspects of urban sustainability, which cannot be treated within the limits of the compact city. For example, any city — be it sustainable or not — has to provide water and energy to its inhabitants while reducing pollution and processing all the urban waste produced. To put it simply: it as a matter of urban metabolism. And yes, beyond all the technical solutions to make this metabolism more sustainable — smart grids, water and electricity networks, intelligent buildings, etc. — the energy, the resources, the water, the food still come from outside the compact city limits. The sewage plants and garbage dumps are also outside. And, you know what, even a large number of people working in the city live outside, when they cannot afford to live anymore in the expensive — and sometimes gentrified — compact city. When a place looks sustainable by giving to other places the burden of its transition to sustainability — exporting pollution and undesired products (waste and nuisances) or polluting activities, siphoning their resources — this place is not really sustainable. It benefits from what David Pearce (Note 2) calls imported sustainability. Imported sustainability is a major bias against the implementation of sustainability policies.
It is still unclear, for example, how local energy flows in buildings aggregate to define the larger-scale energy performance of the agglomeration. Conversely, urban heat islands are very dependent of the land cover and the structure of the neighboring natural and agricultural areas, and not only of the topography, the urban fabric or the climate (Note 3). But one thing is certain: to avoid imported sustainability, urban policies should be conceived and implemented at three complementary scales. First is the scale of the neighborhood. At this level the physical impact of urban projects, even if they are conceived at the agglomeration level, is maximal. The scale of the agglomeration is the second one, which plays a strategic role in producing sustainable urbanization. At this scale the coordination between multiple actors producing policies is crucial. Finally, there is the scale of the hinterland with the adjacent agricultural and natural areas, which reflects the agglomeration environmental footprint. It is defined to include most of the fluxes of the urban metabolism (Note 4).
Thus, on the one side effective sustainability urban policies should be conceived across areas large enough to avoid the imported sustainability bias, and on the other side it has proved impossible to prevent urban sprawl with the classical urban regulation tools. It is time to start thinking differently. No, high urban density and compact city are not the be all and end all of transition to sustainability. No, it is not possible to address urban sustainability issues by considering only urbanized areas and urban centers. Yes, it is crucial to design sustainability across or integrating areas large enough to include most of the fluxes of the urban metabolism, which means areas encompassing suburban, periurban and dependent rural, or natural places.
Forget the city limits: Soay sheep, grazing on the top of the old fortifications of the city of Lille (France). Photo: Lamiot, Wiki 2012
There is a debate going on over whether there is a need for a stand-alone sustainable urbanization goal within the SDG or not. The main argument against is that urban sustainability is a cross-cutting theme —giving it the status of a main development goal means taking the risk of shifting the focus away from issues such as poverty and exclusion. But, how should I put this: It looks like the defenders of this position don’t live in the same planet I do. Over one billion people live in slums in the developing countries, and the number continues to grow, and these slums are de facto urban areas, as Thomas Elmqvist pointed out in a previous TNOC post. In so-called developed countries, social exclusion and extreme poverty is usually associated with social housing complexes, or run-down urban areas. Besides, our future world will be predominantly urban. It means that urban areas are humanity’s best places to act, for example against climate change, promote social innovation, and bring people out of poverty. That is, provided that policies don’t address the cities only, but also include the periurban and rural neighborhood or context. In this sense, we surely need an urban sustainability development goal.
As a matter of fact, why on earth are we supposed to set up a false dichotomy between urban and rural areas? What about Giorgio Piccinato’s Città Diffusa? Indeed, the social, economic, scientific, technical and cultural transformations of the last few decades have produced deep changes in how society relates to space. Today, urban areas have either no boundaries or very fuzzy ones. Given that lifestyle, facilities and amenities are not so different between urban and rural areas, is it still worth separating them with an imaginary border?
Soft mobility, pastures and sustainable water recovery system in a periurban area (urban development zone – ZAC) near Saint-Omer (France). Photo: Mélanie Huguet, Wiki 2008
Such a perspective compels us to cast a fresh eye on what is going on with the periurbanization, one eye without prejudice, which does not consider from the start only the negative aspects of periurbanization. Naturally periurbanization often goes with urban sprawl, and urban sprawl has many pernicious effects. It goes without saying that urban sprawl is unsustainable for at least three reasons: the development of estates and the phenomena of urban segregation all conspire to degrade the quality of life with ever-longer commuter travel, accessibility problems; the cost of connection to public service networks is much higher than in urban centers; urban sprawl leads to an exponential waste of land, not only because urban density is low but also because many cumbersome transport infrastructures need to be built — accessibility for one periurban housing unit costs much more surface than one housing unit in a denser area.
It must be accepted nevertheless that periurbanization does have its advantages. It reduces the concentration of nuisances and pollution, and lowers the density of urban centers that are sometimes on the brink of congestion. Besides, it is geographically impossible for everyone to live downtown. There is the idealization of a quasi-urban life in the countryside, which, even if completely illusory, is a myth that fuels the desire for periurban housing. All the more so as the economic aspect — the possibility for a household to get more square feet and a small garden investing the same amount of money — reinforces the myth. And well, eventually, it is not possible to impose a residential choice when this choice contradicts the deep motivations of a population; this is the reason why all the policies developed to contain urban sprawl have failed.
Thus, to foster urban transition to sustainability the solution is not to oppose urban sprawl but to guide it. After all, low-density urbanization was rather the rule than exception for centuries all around the world — in villages and hamlets small communities have had a very dynamic social and cultural life. Besides, climate policies introduce new arguments for low-density urbanizations. Green, low density neighborhoods planted with trees with a high water loss coefficient can lower locally the temperature (10% of vegetation increase lowers the temperature as much as 1°C within a 100 meters radius). In low density areas there higher square-foot of roof per household than in high-density areas. Thus, generalized photovoltaic roofs can be a significant source of clean energy and so on. More generally, periurban areas are wonderful places to examine how to integrate science, technology and societies. In particular, how do inhabitants change, or not, their usage of cities after urban transformations due to new combinations of techniques (grids, eco-constructions, etc.), scientific knowledge and political decisions? Such places oblige us to think new forms of living that may result in the transition towards sustainability — forms in which the improvement of environmental conditions stricto sensu (water quality, air, biodiversity, prudent use of resources, land and energy, etc.) will lead to improved living conditions; one in which technical devices and ecological processes — included in areas large enough to take into account imported sustainability— will lead to new lifestyles.
Let there be no mistake about it — addressing sustainability on areas large enough to prevent imported sustainability, also means recognizing and promoting the diversity of paths that lead to sustainable cities. Despite differences in history, type of development, size and heritage, cities and urban regions still have an unexplored potential in adaptability.
4 — Billen G., Barles S., Chatzimpiros P., Garnier J., 2012, “Grain, meat and vegetables to feed Paris: where did and do they come from? Localizing Paris food supply areas from the eighteenth to the twenty-first century,” Regional Environmental Change 12: 325–335 Springer.
Designing for resilience is a complex undertaking. As David Maddox states in The Nature of Cities Global Roundtable, “to design for resilience suggests we can identify it, plan for it” and that “It’s a steep challenge, community by community”.
Identifying, planning, and designing for location-specific resilience is just what a Midwestern team of students and faculty are attempting to do. Drury University and Crowder College have partnered together and been accepted to compete in the U. S. Department of Energy’s Solar Decathlon. While the focus of this 20-team national competition is on solar energy, the Crowder-Drury team has chosen to add an additional layer of complexity to their competition house: disaster resilience.
Destruction in the wake of an EF5 tornado that struck Joplin, MO in 2011.
Drury University and Crowder College are located in the heart of tornado alley in Southwest Missouri and in proximity to Joplin, where in 2011 an EF5 tornado destroyed nearly 8,000 buildings and took 161 lives. As buildings gave way under wind speeds in excess of 200 mph, fragments of the structures became missiles directed at neighbors as the ¾ mile wide, multiple vortex storm moved along its 16 mile path. What was left were three million cubic yards of debris that took months to clear and to send to landfills.
Debris from the tornado in Joplin took months to remove.
Storms of this nature have a destructive impact on individual lives, the emotional and economic well-being of a community, and the built environment. Additionally, a long-term environmental impact results from the millions of cubic yards of hazardous debris that is sent to landfills during the cleanup process.
The Crowder-Drury Solar Decathlon team believes that much of the structural devastation and loss of life in Joplin, as well as in many other tornado-hit cities, could be avoided if we designed buildings to resist the wind loads and impact of flying debris of such storms. Working out the design details of a solar powered, tornado-resistant home has been a rigorous academic and real-world challenge for the students on the team. To make the task even more challenging, for the competition, the home must be built at the home university; shipped to Irvine, CA; and reassembled to be ready for the October 8, 2015 start of the competition. Working out this logistical challenge and coupling it with our disaster resistance goal led students to discover two additional potential uses for the competition house: a disaster response command center and disaster relief housing.
The Crowder-Drury Solar Decathlon team works on design details of a tornado resistant home.
The concept for the competition house now includes all three potential uses and is called ShelteR³: a Solar Powered Home for Disaster Response, Recovery and Resistance. Team website: http://shelter.drury.edu/
The ShelteR³ concept: Respond, Recover, Resist
Disaster Response
Two pre-fabricated modules (living and kitchen/bath) are whisked via flatbed truck into a community that has been devastated by a natural disaster. The units are craned off the truck and attached together to form a disaster response command center or emergency relief housing. Roof-mounted flat solar panels generate electricity. The home or command center is self-sufficient and able to function before power and water are restored. Innovative impact resistant cladding and structural details protect from future storms and lend a sense of safety and security.
Disaster Recovery
Eventually, the community begins to rebuild from disaster and the need for residential housing takes priority over disaster response. Our structure can be easily adapted to fit these evolving needs. A foundation is laid and the two modules are separated by twenty feet. The resulting space is covered with window walls on both ends to create a spacious living area between the bedrooms and kitchen and bath. Cabinetry, customized to the owner’s needs, helps separate the living area from the bedrooms. Spacious decks extend the living space into the outdoors. Additional solar arrays are added on the roof for increased energy production. Using the ShelteR³ as the core of permanent housing could eliminate the need for temporary shelters typically delivered and used as disaster relief housing.
Disaster Resistance
The house need not be limited to post-disaster scenarios. In disaster-prone zones, the house offers a smart way to prepare for the possibility of storm winds and can be prefabricated or built on site. Structural sizing, spacing and connections as well as tension rods resist wind loads while redundant layers of impact resistant materials are the key to managing debris missiles. A 90-second video on the team website explains the concept further.
Various computer model-generated views of the Crowder-Drury Solar Decathlon team’s tornado-resistant home design, ShelteR³. In order from top to bottom: the front deck, the interior living area, the kitchen, and the exterior of the house at night.
When designing to resist tornadic events there are several programmatic issues to consider and problems to resolve.
Programmatic issues:
Preservation of life
Preservation of structure
Little to no contribution to debris field
Problems to solve:
Preservation of structure vs. sacrificial portions of structure
Resisting Impact of flying debris during storm
Preservation of life, of paramount importance, is achieved through preservation of structure and resistance to impact. Little to no contribution to the debris field can be achieved through designs that eliminate sacrificial structural elements.
Students building ShelteR³.
Many approaches to construction of a home arise after a storm. Some simply build using traditional construction methods and address future storms by placing a storm shelter in a room within the home, in the floor of the garage, or in the backyard of the home. In each of these applications, life may be preserved within one of these storm shelters if the family makes it to the shelter, but the rest of the home becomes sacrificial and is transformed by the storm into projectiles directed at the neighbors and beyond. Eventually, these sacrificial projectiles and debris field must make their way to a landfill. In Joplin, this added up to over 3 million cubic yards and months of effort and energy.
The Crowder-Drury team believes that redundant layers within the wall system can be key to withstanding a storm. Impact resistant Lexan over water repellent Zip Wall brand sheathing are finished by a Swiss Pearl fiber cement rain screen cladding, all of which create the protective enclosure. An enveloping fence of Kawneer’s Reynobond impact resistant and air scrubbing panels are the first line of defense, while hurricane-rated windows and doors protect areas of natural light and passage throughout the house.
The structural system consists of traditional 2×6 wood stud framing wall placed in compression by steel tensile rods through a steel chassis. Students worked with structural engineer Q. Scott Ragan, who specializes in disaster forensics to design this resistant home. We chose wood framing because it is a typical material used for construction in the Midwest and we wanted the challenge of resolving tornado resistance with a commonly used building material.
Students building ShelteR³.
Thermal Mechanics Inc. provided the team with a high efficiency, affordable Daikin brand mini-split heating, cooling, and ventilation (HVAC) system for the home. This is a ductless system which means less material and labor for installation and less maintenance over the life of the home. The mini-split system requires a smaller heat pump than conventional systems, reducing the energy load on the solar panels.
At every turn the students have chosen readily available, affordable, and sustainable materials for ShelteR³ such as Patcraft carpet and resilient flooring. Their goal is to educate the public on choosing and living a sustainable lifestyle that considers energy, building materials, and resilience to our ever-increasing frequency of natural disasters.
Details continue to be refined as the team constructs the home this summer. Follow and engage with us on social media, or literally behind our Transland truck convoy as we head to the Solar Decathlon competition October 8th – 18th, 2015 at the Orange County Great Park in Irvine, California. Our student decathletes are excited to hear from you.
We can build better, preserve life, and protect our planet—we just have to work out the details. Our team, some witnesses to the Joplin tornado, have learned through the opportunity of Solar Decathlon and a thoughtful design process that designing for resilience is location specific but several principles can be applied across the globe.
1. Respond to location and the unique challenges it brings.
2. Rethink shelter. Approach the entire building as shelter and let no parts become sacrificial.
3. Better structural details. Use specific structural details in homes and buildings to resist the high winds and impact of tornados or hurricanes, or specific threat from other natural occurrences. Include mechanical fasteners at vulnerable connection locations specific to the potential threat at a level strong enough to resist the threat, not at minimum build code requirements.
4. Think about the many layers of threat of a disaster and protect against all aspects of a natural disaster, not just the primary focus. In the case of a tornado, for example it is not just the high winds that destroy, but the missiles created by the debris field as buildings fail and break apart.
The U.S. Department of Energy Solar Decathlon challenges collegiate teams to design, build, and operate solar-powered houses that are cost-effective, energy-efficient, and attractive. The winner of the competition is the team that best blends affordability, consumer appeal, and design excellence with optimal energy production and maximum efficiency.
Fact Sheet – City of Joplin – May 22, 2011 EF5 Tornado; Lynn Iliff Onstot, Public Information Office; July 1, 2013
Crowder-Drury team concept; U.S. Department of Energy Solar Decathlon 2015; co-authored by student decathletes and faculty mentors, Drury University, 2015
If Thoreau were alive today, he might move to Brooklyn, not the woods. Cities of the early 21st century are where life can be lived most intensely, the place for sucking, routing, shaving, and driving life into the corner, as Thoreau famously described the purpose of his retreat to Walden Pond. Cities are where innovations happen, and he needed new ideas. He thrived on them. At 28, instead of cabin on the edge of town, Henry David could find the marrow of life while renting a walk-up in Greenpoint or Gowanus and exploring the ecosystems of the city. He certainly had the beard for a Brooklyn existence: a proto-eco-hipster.
Mannahatta2409.org is an on-line forum to help New Yorkers develop and share sustainable and climate-resilient designs for New York City.
Thoreau would come to the city to explore the possibilities. For modern day explorers, we’ve constructed a portal to help people see and shape the nature of the city: Mannahatta2409.org.
Henry David Thoreau – proto eco-hipster? Credit: Benjamin D. Maxham in the National Portrait Gallery, Washington, from Wikipedia.
Mannahatta2409.org is a visionmaking tool. “Visions” are composed a combinations of ecosystems, lifestyle choices, and climate scenarios, where ecosystems include buildings and streets as well as forests, wetlands and beaches. Based on these combinations, the mannhatta2409.org estimates metrics of environmental performance in four categories: water, carbon, biodiversity, and population. In all, sixty-five measures are calculated and compared over three time points: the user’s vision, the area of the user’s vision as it exists in Manhattan today, and the area of the user’s vision as it existed 400 years ago, before Thoreau or the city, when the island of Manhattan was called Mannahatta, an exemplar of the wilderness. (Read more here.) The goal is to test the bounds and find consensus about what the nature of the city should be.
Mannahatta2409.org is meant for everyone. Since the release of the prototype in January, about 10,000 visionmakers have included students, architects, scientists, urban planners, and lots of people we know nothing about. (It is the Internet after all.) Video tutorials are available. It’s free to use, fun to play. Visions are for dreaming, sharing, investigating, and discussing. Visions can be worked on privately for as long as you like, and then can be made public by flipping a digital switch. Each vision comes with a URL that can be spread by twitter or posted to Facebook and Google+.
Here is an example: I used mannahatta2409.org to create a vision for Fourteenth Street in Manhattan with 90% less greenhouse gas emissions. I call it “Terra Nova 14th Street” because it deploys strategies from a book I wrote last year about making better cities: Terra Nova: The New World After Oil, Cars, and Suburbs.
Fourteenth Street is a major thoroughfare, business and residential district on Manhattan in New York City. The orange line indicates the extent of the vision. It is defined with the vision extent tool, which is the top tool of the second set of tools on the right side of the interface.Mannahatta2409.org provides access to a reconstruction of the ecosystems of Manhattan Island four hundred years ago. Ecosystems are mapped over a 10 x 10 m grid system. The dark green indicates oak-hickory forest, shades of light blue are different kinds of wetlands, beaches are light yellow, and the estuary waters of the Hudson River (left) and East River (right) are blue.Manhattan today is also composed of ecosystems, albeit ones constructed by people. Reds and pinks indicate different building types; yellows and oranges, different transportation types; and blue, estuary waters. The ecosystem painting tools are the top set of six boxes on the right side of the interface. The second tool in the second set provides a grid inspector, which allows users to select any cell and interrogate its identity in the vision, 2010 and 1609.Terra Nova 14th Street. Mannahatta2409.org allows users to develop and share their own visions for Manhattan’s future. In this case, my vision includes a light rail line down the middle of 14th Street, photovoltaic panels, a small patch of forest and an urban garden. It is also inhabited by New Yorkers making deliberate choices to reduce environmental impact by walking, bicycling, and taking electrified public transit (like the subway and light rail.) Eco-hipsters also prefer and are willing to pay a slight premium (10 – 15 cents / kWh) for renewably generated electricity. To read more about the ideas underlying this vision and how they might be achieved, check out Terra Nova: The New World After Oil, Cars, and Suburbs.
The Terra Nova strategy is straightforward and effective: (1) use electrified transport, (2) generate as much renewable electricity as you can yourself, and (3) get the remainder from renewable sources elsewhere. Fourteenth Street is a main crosstown thoroughfare in lower Manhattan, dividing Greenwich Village from Chelsea and Midtown South. Mannahatta2409.org estimates that the blocks on either side of 14th Street house approximately 34,500 people currently (comparable to the US Census Bureau estimates), with about 18,700 working in that area. Average daytime densities top 49,000 people / square kilometer; nighttime densities (without workers) 30,000. Today the most common three ecosystems are sidewalks, boulevards, and apartment buildings. Four hundred years ago, oak-hickory forest, salt marshes, and the estuary existed in the same swath. The collected buildings, parks, and streets, and the energy production to supply them, produce an estimated 1.6 billion kilograms carbon dioxide per year, mainly from burning fossil fuels. On Mannahatta, in contrast, the trees and grasses took in one million kilograms carbon dioxide per year from the atmosphere, estimated as plant growth minus respiration.
Terra Nova 14th Street replaces the four lanes of boulevard that currently constitute street with a light rail system, which connects with rail-lines on the Westside and the FDR Drive on the east, and streetcars on every other cross street, i.e., no cars. Bike lanes extend along 14th Street between the train and sidewalks in both directions. I painted photovoltaic panels on top of all of the buildings and added a windmill in a garden and tidal energy generator on the East River shore. Union Square Park is still green, but now with an oak-hickory woodland instead of a fenced off lawn and street trees. The trees also extend down the sidewalks in tidy rows to the island’s edge.
The most important alteration, however, was not ecosystemic, but rather lifestyle-oriented: my vision is inhabited by eco-hipsters. “Eco-hipsters” are one of the five lifestyles currently available through the interface (average New Yorker, average American, average Earthling, and Lenape person, a Native American tribe inhabited Manhattan in 1609, are the others). The eco-hipster lifestyle is based on the average New Yorker but with some tweaks to reduce environmental impacts. Eco-hipsters prefer to walk or bicycle over short distances and take the bus or subway over middling distances. On vacation, they ride the train. In town they heat and cool using electricity, living in slightly smaller apartments than the average New Yorker. (If that seems impossible, then consider the Lenape-standard dwelling with 50 square feet for a family of four.) However the most important choice that eco-hipsters make is to obtain all their electricity renewably from wind, solar, geothermal, or other real-time power generators. Electricity deregulation in New York and many other states makes this a matter of a phone call today.
Mannahatta2409.org allows users to estimate the environmental performance of their vision in comparison to the same area of the city today and the same area as existed 400 years ago, before the city. The dark brown line indicates the performance of the city today, the gold line the performance of the vision, and the green line, Mannahatta. Four categories of indicator are shown, from top to bottom, for the water cycle, carbon cycle, biodiversity and population. Other tabs in the dashboard allow the user to comment on the vision, see a flow diagram, and download a detailed readout. In this case, the Terra Nova 14th Street vision produces an estimated 93% less carbon emissions than 14th Street today.
The result, as laid out in the dashboard of environmental performance indicators, is 93% lower carbon dioxide pollution from 14th Street (106 million kilograms CO2 per year as compared to 1.6 billion kg CO2/yr) with a slightly higher population and nearly 10,000(!) more jobs. The economy of the future will thrive with eco-hipsters in charge. If those same people also rode all electric trains instead of partly diesel powered ones, then the greenhouse gas emissions could be brought to practically zero. The increases in green space and street trees also help absorb all the stormwater flows, at least for moderate precipitations events experienced with the baseline climate, defined for the years 1971 – 2000. (Feel free to suggest I use a changed future climate: mannahatta2409.org allows you to choose climate scenarios from 2020, 2050 and 2080, as well as 1609). Biodiversity is up in Terra Novan Manhattan, with habitat for an estimated 56 more types of plants and vertebrate animals than we have today, which is good, but still lags behind Mannahatta’s potential of 548 species in the same area.
Having constructed my vision in my own private workspace, the interface allows me to communicate my idea with the world. In the “Manage Saved Visions” dialogue, a switch attached to each vision is labelled: “Share with:.” The options are “me” or “everyone.” Others are free to view, probe, and analyze all the visions that have been shared. If they disagree, they can copy the vision into their own workspaces and modify it using the same ecosystem painting tools I used, re-publishing with the switch to everyone else. The goal of mannahatta2409.org is to obtain as many visions as possible of Manhattan (and eventually other parts of New York City) and then from those visions to develop some notion of what future we all want to create. Levittown in Midtown? Predator Cities? Eco-hipster-ville? Walden Pond? It’s really up to us.
Who will create the future? Visionmakers like these: the skeptical, the intrepid, and the imaginative working together. Credit: Eric W. Sanderson.
To be fair, when Thoreau did visit in New York City in 1843, he found it a difficult place, mean, crowded and expensive. He wrote his friend, Ralph Waldo Emerson, “But I must wait for a shower of shillings, or at least a slight dew or mizzling of sixpences, before I explore New York very far.” (Many New Yorkers still share the same sentiment.) What Thoreau did like was the beach nearby, on Staten Island. “The sea-beach is the best thing I have seen. It is very solitary and remote, and you only remember New York occasionally. The distances, too, along the shore, and inland in sight of it, are unaccountably great and startling. The sea seems very near from the hills, but it proves a long way over the plain, and yet you may be wet with the spray before you can believe that you are there. The far seems near, and the near far.”
Cities that work with nature not against it seem far away, but I think they are nearer than we imagine.
A concept for a future beach on Staten Island from SCAPE / Landscape Architecture PLLC and partners for the Rebuild By Design competition. Read more about this vision here. The US Department of Housing and Urban Development is providing nearly a billion dollars to make visions like this one come to pass. Credit: SCAPE / Landscape Architecture PLLC.
James Corner’s prolific writing from the past two decades invites readers on a journey to discover the elusive medium of landscape. As one of the most prominent landscape architects of our time, his writing is as much a means of advancing the field as is his built work. The Landscape Imagination is the first written project composed exclusively of Corner’s own essays since Taking Measures Across the American Landscape, published in 1996. In the twenty years between these two books, Corner wrote the essays collected here while simultaneously composing a celebrated portfolio of built landscapes. Though his iconic designed works (for example, The High Line in New York City) eclipse his written works—particularly outside academia—we gain access to a rich and penetrating assessment of landscape’s profound role in culture when we wander through Corner’s sprawling wordscapes.
The Landscape Imagination is organized more thematically than chronologically, with essays parceled out according to areas of Corner’s ongoing investigations: Theory; Representation and Creativity; Landscape Urbanism; and Practice. Although many of the essays were written years ago, their sequencing in the collection renders them fresh. Each section builds upon the previous, linking theoretical aspects of the medium to practice through what Corner calls “the landscape imagination.” Described as a critical agent and a form of social action, the landscape imagination’s goal is to make landscapes that provoke and challenge society’s relationship to the natural world. Corner argues that landscape is the great mediator between nature and culture, since it invokes natural processes over time but is fundamentally a cultural construct. Therefore, he says, “It can renew the common and banal and reconcile our modern estrangement from place.” But the landscape imagination is needed to liberate landscape from its “devolved place as scenic object, subjugated resource, or scientific ecosystem.” This collection is a conversation about tools to unleash the landscape imagination, exemplified through Corner’s own journey.
The High Line, in New York City. Photo: David Maddox
In each essay, the landscape imagination confronts and deconstructs the simplistic binaries hindering landscape architecture: art versus science, culture versus nature, city versus landscape, theory versus practice, technique versus motivation, imaginary versus built, phenomenology versus technology, tradition versus modern. Corner argues that these are not actually dichotomous, but related—fundamental, even, to the landscape imagination. The landscape imagination is both interpreter and mediator, both informer and popularizer, both conversational and circumstantial, both dialogue and contemplation. It mediates between the local and global, between recovery and invention, and between past inheritance and future potential. These essays build a case for the landscape imagination as the great confounder, able to transcend limiting binaries by finding infinite potentials within them.
Since there are now built works influenced by the ideas found in these essays, we can better understand Corner’s writing by assessing its translation to practice. For example, “Sounding Depths—Origins, Theory, and Representation” (1990), explores several dichotomies limiting landscape architecture while addressing why new theory is critical to the field. In the next essay, “Three Tyrannies of Contemporary Theory” (1991), Corner proposes a hermeneutical approach to landscape architecture theory to overcome the lack of meaning in our repetitive, formulaic, and prosaic world. Hermeneutics is a practice, borrowed from the social sciences, of understanding the world through a historical interpretation of texts. Corner proposes that instead of trying to understand landscapes as self-evident objects, their complexity requires interpretation. Through critical acts of landscape architecture—drawing, writing, or constructing landscapes— we can read and interpret them like texts, uncovering infinite new potentials within the binaries. For example, it is possible to picture the High Line in New York City (a Corner project) re-created with any number of theoretical binaries: a nostalgic re-creation of its past, an objectified pictorial image, a bucolic respite from the city, or even demolished to prioritize the street grid below. If the High Line were approached from any one of these views of landscape, the final product would not offer its unique perspectives of the city and landscape as urbanism. Rather than preserving or re-creating its past, the High Line was mined for new possibilities. Thus, the High Line became an agent in the active, ever unfolding tradition of the city.
Corner’s ideas evolve in several different ways as his writing progresses over time. He identifies some of those changes in his introduction to the book, moving from representational interests to instrumental practices, from landscapes generally to landscape architecture specifically, and from landscape as parks and open space to landscape as a form of urbanism. Other changes become apparent while working through the essays themselves: from ecology as metaphor and form of representation to ecology as operational model and the gradual identification of community engagement as an “agent of creativity.” This seems to place community engagement on equal footing with ecology in Corner’s worldview.
Corner criticizes the profession for compounding the problematic binary of culture versus nature by “drawing more from objectivist and instrumental models of ecology, while design creativity has been reduced to environmental problem solving (know-how) and aesthetic appearance (scenery).” In “Landscape Urbanism” (2003) and “Terra Fluxus” (2006), he calls for a “culturally animate ecology” where culture and nature become complementary through a practice of combining them into new kinds of public spaces where landscape drives the process of city transformation. In his most recent essay, “Practice: Operation and Effect” (2010), Corner states a need for designers to develop “sophisticated conversational, social, and rhetorical skills to authentically and productively engage the public in a process that supports imagination and innovation.” With community engagement now identified as an agent of creativity, perhaps Corner will continue to explore, in writing and practice, the landscape imagination’s role in developing these skills.
Although the book’s final essay, a previously unpublished lecture titled “Hunts Haunts: History, Reception, and Criticism on the Design of the High Line” (2009), is an assessment of the High Line through the lens of John Dixon Hunt’s writings, it also exposes what Corner hopes his written and built works accomplish. Corner describes Hunt and his writings about “haunting” landscapes as likewise haunting to him over the years. Their indescribable lingering presence, or haunting, has inspired Corner to further explore them through his own writings and, ultimately, through his built work. He attributes the haunting quality of some landscapes to the human imagination. Here we see how Corner’s landscape imagination came to be, and better understand his goal to create places eluding easy definition, places that “haunt” us with lasting presence—places like the High Line.
The Landscape Imagination is a midcareer measurement of Corner’s own longue duree, what Hunt called the long duration of experience and meaning over time differentiating landscape architecture from its allied professions. Sometimes Corner’s theories are successful, sometimes they fail, but together with the vagaries of practice, they provide liberation of thought and action for those of us working with the landscape medium. There are few contemporary voices in landscape architecture whose work intentionally avoids providing formulaic answers, but rather seeks to create open-ended interpretation, as James Corner. This latest work, although a rigorous read, challenges our assumptions and encourages us to keep an open mind about landscape’s potential.
Despite the geopolitical currents that have surrounded Jerusalem for centuries, it is first and foremost a city, with the same urban needs and aspirations as any community in the world. In this urban context, making Jerusalem a cleaner, greener, and healthier city for all its residents has proved to be a shared goal.
Jerusalem has been described as “golden” by many poets and writers, inspired not only by the golden domes of holy buildings in the city, but also by the special quality of illumination created when the evening sun is reflected from the famous Jerusalem stone which characterizes most buildings in the city, whether new or old. Jerusalem stone has indeed been a major feature of the cityscape from the time of the First Temple.
The largest stones we know of are those in the Western Wall, whose lowest layers date back to the First Temple period. Yet these stones are basically the same local Jerusalem material used today in urban development. The little bird in the picture is of course the swift, mentioned in the Old Testament by the prophet Jeremiah. The Western Wall swifts, as they are called, were noted by the Prophet Jeremiah, who claimed that they are more faithful to their routine than the straying Children of Israel to their faith:
Yeah, the stork in the sky knows her appointed time, as the turtle dove and the swift observe their time of coming….
—Jeremiah, Chap. 8, vii
A swift circles before returning to its nest in the Western Wall. Photo: Amnon Hahn
There is something truly remarkable in the migration habits of the swifts. They are just a few of the half billion birds that fly over Jerusalem twice a year, on the busiest bird migration route in the world, following the famous Rift Valley, from Africa in the south to Anatolia in the North. Understanding the significance of Jerusalem in the global birding context led to the establishment of the Jerusalem Bird Observatory, a small but important natural area just behind the Knesset. Here birds are checked and banded before going on with their journey. For them, Jerusalem offers a green oasis, with food and water to compensate for their depletion of strength while flying over the desert south of the city. Many of us have come to realize that when we support a community garden or a green area in Jerusalem, we are effectively supporting this borderless global food chain. Fortunately, migrating birds are not required to hold visas for all the borders they cross…..On the other hand, a famous Israeli ecologist, Prof. Uriel Safriel, noted that the swifts seem to be no less worthy of the title “pilgrim” than the Jews, Christians, and Muslims that visit the Holy City at their appointed times.
Recently a stone in the Western Wall, that had become loose for some reason, dropped and landed at the feet of a woman who was praying by the wall. Thankfully, no one was hurt, but the incident triggered a lot of speculation, and being a holy site in Jerusalem, reached the global news networks. These latter speculated as to whether this might have been an act of terrorism, but missed entirely what I believe was the important part of the story. In 2002, in the course of “repairing” the Western Wall and the walls of the Old City, the 88 nesting crevices used by the swifts for the last 2,500 years had been saved from being cemented over due to the watchful diligence of the Swift Lovers Society. After the recent incident, it was feared that in an attempt to secure the safety of pilgrims at the Western Wall, there would again be a move to cement over crevices, many of which serve as nests for the swifts during their annual visit and mating season. These gallant protectors of swifts’ rights joined forces with the Jerusalem Green Fund, the Antiquities’ Authority and the Society for the Protection of Nature in Israel, dreading a renewed assault on the swifts’ nesting places, which might be blocked in in the name of protecting the safety of worshippers by the wall. We submitted a special request to the Rabbi of the Western Wall, and hopefully we have succeeded in ensuring the right of the Swifts to continue their annual pilgrimage to the Western Wall.
Indeed the concept of Jerusalem conjures up an infinite array of images, from the deeply spiritual, to the purely physical. The spiritual spectrum of Jerusalem primarily embraces the three Abrahamic faiths, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, and has throughout history provided a platform for conflict. Who will “control” the holy sites of Jerusalem? Who will be able to visit them? At this time, members of the three faith communities all have access to their places of worship, and the densely populated square kilometer of the Old City, with its Jewish, Christian, and Muslim quarters, conducts itself for the most part with mutual respect. This was not always so.
It is important to note that in spite of the geopolitical currents that have surrounded Jerusalem for centuries, and show no sign of abating, it is first and foremost a city, with the same urban needs and aspirations as any community in the world. In this urban context, making Jerusalem a cleaner, greener and healthier city for all its residents has proved to be a goal shared by all the communities in the city. That is why I have found great satisfaction to have been able to contribute to the greening of Urban Jerusalem and its bioregion for the last twenty-five years, in a succession of challenging roles.
First, I served as head of the Society for the Protection of Nature in Israel (S.P.N.I) in the Jerusalem region, between 1996 and 2008. During these years I was able to develop a metropolitan coalition of organizations and neighborhood groups, known as “Sustainable Jerusalem”, and indeed major environmental goals were achieved by this cross-sectoral, non-political coalition. There is no doubt that the public impact of the many member organizations in the Sustainable Jerusalem Coalition working together, contributed greatly in the ultimately successful struggle to secure the Gazelle Valley as Israel’s first urban nature park.
In the pictures below we see a gazelle, surprised to be having his photo taken, and our friend the swift enjoying clean water in the park.
Meet a permanent resident of the Gazelle Valley Urban Nature Park. Photo: Amir Balaban
The Gazelle Valley is a triangular basin in the heart of West Jerusalem, part of the Soreq river basin, which runs out eventually to the Mediterranean. It is some sixty acres, and the land was used for fruit orchards in the 1940’s and 50’s. These were tended by two Kibbutzim, Ma’aleh Hachamisha and Kiryat Anavim. When the Israel Land Reserve Authority attempted to turn the valley into real estate, the surrounding neighborhoods, together with the S.P.N.I, fought to preserve the valley and in a historic move the residents themselves became the developers. This time, however, they developed Israel’s first urban nature park, now a sanctuary for a small but thriving herd of gazelles. In addition, as a result of designing the park around the natural drainage basin of the Soreq River, instead of the usual winter flooding, the winter rainfall is now collected in a series of three small lakes, whose water is supplemented in the summer with fully treated sewage water. This has resulted in attracting thousands of birds to the valley, and in the pictures above we can see not only a gazelle, but our friend the swift from the Western Wall enjoying his lunch break in the Gazelle Valley.
A swift stops for a midday drink at the Gazelle Valley Park. Photo: Amir Balaban
Another opportunity arose when the Tel Aviv – Jerusalem train was brought back into use (it had stopped running in 1993 because of frequent derailing, due to the sharp bends in the route). A new Jerusalem train station was built in the south-western neighborhood of Malha, instead of bringing the train to its original station in the German Colony. This left eight kilometers of abandoned railway track, which since 1993 had turned into a back yard dump for all the neighborhoods along the route. This stretch of abandoned track was to become Jerusalem’s Railway Park, a resounding success, that links an assortment of culturally, religiously, and ethnically diverse neighborhoods, such as Bet Safafa, German Colony, Bakaa, and Gonenim, through a clean, green linear park, safe for pedestrians and cyclists. The Railway Park has completely changed the ambience of South Jerusalem, providing a wonderful green corridor that runs from the business hub that thrives on the site of the old train station, to the Metropolitan Park serving Jerusalem in the South. Completed in 2015, it has exceeded expectations, and continues to surprise us again and again, with the many community initiatives that have sprung up along the route.
Green Pilgrimage and the Green Pilgrim’s Ladder. Diagram courtesy of Architect Osnat Post
Green Pilgrimage and the Green Pilgrim’s Ladder
Every year more than a quarter of a billion people choose to undertake a journey that has deep spiritual significance for them. These pilgrims do not merely seek a restful vacation or spectacular views, but a transformative experience that feeds their souls—a journey that taps into their cultural, spiritual and religious beliefs.
Most human beings share a sense of connection with the natural world. For people of faith this is linked to the belief that they have a responsibility to protect the divine work of creation, while for nonbelievers the mystery of the cycle of life on earth is often no less potent.
Throughout the world, more and more tourists are looking for alternative experiences and new meaning in their travels: tourism that caters for the individual, nature and ecotourism, incorporating a cultural, ethnic, and spiritual dimension.
Pilgrimage to the Holy Land is quite different from pilgrimage in other parts of the world, in diverse ways. Because Jerusalem is a spiritual destination for the three monotheistic faiths, members of all three communities strive to visit the Holy Land at least once during their lifetime.
In the neighborhood of Ein Karem, we have worked hard to implement the philosophy of Green Pilgrimage. To illustrate the way we see pilgrims and visitors to Jerusalem making their experience greener, we invite them to become familiar with our “Green Pilgrim Ladder”. We hope that by following the rungs of the ladder illustrated above, visitors to Jerusalem will not only benefit from the spiritual impact of their pilgrimage, but will go back home more responsible citizens of the world, having left a “Positive Footprint”. I owe special thanks to my colleagues in the Green Pilgrimage team, Architect Osnat Post and Avner Haramati
In Ein Karem, visitors can help to prune and care for ancient olive trees, and help restore the agricultural techniques used to feed the pilgrims coming to the Temple in Biblical times. When they visit Mary’s Spring, they can see how by local Christian communities joining forces with Ein Karem residents in a long and wearying campaign, the water from the holy spring has been redirected to flow as it should into the orchards in the Wadi down below.
Pilgrim Volunteers help to restore Biblical agricultural terraces in Ein Karem. Photo: Stephanie LeeThe Golden Domes of the Ein Karem Russian Church viewed from the Road to the Hadassah Hospital. Photo: Ron Havilio
In conclusion, I don’t believe it is possible to separate urban Jerusalem and green Jerusalem, which together constitute “Earthly Jerusalem”, from the city’s spiritual aura. This is supported by the fact that the flora and fauna of Jerusalem today are barely different from those of the time of the First and Second Temple and Jesus’ times. That is why we are convinced that the more our pilgrims become familiar with the nature and life-style of Biblical times, the better will they assimilate the true essence of Jerusalem, and the more they will wish to continue to “Leave a Positive Footprint” when they get back home.
As I submit this contribution to TNOC, winds of unsustainable change are blowing once again in Jerusalem, now on the eve of municipal elections. Civil society organizations are rallying once again in the Sustainable Jerusalem Lobby, desperately campaigning to protect the Jerusalem Hills to the West of the city, threatened for a second time by unsustainable urban sprawl. We are working both reactively and proactively. The damaging development is being fought in the planning committees, of course. However, parallel to that, we are trying to bring together neighborhood councils on the west side of Jerusalem, together with the small towns and villages to the west of the municipal boundary, to create a bioregional partnership of care and responsibility for the very natural resources that give us life.
On May 22, 2011, a devastating EF-5 tornado forever changed the Midwestern cities of Joplin and Duquesne. The tornado was ½ mile to ¾ of a mile wide and traveled nearly thirteen miles, with winds estimated at 200 mph. The tornado took 161 lives and destroyed homes, businesses, churches, hospitals, and landscapes, generating nearly 3 million cubic yards of residential debris throughout the disaster area. In addition to devastated homes and infrastructure, Joplin’s urban forest was destroyed in this disaster (at least 10,000 mature trees were lost). This urban forest was part of the everyday landscape that refreshed residents on a daily basis and contributed to a local sense of place. Government agencies and community groups have since committed to creating a sacred green space where the tornado touched down at Cunningham Park, a beloved open space that became the city’s first park in the late 1800s. Since the tornado, the nine-acre park has been a meeting place and rallying point, serving as the site of annual memorial tributes, among many other functions. These acts only scratch the surface in describing the resilient people of Joplin and Duquesne; the recovery of the area is nothing short of miraculous and is truly inspiring, a result of a nimble and responsive local government that was able to adapt to the shock and surprise of the tornado and harness a release of energy and goodwill for the betterment of the social-ecological system. Four years later, we can see Joplin and Dusquesne as examples of resilience, resolve, and realization. And we can see how principles of civic ecology were demonstrated in this Midwestern community.
The first principle of civic ecology is that civic ecology practices emerge in injured, damaged, or broken places, or red zones, such as Joplin and Dusquesne after the tornado. When a sudden shock or surprise, such as a disaster like a tornado, brings death, destruction, and despair, we can expect to see civic ecology practices emerge shortly thereafter.
The second principle describes how, because of their love for life and love for the places they have lost, civic ecology stewards defy, reclaim, and recreate these injured, damaged, or broken places. My work in Joplin documented that, beyond the deep loss and mourning of friends, families and community members, people in Joplin felt the loss of their trees deeply, and were disturbed by the visceral “tree corpses” still standing throughout the city. These trees, stripped of branches and bark by the force of the tornado, generally died. However, some survived and became inspirations to “never give up,” while others were “repurposed” as hopeful and cheerful community art installations.
Depiction of the transformation of debarked trees in Joplin, Missouri from depressing reminders of tragedy to hopeful statements of rebirth and recovery. For more, see Tidball, K. G. 2014. Seeing the forest for the trees: hybridity and social-ecological symbols, rituals and resilience in postdisaster contexts. Ecology and Society 19(4): 25.
The third principle shows us how in recreating place, civic ecology practices recreate community. My colleague, Nancy Falxa Sonti, from the US Forest Service, and I participated in the 2012 Memorial Walk of Unity, a 3.7 mile walk along the path of the tornado, along with literally thousands of other community members and well-wishers. We observed cheering throngs as a steeple was put back on a church, ground-breaking ceremonies to replace the destroyed high school and elementary school, and a ceremony at the terminus of the walk, Cunningham Park, which included a very moving moment of silence at 5:41 pm. Community was being recreated as leaders pointed out the memorial trees, the TKF funded Butterfly Garden and Overlook at Cunningham Park, and the progress in recovering from the storm.
Thousands of participants on the 2012 Day of Unity in Joplin. For more, see http://joplintornadoanniversary.com.
The fourth principle sheds light on how civic ecology stewards draw on social-ecological memories to recreate places and communities. Joplin City officials responded to the grief over lost family members coupled with the grief over destroyed trees and worked with civic ecology stewards to initiate a planting program in Cunningham Park to plant one tree for every lost human life; the final tree was planted on the one year anniversary of the storm, as described above.
Memorial trees planted at Cunningham Park in Joplin, MO. For more, see Tidball, K. G. 2014. Seeing the forest for the trees: hybridity and social-ecological symbols, rituals and resilience in postdisaster contexts. Ecology and Society 19(4): 25.
The fifth principle alludes to how civic ecology practices produce ecosystems services. In addition to the memorial trees planted in Cunningham Park, civic ecology stewards engaged in large scale urban tree planting. Storm water retention by urban forests is worth significant sums and could save on cost-intensive technical solutions. The filtration of air pollutants, carbon sequestration, increased property values, and maintenance of drinking water by urban ecosystems provide further significant benefits, all as a result of the actions of tree planters in post-tornado Joplin.
The above tree planting discussion also incorporates the eighth principle, that civic ecology practices start out as local, small-scale innovations and expand to encompass multiple partnerships. After the first two years post-storm and the immense number of trees planted by civic ecology stewards, the city of Joplin realized the need and hired a full-time city forester.
Civic ecology practices are embedded in cycles of chaos and renewal, which in turn are nested in social-ecological systems. This is the ninth principle, and in Joplin we can clearly see this principle at work as leaders responded to ongoing cycles of disturbance. Resilience enables systems to adapt to change and bounce back. One particularly hard-hit church near Cunningham Park adapted and overcame by rebuilding, but that was not the full extent of their adaptation. The congregation also later took their experiences of recovery and disaster relief to another Midwestern town in Oklahoma in 2013 after they experienced a deadly tornado, and brought both their generosity and experiential knowledge to bear, allowing for a kind of empathy, commiseration, and solidarity not uncommon among civic ecology practitioners.
Pair of crosses in the sanctuary of the rebuilt St. Paul’s Methodist Church in Joplin, MO. The larger cross is made from debris collected by church members while doing relief work after the Moore, OK tornado in 2013, to be presented to the rebuilt First United Methodist Church in Moore, OK. Photo: Keith G. Tidball.
As we saw in Joplin and Duquesne, policymakers have a role to play in growing civic ecology practices. This is the tenth civic ecology practice, and was evident from the first moments after the tornado. Mark Rohr, then city manager in Joplin, took extraordinary leadership during and after the storm. “We will rebuild Joplin,” he declared at a public rally as the national television cameras rolled. “You have my word on it. Go out; do not forget the miracle of the human spirit as you go from here today. Remember the miracle of the human spirit.”
The phrase resonated nation-wide. Rohr wrote a book called Joplin: The Miracle of the Human Spirit. When the Kansas City Chiefs came to help shovel, they left with blue wristbands that said, “The Miracle of the Human Spirit.” A country band called LiveWire recorded a song called “Miracle of the Human Spirit.”
Here at The Nature of Cities, we write a great deal about the benefits of “green” cities, widely construed. In particular, we write that green infrastructure and biodiversity in cities have broad benefits for people, nature, and, indeed, for the world at large through their effects on sustainability and resilience. Green infrastructure is good for human health and quality of life, it reduces the carbon footprint of cities, it increases resilience by insulating us from storms, it helps create foci of community building, and so on. Furthermore, green cities are good for nature in the form of conservation. This constellation of benefits constitutes what we call ecosystem services.
If how to increase park access is the question, then linear parks are a good answer. The reason is their geometry and the nature of their shape—they touch more people.
Do we truly believe in the benefits of ecosystem services? If we do, then two important questions follow. First, who should enjoy these benefits? The answer is really self-evident: everyone. Does everyone currently enjoy these benefits, in cities around the world? In short, and emphatically: no.
If we believe in nature-based solutions to urban problems, then we must also believe in the fair and equitable access to such solutions. All green infrastructure designs and their implementations have elements of justice and equity built in. Stated another way: “green” is an issue of justice.
Traditionally, environmental justice discussions have focused on the distribution of environmental “bads”—namely, that environmental waste and pollution are disproportionally experienced by the poor. This issue isn’t solved.
There is a flip side to this equation, too, and that is whether there is equitable access to environmental “goods”, or, the positive benefits of ecosystem services. We are lagging here, also. Does everyone have access to benefits such as parks, street trees, open space, nature-based protection from storms? Broadly, the answer is no.
The idea of access to nature-based solutions is within the decision-making power of city governments around the world. And, as a matter of assessment, access is relatively easy to measure, and so it is straightforward to assess how near or far we are from the goal of full and equitable access to nature and open space.
What are ecosystem services? Image: David MaddoxTrees are good. Image: David Maddox
It’s easy to measure access
Trees are good. They have a role in providing clean air, jobs, carbon sequestration, reduced crime, increased property values, mental health benefits, temperature control, stormwater management, wildlife habitat, beauty, and livable neighborhoods. This is why across many cities in the United States and elsewhere, there are tree-lined streets. There are also streets that are not tree-lined. There is generally more tree canopy in wealthier neighborhoods.
In Washington, DC, the Washington Postreported a strong correlation across neighborhoods between median household income and tree cover. The richer the neighborhood, the greener it was. New York City also exhibits dramatic spatial variation in tree cover. A thoughtful response to this disparity has been that new street trees planted in the “Million Trees” program are clustered in underserved neighborhoods. Such a clustering approach means that areas without a full complement of trees are directly brought to a complete set of trees, rather than remaining behind as trees are placed with equal frequency across all neighborhoods, without regard to need.
Washington Tree Cover. Source: The Washington PostNew York City tree cover. Source: New York Department of Parks and Recreation
Similarly, access to parks is widely variable around the world. This variability is easy to measure. One of the goals of New York City’s sustainability plan (PlaNYC) is that every New Yorker should be within a five-minute walk of a park. (Let’s leave for another essay the idea of the quality of that park, and concentrate simply on access.) New Yorkers for Parks has done admirable work documenting how New York is performing on this goal. The graphics shown here are examples of a large body of work New Yorkers for Parks have done in neighborhoods throughout New York. The data are rich as measurements of progress toward a common and publicly-stated standard. Two elements of this are key. First, that there is an explicit goal—every New Yorker within a 5-minute walk of a park—is critical for public debate about the characteristics of the city we want. Second, an explicit and simply articulated goal makes it possible to measure progress toward the goal.
There is similar data in Los Angeles. The Sustainable Cities Program of the University of Southern California reports that, countywide, only 36 percent of Los Angeles children live within ¼ mile of a park. (It is 85 percent in San Francisco.) Worse, the number of park acres per 1,000 children is much higher for census tracts dominated by white families than tracts dominated by African American or Latinos. That is, African-American and Latino children have less access to parks and their benefits.
Access to parks in New York. Source: New Yorkers for ParksLos Angeles access to parks. Source: The Sustainable Cities Program at the University of Southern California
Matters of access can be even worse in other parts of the world—indeed, there is a crisis of open space in many of the world’s cities. For example, while New York is a relatively dense city—New York has approximately 4m2 of open space per person—Mumbai has much less: people in Bombay have only 1 percent as much open space as New Yorkers. According to Das, much of this results from cozy and non-transparent relationships between developers and cities that don’t serve people.
But this pattern can also be seen as a fundamental question of design and its limitations in planning. We can diagnose the problem and state a goal for change, but what can we do about it? In dense, populous cities, where would you put a new park to create more access? What is the way forward?
Mumbai stream restoration. Image: PK Das
Corridors and catchment areas
First, let us acknowledge that access to open space is but one of the justice problems we have with green infrastructure. Nevertheless, let’s focus on this narrow problem. How can we create more access to green and open space in cities that don’t have much space to spare?
Linear parks are an answer, and the principle reason is geometry.
Imagine three hypothetical parks. Each has the same total area—four km2—but they are shaped differently. One is square, the other two progressively more long and thin. Consequently they differ in the total lengths of their perimeters: 8 km around the edge for a square park; 10 km for a rectangular one; 17 km for the thinnest and longest one.
Let’s take the New York standard as a reference: appropriate access is defined as living within a five-minute walk of the park, or approximately 0.5 km. The hatched area in the figure below is the area within 0.5 km of the edge of each park. It is easy to see that long and skinny parks have a much larger area “captured” within 0.5 km of their borders, for the simple reason that they have more perimeter. That larger area represents more people closer to the linear park.
How much more? A hypothetical, square 2km x 2km park comprises a “people catchment area” of about 2.5km within a 0.5km distance of its border; a 0.5km x 8km linear park captures an area of 4.5km. Let’s presume, for a moment, that these three parks are surrounded by the same density of people. The long and skinny park is within a short walk of almost twice as many people.
If how to increase park access is the question, linear parks are a good answer.
People catchment area. Four equally sized parks have dramatically different perimeters because of their shapes. The long and skinny park is within 1/2 km of almost twice as many people as the square park. Image: David Maddox
Some arithmetic
What does this mean for some real cities? The table below includes several cities from around the world, but it is easy to make these calculations for other cities, too. The table uses commonly available data on total population and size to calculate each city’s density (people per km2).
Of course, density is not even across a city, but for argument’s sake, let’s imagine that it is. Further, imagine a linear park within this city: it is 2.5 km2 in area, and it is long and skinny, with a shape of 5 km x 0.5 km.
The people catchment area of this park is the space within 0.5 km of the perimeter. How many people live within this area depends on the density of people around it. How many people live within 0.5 km of such a park in Mumbai (i.e., live within 0.5 km)? Answer: almost 180,000 people (the size of the catchment area multiplied by the density). In Seoul, such a park would serve about 100,000 people. In Bogotá, it is 81,000.
In each of these cities, what is the size of a square park that would serve this many people? Remember, square parks have much smaller perimeters per unit of total size. In each of these cities, a square park of over 3 km per side (i.e., over 12 km2 in total area) would be required to serve the same number of people as the linear park.
Do you have room for a new 3 km x 3 km park in the middle of your city? Probably not.
Access to parks. Image: David Maddox
Linear parks and opportunity
The perimeter to area ratio is why linear parks have great potential to address some of our justice problems with respect to access to ecosystem services: more people are likely to live near a linear park and so be able to enjoy it.
Additionally, linear parks are much more likely to fit within existing cities. In Mumbai, New York, Seoul, Johannesburg, and so on, there are not very many places that large square parks and open spaces could be created—at least, not without displacing a lot of people, which would create its own justice problems. Thus, the opportunities for linear parks are another immensely attractive feature. There are places in existing cities that can accommodate the design of linear parks as part of the natural fabric and topography of the city: along streams (especially day-lighted ones), near roadways, along topographic features, and so on.
There are many examples of emerging liner parks around the world, and they have considerable potential to increase access of people to open space: the HighLine (New York), the Emerald Necklace (Los Angeles), Cheonggyecheon (Seoul), Jerusalem, P.K. Das’ work in Mumbai, and many others in cities around the world. They are projects of opportunity that have the potential for great rewards in increased access and, therefore, in environmental equity.
Cheonggyecheon stream restoration in Seoul. An elevated highway was removed to daylight the original stream bed. Photo: David Maddox
Linear parks as panacea
Linear parks don’t work for every purpose, of course. It’s hard to put a ball field in a long and skinny park. In some cases, the edge habitat that dominates skinny parks doesn’t suit certain types of biodiversity or human contemplation. (Although they may promote biodiversity connections between larger green spaces and facilitate other human activities, such as walking and foot-based commuting.) Furthermore, we know that just inserting a green space into previously underserved neighborhoods, however well-intentioned, isn’t always sufficient.
Still, we know that we have a crisis of access to green and open space in many (or most) of the world’s cities. We assert that everyone should have access to the benefits of nature and ecosystem services, from the enjoyment of biodiversity to clean air and protection from storms. As a matter of justice—through the lens of equitable access to the myriad benefits of nature—corridor parks are major opportunities in urban design and planning to improve the lives of millions of people.
Soil contamination is a baseline condition for most of the sites I’ve worked on over the past two decades. The toxic imprint derives from industry—steel production, shipbuilding, fabrication of automobile and machine parts, to name just a few—in both urban and rural settings. But it also comes from lead-containing gasoline and paint, banned long ago but still quietly wreaking havoc. It’s a byproduct of the human pursuit of greater material wealth and a more convenient and comfortable life. In other words, it’s the legacy of progress, for better or worse.
Landscape design and social justice are inseparable—an extension of Olmsted’s ideal: that city dwellers deserve the physical and mental health benefits provided by open access to nourishing environments, regardless of their social or economic status.
As a landscape designer with expertise in toxic remediation and the regeneration of fallow land, the “better or worse” part is vitally important to me. I can say that with certainty, thanks to hindsight and 30 years of academic and professional experience. I didn’t grow up with the term “environmental justice,” which came into use in the 1980s to describe, in part, the unequal distribution of the benefits and burdens of progress. But I now know what a growing body of research shows: in the United States there’s a disturbing overlap between the maps showing where poor people and ethnic minorities live, and where contaminated soils exist.
You might use a stronger word than “disturbing” if you or a loved one were to develop a learning disability, cancer, or liver damage, which are just three of the many proven ill-effects of poisoning by lead, arsenic, and other pernicious elements found in soil. As I write this essay, residents of Vernon, California, in East Los Angeles, a low-income and largely Latino community, were celebrating a bittersweet victory, after forcing the closure of a battery recycling plant owned by New Jersey–based Exide Technologies. The sickening part of the story, pun intended, is that the plant operated for two decades after its environmental violations were first reported to the California Department of Toxic Substances Control (DTSC). Both the cleanup efforts (just 150 of 10,000 contaminated properties were reported to have undergone soil remediation as of early October) and the official response have been weak. “All of us could have acted sooner to develop a more complete picture of what the operations of that facility meant to the health of the residents around it,” DTSC director Barbara A. Lee said. She hastened to add that “the department had tried to shut down the facility in the past but the courts blocked the effort,” according to one published report.
When I read that I chuckled sadly to myself. It reminded me of an exchange I had a few years ago with a high-ranking city official with oversight of a new development for low-income residents I was working on. The developers were eager to start construction, to show “progress,” so they broke ground before testing the soil. Sure enough, the dirt was hot. I had joined the project late, when the momentum to build the inaugural prototype house was unstoppable. But when I learned the test results, remediation was still possible, and regardless, I was bound to report them. I still get a pit in my stomach when I think of the official’s response, which went something like this: The city has enough problems that are plain to see, so let’s not add to them by disclosing a difficult truth, especially one that’s invisible. To my disappointment, the project team elected not to address the contamination, and I was politely excused from the job.
To me, it’s common sense to start every project with the assumption of site pollution. So the natural thing to do—the right thing to do—is to determine the type and extent of toxicity, and incorporate that information into your design strategy and development plans. That’s my vision of the landscape designer’s role in creating a just city: Scrutinize the site right down to the molecular level, identify who’s in harm’s way and of what, and push decision makers to take active steps to remediate the bad stuff.
That simple idea—the opposite of the prevailing “don’t dig, don’t tell” mentality—was the driving principle of one of my most significant collaborations. Big Mud was D.I.R.T. Studio’s contribution to Operation Paydirt, the brainchild of the ingenious conceptual artist Mel Chin. Like many of Chin’s initiatives, Paydirt—which launched in 2006 and continues to this day—focuses on social justice. D.I.R.T. participated in the project from 2007 to 2009, helping to devise an implementation strategy to address the high lead content in New Orleans’ soil—in other words, a social recipe for just ground.
As I wrote in the anthology Resilience in Ecology and Urban Design, Big Mud proposed a landscape-recovery strategy that takes into account the many physical and social scales within which New Orleans, like all cities, functions. Working with local lead soil expert Dr. Howard Mielke, we helped reveal the “geography of lead.” Our team then concocted a way to treat leaded soil, by amending it with phosphates and adding clean fill. The phosphates bond with lead to form pyromorphite, which is insoluble in water, neutralizing the toxicity. Clean river sediment abounds in New Orleans from alluvial deposits piled on shore during flooding. Put a layer of that rich Mississippi mud over the phosphate-treated soil, plant trees, et voila—a healthy landscape. Implementation called for the training and employment of community members to collect, stockpile, and deliver the ingredients from a network of holding sites that range in size from extra large distribution hubs we called Mud Depots to smaller Mud Markets, like a neighborhood garden center.
This implementation strategy has yet to be realized. But Paydirt and Big Mud were, and still are, hugely important to me. They crystallized my core belief that landscape design and social justice are inseparable. This notion is actually an extension of Frederick Law Olmsted’s ideal: that city dwellers deserve the physical and mental health benefits provided by open access to nourishing environments, regardless of their social or economic status.
Today I aspire to a similar social imperative but face a different urban landscape, one where poor people and poor soils often go together. To address this inequity—which weakens families and communities through higher instances of illness and learning disabilities, as well as nervous and emotional disorders—I offer a simple proposal. Always test the soil before you create places where people will live, work, and play. If it’s toxic, address it. As Mel Chin said of post-Katrina New Orleans, we have the opportunity to rebuild “from below the ground up.”
Social justice—and soil remediation—must be built into the foundation of a just city. It’s a solution that’s as simple as dirt.
The purpose of this essay is to share some considerations about the meaning of “just City” from the perspective of a lawyer dedicated to the reform of justice administration and, in particular, to the design of systems that promote, encourage and facilitate the approach of justice for the people. This historically means not only a change in the rules and culture but also a change in the design of the spaces in which justice is administered.
A just city is only achieved when its inhabitants have a sense of belonging, respect for the rights of others and for the place in which they live.
It is also written from the perspective of a city dweller from Buenos Aires, a city in which more than 3 million people live, and where 1.2 million cars and 1.2 million people in public transportation arrive every day from the suburbs. Traffic and traffic violations are one of the most serious problems and affect our everyday life in a dramatic way.
The guiding principle of these reflections is that a just city is only achieved when its inhabitants have a sense of belonging, respect for the rights of others and for the place in which they live. In no other aspect is this clearer than in transit, in which the disregard for the laws brings enormous cost not only in human lives but also can easily become a very heavy burden in everyday life, in which aggression and lawbreakers are the norm. For example, in Argentina it can be said that traffic rules are not respected and more than 7,000 people die each year in traffic accidents, and more than 120,000 are injured in varying degrees. This is one of the highest rates of mortality from traffic accidents and is significantly higher when compared with the rates of other countries in relation to their population and number of cars.
When I think of a just city there are some general issues that arise and are central to its development. First, is the need for an equitable distribution of resources among all the people and neighborhoods, in accordance to fairness. Fairness does not necessarily mean equal amounts of money everywhere but an adequate amount of resources to ensure that people from all parts of the city have the same opportunities to enjoy the benefits of community life, including access to education, health, safety, justice, etc.
On the other hand, is important to assure the participation of all inhabitants in the management and administration of the city. A just city always has different ways to encourage its citizens to participate in the discussion of the problems that affect them and in the process of decision-making. Therefore there are accessible public spaces designed to appeal to neighbors and to foster community life.
In particular, a just city is a city in which everyone respects the general rules of coexistence, where respect of others and the environment is a shared value. This means some basic things, like speed limits and throwing trash into trashcans and much more complicated matters.
What is important though is that people follow the rules of the city because they recognize the city and its rules as theirs. This is why is so important to have a system that allows people to move around in a friendly environment, otherwise we will have a dangerous, aggressive and corrupt city — corruption starts with small bribes to transit agents.
A just city is also a place where everybody lives safely and the rights of all are respected. That means that ensuring security should not come at the cost of disregarding privacy and intimacy. With accessible new monitoring technologies, the boundaries between privacy and security become complicated. While having a camera on the dashboard of every police vehicle seems like a good idea, the over-extension of surveillance should be at the center of the debate between politicians and inhabitants if we are going to build a just city. Sometimes better lights, more illumination, are all we need to make ours streets more secure and to invite people to walk around at night.
And a just city is conceived and designed for their people to have a simple, economic and fast access to the different areas of public administration. In particular, those responsible for the administration of justice: police, courts, prosecutors, defenders, prisons, etc. The design of each court, each police department and each place of incarceration deserves special attention to ensure that they serve their purpose. For example, the courts must allow the public to sit comfortably and see the way justice is done; the places of incarcerations must assure the dignity of the prisoners; the police departments needs places where victims of crimes can be properly heard, protected and assisted.
Very often judicial buildings are chosen and designed by lawyers formed in systems where justice is kept away from the people. Consequently the buildings are located and designed to meet the needs of those who administer justice and not to those who need justice. Often these buildings and offices are true labyrinths inaccessible for regular people. For example, in Buenos Aires, the Federal Building is far for everything and there is nothing around it — no place to meet people, to have a coffee, is dangerous at night, etc. Buenos Aries’ Justice Palace is a complicated labyrinth were visitors routinely get lost. Only a few years ago an NGO won a case that ordered ramps be built for disabled people entering the building.
In a just city, justice is at the service of the people and with that purpose there is a network of public transportation that communicate all the public services with the different areas of the city, has understandable signs to facilitate the access to the different offices, and has systems that enable the access of people with different capacities. That is why is so important to decentralize the courts and the prosecutors’ offices. Years ago I was in charge of a unit that lead programs in connecting the prosecutors with the community, in the reorganization of the Prosecutors Institution and in the launch of the first-ever decentralized prosecutors office in Buenos Aires. The main goal of all these projects was to strengthen the idea that justice is a public service and to work with people of other disciplines to design institutions that fulfill the needs of all.
And last but not least, a just city is a city that chooses to remember and share its history with the generations to come and exhibits its past in memory sites, in public places in which, at the same time, democratic values and human rights are promoted. In Argentina there are many places where we can learn about what happened during the dictatorship that ruled my country from 1976 to 1983. Clandestine centers of detention where people was detained, tortured and killed are now museums or memorial sites that allow us to know what happened and to say that this will never happened again, never more.
Walking is both thought-provoking and a form of embodied knowledge creation. Dispersed walks in the water gardens of Shugakuin, Katsura, and Yo-sui-en provide inspiration for the integration of design and ecological science in the face of the challenges of climate transition.
Kansai is both an international airport built on an artificial island in Osaka Bay and an urban megaregion sprawling across Japan’s largest and most populous Honshu Island. But Kansai also affords countless walks in which to understand landform heritage and ecology. The Osaka Sea is embraced by two mountainous areas, one facing the Japan Sea to the north, and the other facing the Pacific Ocean to the south. The urbanized Osaka plain extends northeast to Kyoto, and through the Izumi Range to Wakayama prefecture to the south. This dramatic terrestrial landform is at the intersection of the Eurasian and Philippine Sea tectonic plates. While elaborate train and highway links interconnect the nearly 24000,000 people who live in Kansai, this blog post focuses on a score of local hikes by an interdisciplinary team of researchers exploring the intersection of geological and human land formations in search of both cultural heritage and ecologically sustainable practices in the face of climate change.
Our peripatetic method began over two decades ago when we explored the rapid urbanization across the vast area of Bangkok’s Chao Phraya Delta, “tasting the periphery” via walks along stops at farms along the newly constructed outer ring road. In our method, close-up observations of agricultural and urban landscape practices are compared with remote sensing data and historical imagery. We later came together over a decade ago to examine the construction of flood protection walls by the Japan International Cooperation Agency around industrial estates north of Bangkok. In 2011, Thailand experienced the most economically damaging flood in its history and Japan suffered from the Tōhoku earthquake and Tsunami, while one year later Superstorm Sandy crippled the New York City region. Our conversations and perspectives are enriched by both our countries of origin ― Japan, Thailand, and the United States ― and informed by our disciplinary training ― architecture, landscape architecture, and landscape ecology. Our Kansai walks explore urban and rural transformations as part of The Landscape Ecology Lab at Wakayama University at a time of the construction of enormous and unprecedented flood prevention infrastructure in all of our hometowns.
Key map of three landform transects tracing our Kansai walks. Transect A takes us from Kansai Airport, through the Izumi Range by train to Wakayama University. Transect B cuts through the mountainous Kii Peninsula from Wakayama to the Pacific Ocean. Transect C connects the two imperial villas that bracket Kyoto to a tidal garden south of Wakayama. (Maps from Google Earth by Brian McGrath and Stan Walden)
This diary of our conversational walks around Kansai is structured around three theoretical futures that emerged from the long-term urban ecological research of the Baltimore Ecosystem Study. These theories are applied to a period of rapid change in the landform of Japan in response to both the aftershocks of the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, and the present reality of a shrinking and aging national population. First, our walks encompass the urban megaregion of Kansai which is seen as an agglomeration of cities and villages around and within agricultural and wild areas tied together by vast transportation and virtual communications networks. Secondly, our paths trace an urban/rural continuum of entangled lands and lives in rural and wild places that have both biophysical and cultural features, called “satoyama” in Japan. The urban/rural continuum of satoyama combines terrestrial, non-human, and human artifacts and the various processes interacting within a dynamic heterogeneity of urban change. Finally, we employ metacity theory to understand embodied places and livelihoods within shifting spatial matrices of biophysical, social, and political structures. A metacity approach provides a way to visualize and project urban structures and transformational processes across space and through time akin to the metacommunity, metapopulation, and metastability frameworks in ecology.
Kansai Megaregion: Walking along the Median Tectonic Line
Our drives, train trips, and walks took us from Osaka Bay to terraced mountain farms and back again to sea-level fishing villages, sprawling urban plains, and river basins. These embodied experiences pass between arduous hikes up tectonic terrain, slow strolls along landforms shaped by human hands, and the speed convenience of the modern rail and road transportation landforms of the anthropocene. Kansai Airport terminal, with its delicate wave-like roof, was designed by Italian architect Renzo Piano, sits on a 4 x 2.5 km artificial island in Osaka Bay. The Bay is an oval-shaped inland sea between the Kii Mountain Range facing the Pacific to the south and the Chūgoku Mountain Range along the Japan Sea to the north. The airport is connected to Japan’s Honshu Island, the 7th largest and most populous in the world, by the 3.75 km Sky Gate Bridge. While most travelers continued by car or train north to Greater Osaka, the Nankai Railroad leads to the seaside of Wakayama Prefecture to the south. Since 1903, the train line has tunneled through the 1000-meter-high Izumi Range, which forms a huge historical and scenic “central park” for the Kansai Megaregion. The Isumi range follows the Japan Median Tectonic Line, where the ancient Nankaido traces a walking path along the ridge line across the mouth of Osaka Bay from Shikoku Island to the 8th-century imperial capital of Nara to the east.
Elevation profile through the Izumi range and the Kinokawa River Valley showing the mix of tectonic and anthropogenic landforms encountered when crossing the Median Tectonic Line between Kansai Airport and Wakayama Prefecture.
After tunneling through the mountain range, we disembark at Wakayama Daigaku Mae Station, located near Wakayama University, founded in 1949. National Highway 26, connecting Osaka to Wakayama, was completed in 1952. The Keinawa Expressway now loops around the southern and eastern slopes of the Izumi Ridge, directly connecting Wakayama City to Nara and Kyoto. The post-war modern campus occupies a large land-scraped plain on the south-facing slope of the Izumi Range, overlooking the Edo-period castle town of Wakayama at the mouth of the Kinokawa River. Wakayama Daigaku Mae Station was completed in 2012 and is connected to a large new shopping mall and suburban residential enclave, circling the university campus on three sides. While the campus maintains a brutalist concrete and glass architectural style, both the subdivision and the station have a vaguely Tuscan hill town feel, which is complemented by an Italianate wedding chapel. The local bus brings us from Daigaku Mae Station to Green Planet House just outside the west University gate.
Looking east where the Izumi Ridge, following the Japan Median Tectonic Line, forming the Osaka/Wakayama border, crosses the mouth of Osaka Bay to Shikoku Island in the distance. Photo by Yuji Hara
Wakayama University is the only national university within mostly rural Wakayama Prefecture. According to the university website, its post-war modernist, geo-engineered campus is situated in “a place cultivated over time in a setting of abundant historical and natural resources”. This forest setting, removed from the city below, is meant to educate “the next generation of students who will be the driving forces of regional revitalization”. In spite of the convenience of the new train station, the campus is the product of American car-based planning, fenced and ringed by faculty and staff parking lots, while most students commute by train and bus from south Osaka. However, the University’s Landscape Ecology Lab monitors the fences around the campus with nighttime cameras, capturing the many non-human visitors from the surrounding forest inhabiting the Izumi Range. The most recent seismic activity along the south edge of the Izumi Mountains was in the 7th to 9th century, but earthquakes remain a risk today.
Drone image of the modernist Wakayama University overlooking Edo-era Wakayama City, where the Kinokawa River empties into Wakayama Bay. Photo by Yuji Hara
Historically, the ancient Nankaidō walkway extends along the entire Isumi ridge line, crossing the sea from Shikoku Island to the old imperial capital of Nara. It was established during the Asuka period (593–710 C.E.) with the introduction of Buddhism and written language from China and Korea. Several modern north/south highways tunnel through the ridge, providing quick points to rural roads that give access to agrotourism and app-assisted hiking routes that trace its history and scenery. The difficult mountainous landform trail is the birthplace of an ascetic shamanism that incorporates Shinto and Buddhist concepts founded by En no Gyoja. The Nankaidō trail is marked by 28 sutra mounds that mark a pilgrimage practice between the mounds called Katsuragi Shugendo.
Drone image of south-facing persimmon groves and Horikoshi Shaku-kannon Temple at the foot of 857m Mt.Tomyo. Photo by Yuji Hara
After a deep sleep and breakfast at Green Planet House, our trusted colleague Dr. Masanobu Taniguchi expertly drove us up the winding narrow roads to Horikoshi Shaku-kannon temple, one of the pilgrimage stations, now also serving agro-tourists, trekkers, motorcyclists, and environmental scholars like ourselves. The road winds through centuries-old persimmon or “kaki” orchards. In contrast to the tectonic land formation of the mountain ridge, the Nankaidō and the ancient terracing of the foothills are both the handiwork of countless laborers over centuries. Colorful garlands of drying fruit hang along the roadside, while miniature trucks take the precious fruit downhill to markets. In spite of considerable efforts to maintain these ancient fields with agrotourism and logistical infrastructure, our hosts noted a considerable decline in the number of fruit garlands lining the route this year.
Garlands of persimmons drying in the sun along the winding orchard terrace road to Horikoshi Shaku-kannon Temple. Photo by Brian McGrath
Our trip culminated at Horikoshi Shaku-kannon Temple, an ancient pilgrimage stop and training hall for Yamabushi mountain priests. Located at an altitude of 664m at the foot of Mt. Tomyo (857m), the temple porch overlooks slopes terraced by hand down to the Kinokawa River. A friendly monk greeted us with fresh persimmons and a tour of his house, recently re-thatched with a new straw roof. The day ended with a warm ramen soup at a farmstand along the new National Expressway, E480, the newest highway tunneling under the Izumi Mountains. At Kushigaki no Sato, products from the Katsuragi orchards are sold along with fresh fish from the Osaka Sano Fishing Port, on the other side of Kansai Airport. Urban infrastructure has put mountainside orchards and seaside fishing villages within easy reach of cars. The newly constructed expressway connecting Osaka to Wakayama is just one example of the enormous land formation processes of the anthropocene, while not at the scale of plate tectonics, it impacts an area well beyond the handmade trails, orchards, and rice terraces above.
The following day we continued to follow the Median Tectonic Line across the mouth of Osaka Bay to Tomogashima Island, the forested home of another Shugen pilgrimage site, as well as the setting for numerous Meiji-era military forts protecting the harbor. We took the Nankai line from Wakayama Daigaku Mae to Kada station. Departing by ferry from the pier at Koda fishing village, we were joined by trekkers, military site-seers, and those looking to catch, and the case with a group of college students, cooking and eating their catch. Kada port is protected from tsunamis by new sea walls, but just above the village, Awashima Shrine has historically served as a tsunami refuge. Here, hundreds of dolls line the porches, to be offered in the Shinto ritual of Hina-nagashi on boats offered to the sea.
Fishermen day tripping to Tomogashima Island at the Kada Ferry. Photo by Brian McGrath
One appreciates the power of tectonic land formations hiking along the tectonic line at the center of the Kansai megaregion. The 28 sutra mounds, forest trails, shrines, villages, temples, and fruit orchards comprise a historical and scenic park for the urban agglomeration of 20 million people. It is a landform that resulted from millennia of geological history in the making, but also over 1400 years of human handiwork, now connected through a century of grading land for rail travel, and decades of bulldozing for a sprawling car-based urban megaregion.
Wakayama Satoyama: Exploring an urban/rural continuum
Wakayama Prefecture consists of 80% mountainous terrain. While the prefecture is 60% forest, it also ranks first in Japan in the production of oranges, persimmon (kaki) and apricots (ume). Our walks in Wakayama extensively covered an urban/rural continuum from the old Edo city situated in the historically bountiful rice-growing village areas in its river basins, but also up the southern mountainside orange and apricot growing villages to the Pacific Ocean. 70% of Wakayama City was destroyed by waves of American B-29 bombers overnight on July 9-10, 1945. While much of the Edo-era castle canal-based town plan remains intact, the city has only partially filled its old fabric, with many vacant buildings and hundreds of surface parking lots. Most people choose to raise families outside the city, and the river basin wet paddy rice fields likewise are pitted with new housing subdivisions of landfill. The prefecture’s dense transportation networks constitute an urban/rural continuum of forests, grasslands, streams, ponds, orchids, rice paddy, historical settlements, new suburban subdivisions, and small parking lots everywhere within what has historically been defined as “satoyama” in Japan.
Walks in mountainous Wakayama Prefecture visited formerly isolated fishing villages and mountainside orchards, which with new highways creates a new urban/rural continuum. (Maps from Google Earth by Brian McGrath and Stan Walden)
Our first walks in the city followed various canal embankments between Wakayamashi to Wakayama train stations. Neither the city museum nor the rebuilt castle that dominates the center of town betray the tragic history of the night in 1945 when American B-29 bombers rained down incendiary bombs. However, on the 70th anniversary of the bombing, the trauma of that night was remembered.
“Wakayama Castle was burnt down by the constant waves of attacks, and 70% of the city was reduced to ashes overnight. More than 1,400 people died, and 27,402 homes in the city were completely destroyed.”
The mixed-use network of homes and workshops of the pre-modern Edo city ended up leading to the city’s destruction. As the Wikipedia site on the air raids on Japan explains: “Initial attempts to target industrial facilities using high-altitude daylight ‘precision bombing’ were largely ineffective. From February 1945, the bombers switched to low-altitude night firebombing against urban areas as much of the manufacturing process was carried out in small workshops and private homes: this approach resulted in large-scale urban damage and high civilian casualties.”
Wakayama Castle, built atop a stone-encased sand dune at the historical mouth of the Kinokawa River. Photo by Yuji Hara
While the town’s wooden buildings caused a great inferno following the bombing, the Edo-era urban landform persists. The formidable castle stone walls were built atop a sea-facing sand dune, and a canal system diverts mountain-fed rivers through the town, once the site of all merchant activity. Now incomplete and car-dominated, only post-war buildings dot the old Edo city grid. The town seems mostly populated by the elderly, school children, with some commuting workers. But moving from the Green Planet House on the hill to a guest house in town, one can take pleasure in many residents who choose to stay in the city as well as small restaurants, new and old. Efforts to bring life back to the canals include the new Kyobashi-Shinsui Park.
Wakayama City walks take one along the Edo-era canal lined with post-war buildings with a Meji-era bridge in the background. (Photo by Brian McGrath)
From Wakayama JR Station, the Wakayama Electric Railway Kishigawa Line travels 14.3km to Kishi Station in neighboring Kinokawa City, where a cat is the legendary station master. The antique-themed rail cars literally strike a transect along a patchy urban/rural landform passing lower rice fields, canals and villages and modern raised subdivisions and roadways. Among the 14 stops, we get off to pay respects to “Itakeru no Mikoto”, who is known as a god of afforestation, who traveled around Japan planting trees. The Itakiso-Jinja shrine, located in a beautiful cedar (sugi) forest is sacred to those involved in the timber industry who visit from all over the country. The shrine is the built embodiment of the nature/culture continuum of Shintoism.
The wooden Shinto shrine of Itakiso-Jinja grows in the cedar forest to which it is dedicated. Photo by Brian McGrath
Other train and bus lines connect south to fishing villages and beaches tucked under sea-facing hilltop temples and shrines. Founded by a Tang Dynasty monk in the 8th century, Kimiidera is a Buddhist Temple approached by a street of shops leading under a gateway, up 231 stairs to a terrace overlooking Wakanoura Bay ― known as the Bay of Poetry ― and south to the city of Kainan. Wakaura Tenmangu Shrine and Kishu Tosho-gu Shrine also face the same Bay, accessed by even longer stairway hikes up the foothills of the Kii mountains to the south. Again, these hand-sculpted highland sanctuaries provide tsunami refuge to the populated seaside below.
View of Wakayama Bay from the stone stairs leading up to Wakaura Tenmangu Shrine. Photo by Brian McGrath
The Kii Mountains and the Pacific Ocean beckon us as we seek out the bountiful mountainside terraced orange groves and seaside fishing villages with our new guide, Dr. Yuki Sampei from Kyoto Sangyo University. Our van first brought us to the mountain-terraced orange groves of Ropponju no Oka, the birthplace of mandarin oranges. overlooking the Arida River valley south of Kanain. Japanese mikan and Japanese sweet are types of satsuma or mandarin orange. Cultural heritage designation is a strategy employed by the Landscape Ecology Lab to maintain these important historical agroindustries. One example is the Japanese apricot (ume) growing land-use system, called the Mibe-tanabe ume system. Our visit included the Kishu Ishigami Tanabe Bairin Ume Orchard which has achieved a Globally Important Agricultural Heritage designation with the Food and Agricultural Organization of the UN.
Mechanical carts carry crates of hand-picked oranges to small roadside trucks for market. Photo by Brian McGrath
Oranges were still being harvested by hand, packed in crates, and carried by single-rail mechanical beltways up the steep hillsides. Returning to Arida City, a logistical hub for this prized fruit and its by-products, we visited orange factories, wholesalers, and retailers. One such business dating from the Meji era (1868–1912) is Ito Farm, specializing in Arida mandarin oranges and citrus products such as juices and sweets. While the sanitary part of juice making is indoors behind windows, the shipping and sorting of the 13 types of citruses ― including Satsuma mandarin orange, ponkan, kiyomi, iyokan, and hassaku takes place in public view as forklifts cross back and forth between open-air warehouses linking both sides of the road. The farm store occupies an old orange storehouse.
Open-air orange juice factory adjacent to Ito Farm Store in the background. Photo by Brian McGrath
Again, we follow recreational motorcyclists to a tiny fishing village just north of Arida. Kazamachi (meaning “waiting for good wind for ships”) Cafe is tucked in a small port protected behind a peninsula and tsunami protection facing the Kii Channel to the west. The bay expands out to Shimotsu town with its JR train station just south of the mouth of the Kamo River. We had a long wait while the motorcyclists had their fill of fresh fish, but it gave us a chance to walk around this tiny vulnerable, mostly abandoned fishing village. These villages, which before the rail lines and highways were difficult to access, are now within easy reach for Kansai megaregion scenery and food lovers. Yet an aging population and the anxiety following the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami have depleted the residential population.
Drone view of formally-isolated semi-abandoned fishing village of Mio. The home of the Canada Museum is now connected by roadways, yet vulnerable to tsunamis. Photo by Yuji Hara
Oranges and fish meet in the roadside station along the new north/south highway connecting Osaka to the Senri coast. Five nearby ports provide fresh fish, in addition to the produce from the “Fruit Kingdom of Wakayama”. On our way to the Senri coast, our next stop was the previously remote town of Mio, which is situated facing the Pacific Ocean at the mouth of Wakayama Bay. Most able-bodied people emigrated to Canada for the fishing industry, and the Canada Museum sits in the mostly empty seaside town as a testament to Japanese emigration. Some farmers’ markets along the new highway are run by agricultural corporations. Kitera Akitsuno Direct Sales Office is a social business corporation founded in April 1999 by local volunteers. Community development, investment, business planning, and operation are run by Kamiakitsu area residents and their support groups. These rest stops are contact zones in the urban/rural continuum directly connecting urban customers to farmers and fishermen.
Drone image of landslide and road diversion where volcanic and marine sediment meet. Photo by Yuji Hara
After our coastal hugging route of walks in fishing villages and hillside fruit orchards, we headed back to Wakayama City by going directly north through the mountains, passing through landslides along the geologic seam between volcanic and marine sediment. High above Tanabe City, we enjoyed a homestead lunch at Ryunohara a farmstay guest house being meticulously restored by a native Singaporean. With an active social media presence, Ryunohara attracts volunteers and guests from around the world to get a taste of the rewards of hard manual labor in rural Japan. The trip culminates near the mountain peak of Koyasan, and the zen gardens of Kongobuji Temple, the head temple of Shingon Buddhism, the sect introduced to Japan by Kobo Daishi in 805. While the van covered much more distance than we could ever have reached by foot, it was the walks at each stop where our feet could feel the intersection of the geological infrastructural and human hand in land formation that constitutes Wakayama satoyama as an urban/rural continuum.
Kansai Metacity
Our stop at Ryuohara indicates the importance of digital communication infrastructure in connecting people and places, not just at a mega-regional or prefectorate scale, but also globally. We will conclude this blog with a description of the traditional art of Imperial landform making in Kyoto before concluding with three examples of locally rooted contemporary landform activism that reach out to global conversations on equity and sustainability in Kyoto, Osaka, and back in Wakayama. Like in Ryuohara, we visited urban refugees from Japan and from around the world who became traditional foresters, farmers, traditional house restorers, and craftspeople.
Downstream view of Kansai Metacity from Lake Biwa to Osaka Bay includes three landform gardens from the mountain headwaters above Kyoto and downstream at a river batwater, to a tidal garden south of Wakayama, but also includes visits to environmental landform activists across the Megaregion. (Maps from Google Earth by Brian McGrath and Stan Walden)
Unlike the mercantile sea-facing cities of Osaka and Wakayama, Kyoto is, geographically, a headwater city chosen as the seat of the imperial court of Japan in 794. The city’s Chinese-influenced feng shui planning proved to be politically auspicious and naturally bountiful as it served as the imperial capital of Japan for 11 centuries. The city was spared from the firebombings that leveled Osaka and Wakayama. A great deal of cultural heritage has been preserved, and the city continues to be a vibrant metropolis today. Kyoto is surrounded by mountains on three sides with Lake Biwa, Japan’s largest freshwater lake to the northeast. The city and the imperial palace face south on top of a large natural freshwater table in between two tributaries of the Yamashiro Basin. This large natural water table provides Kyoto with ample freshwater garden pools and wells. Due to large-scale urbanization, the amount of rain draining into the table is dwindling and wells across the area are drying at an increasing rate.
The art of spring-fed headwater landform at Shugakuin Imperial Villa (elevation 140 meters). Photo by Brian McGrath
If one traces a transect from the Shugakuin Imperial Villa in the northeast foothills above the city to Katsura Imperial Villa, in the river floodplain to the southwest, it would cross directly through the imperial palace regally situated in the middle. The landform of the two villas, together with the earthworks which direct river headwaters through the Kyoto city itself, demonstrate the traditional art of Kansai landforms and waterscapes. Our garden walkarounds began at the scholar retreat of Shugakuin, where an artificial lake is formed at a natural spring headwater. An artificial pond, sculpted like the rice-feeding retention ponds below, is the setting for an island writing retreat and a lakeside tea house for a retired emperor. We can follow the water down to the Kamo River, past the imperial palace, and through the more popular quarters of the city, where it is a pleasurable natural resource in the center of the city.
The art of groundwater landform at Katsura Imperial Villa (elevation at 24 meters) Photo by Brian McGrath
Kyoto’s city builders straightened the Kamo River through the gridded town but gave it ample room to swell with seasonal rains and snow melt. Our walks next take us to Katsura Imperial Villa, situated in the floodplain of the Katsura River southwest of the city. A sculpted groundwater-fed pond is at the center of a scenic garden of rolling artificial hills with walking paths to enjoy the seasonal change. It is a classic example of landform art by cut and fill; when the ponds were dug, they provided earth for the hills. From the verandas of the main house, raised above the river backwater floods, guests watched the moon reflected in the hand-sculpted pond. Remarkably, Expressway 480 connects back to Wakayama where a third type of landform waterscape ― the seaside tidal water garden at Yo-sui-en ― provides a tea house near an ecological hotspot for marine species and waterfowl.
The art of tidal seawater landform at Yo-sui-en Garden (elevation at sea level). Photo by Brian McGrath
In contrast to our imperial and aristocratic water garden landform walks in Kyoto, we hiked back up the Katsura River led by Dr. Atsuro Morita from Osaka University to trace the path of lumber from the sugi cedar forest up the mountains to the north to the Nishi-takasegawa canal and warehouses behind Kyoto’s Nijō Castle. In the cedar forest of the mountainous region of Keihoku, we were greeted by Sachiko Takamuro, founder of Ko-gei no Mori, the Forest of Craft. “Kogei-no-Mori focuses on the fact that nature is the starting point for manufacturing and aims to rebuild a healthy relationship between people and nature through action-based manufacturing”. We ate fresh sushi from the nearby Japan Sea prepared by the village grannies, and saw the wood-veneered surfboards, employing traditional Japanese crafts such as urushi lacquer.
Abandoned lumber storehouses in the Sugi cedar forest above Kyoto. After World War 2, Japan invested in sugi plantations, but labor costs make imported lumber much more affordable for everyday wood consumption. Photo by Brian McGrath
Back in Kyoto, our growing team met at FabCafe with Nami Urano at Loftwork to discuss another urban ecosystem initiative in Osaka. Loftwork brought us to be part of a creative walk to inspire urban ecosystem design in the Morinomiya redevelopment area behind Osaka Castle. The walk provided an opportunity to informally exchange opinions about the possibility of ecologically conscious design in Morinomiya, while actually walking along the canal and riverside around Morinomiya with those involved in the area development. Again, the peripatetic method brought to light many possible relationships between the city and nature in the Morinomiya area and how to “bring out the charm of the land” through embodied experience.
Existing condition of Daini Neya Riverwall, Morinomiya redevelopment area, Osaka. Photo by Brian McGrath
Returning to Wakayama, our last walks were in the satoyama outside Kainan City. Coastal Kainan is particularly vulnerable to tsunamis, so the city hall was recently relocated up to former farmland in the foothills. The new Kainan City Wanpaku Park was designed around old agricultural ponds, managed by Biotope Moko (孟子), named for a fourth-century BCE Chinese thinker in the Confucian tradition. Unfortunately, this contract at Wanpaku Park ended with filling the old ponds due to renovation for tsunami evacuations in 2024. Nevertheless, Biotope Moko is still continuously providing local environmental education programs and various nature classes for local kids and adults and promoting organic rice and soba farming.
Biopte Moko’s Biodiversity Revitalization Project seeks to restore the biodiversity of the satoyama environment. With an aging agricultural working population, many rice fields and irrigation systems have been abandoned and upland forest areas are no longer managed through thinning. The forest temple of the Moko Fudosan Naga-dera is hidden in the hills northeast of Kainan at the headwater of a satoyama irrigation stream. The temple, founded in 815, had become overgrown and inaccessible. In 1998, the founder of Biotope Moko, Toshihide Kitahara, organized a team to make the temple accessible again and excavated dragonfly ponds in the former rice paddy with the cooperation of the local landowners. In 2009, the original restoration place of Biotope Moko was designated as a future heritage site by UNESCO Japan.
Drone image of dragonfly ponds on a former rice paddy managed by Biotope Moko. Photo by Yuji Hara
This blog post collapses the scales of a vast urban megaregion with a dragonfly pond in order to promote metacity theory as a way to simultaneously engage with landforms as cultural heritage and sustainable ecology. As mentioned above, metapopulation theory suggests that species survival is dependent on dispersal, metacommunity theory states that a set of local communities are linked by the dispersal of multiple interacting species, and metastability theory proposes that native species communities can form patches that delay the extinction processes by mutual cooperation. Metacity thinking along a dispersed urban/rural continuum may assist in localized human and non-human species cooperation and survival in the face of the huge infrastructural changes being built in the wake of climate change.
Huge infrastructure projects are currently sealing sea and waterfronts in Kansai, Bangkok, and New York in response to disasters that took place over a decade ago. In order to imagine the cooperation networks we need to create a shift from coarse grain technologically driven large-scale landform policies to multiscalar ecological designs that require new tools of local knowledge production linked to broad communication networks. In addition to our walks and talks, we sketch, survey, interview, photograph, and launch drone cameras in order to publicly elevate such finer-scale efforts. Our drone images harken to early 20th-century birds-eye views of cities and scenery newly accessible through modern railroads by Hatsusaburō Yoshida, and the fukinuki yatai ― “roof blown off” views show how urban life extends inside and out. Contemporary representational tools rely on a rich tradition of spatial anthropology (Hidenobu Jinnai) and ethno-graphics (Wajiro Kon) in Japan. Our illustrations in this blog post point to the importance not only of walking but of hand-making future landform projects collectively.
Walking is both thought-provoking and a form of embodied knowledge creation. Dispersed walks in the water gardens of Shugakuin, Katsura, and Yo-sui-en provide inspiration for the integration of design and ecological science in the face of the challenges of climate transition. Landform activism in Kansai continues to be both cultural heritage as well as sustainable ecology by a set of interlinked human and non-human communities. Walking with activists in the forests above Kyoto, the urban canals of Osaka and Wakayama, and throughout the Kansai megaregion gives us great hope in our ability to thrive in an insatiable and unpredictable future.
Yuji Hara is an associate professor at the Faculty of Systems Engineering, Wakayama University, Japan. He specializes in landscape planning and anthropogenic geomorphology and conducts field research in Wakayama, Osaka, Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Metro Manila and other Asian cities as well as in the Netherlands and around New York.
Danai Thaitakoo is an adjunct lecturer at the School of Architecture and Design, King Mongkut’s University of Technology Thonburi, Bangkok, Thailand. His interests lie in the field of landscape and urban ecology with an emphasis on landscape changes, urbanization, landscape dynamics and hydro-ecology.
You want to read about a vision of a just Karachi? The contract killer ($50 a hit) ripping up the road behind Disco Bakery on his Honda 200CC and the secret service colonel cracking skulls in a Clifton safehouse will both cite one vision: Dubai. This happens to also be the vision of the one-armed Afghan refugee selling Beijing socks off a cart in Saddar bazaar and the unsexed Karachi Port Trust shipping agent waiting for shady clients to cough up cash so he can escape to Phuket. To borrow from an old Urdu election rallying cry: Chalo, chalo, Dubai, chalo. Come, come, let’s go to Dubai.
A vision of a just Karachi? I am laughing. Visions are supposed to create. What do you call wanting to undo?
Vision presupposes the ability to see what is in front of you, and based on the understanding this seeing yields, you can plan with some measure of wisdom to create what you do not want to see in the future. And so, it is noble to ask what could be a vision of a just Karachi—except that this is an unfair assignment given that this city completely confounds the senses. Just when you think you have some idea of what Karachi is, the landscape will chimerically shift. It is small wonder that the people who live here are forever trying to explain Karachi to themselves and to each other, to define it and even try to form some vision of what it should be. But the city is elusive. In our desperate attempts to exercise some control over this kind of existence, we tend to do two things in reaction: look outwards or backwards.
Those who look outwards have fixated on Dubai, a long-time employment destination for the Pakistani laborer who idealizes it as a city where the streets are paved with gold. Given that Dubai is a 90-minute flight away, the elite and upwardly mobile middle classes of Karachi exalt it as an escape from Karachi’s filth and madness. Dubai fits their vision of a shiny, clean, crime-free metropolis where you can exhaust yourself in air-conditioned malls with their Nine West stores, JC Pennys and Starbucks. Dubai assuages our near-Catholic sense of Islamic guilt of enjoying things too Western; not only is the city Arab but if it is kosher for the sheikhs to order hickory barbecue (chicken) bacon cheeseburgers at the Hard Rock Café, so can a Muslim from Karachi without going to hell in a breadbasket. Stories of Dubai’s real estate bust or the effects of its sterile soullessness and hidden human rights violations don’t figure much in conversations in Karachi.
So, one vision of Karachi is to become a Dubai. Sadly, this is the vision of policymakers in Karachi and the powers that be in our federal capital of Islamabad, who hold the purse strings to our infrastructure development. You can see this vision manifest on our streets in the 44 pro-car and anti-pedestrian overpasses, the new malls, the gated communities. We look outwards when we want to envision Karachi. We would rather mimic instead of indigenously assessing what Karachi is and what its people—rich or poor—need.
Those in Karachi, who do not worship Dubai as an urban model, look backwards. They are full of nostalgia for a postcolonial port city that had dance halls, cinemas, nightclubs, booze, cabarets, promenades, bars, even the British. Dizzie Gillespie came to Karachi in 1956. Custard was served at the Scottish Freemason Hope Lodge. The nostalgia is dated to the 1980s, however, when political violence started to erupt. But oh, before that you could walk around the old city parts of Saddar and not get murdered. Now you can’t even wear your diamonds beyond Sind Club (where a sign once said, “No women and dogs beyond this point”). The lament for this Kurrachee, as the British spelt it, and the yearning for it to return, conveniently ignores that it was, as Karachi historian Arif Hasan puts it, “a culture of a colonial port city with a colonial administration under the Empire.” It was bound to eventually end as it did in a decade with the exit of the British upon Partition in 1947.
Either way, Dubai or Kurrachee, at least these residents of Karachi have some idea of what they want this city to be like. I envy them. I look—but I see nothing. I am afraid to form a vision of Karachi, much less one for a just Karachi. This should not be a challenge given that I know and love this city as a journalist can. Each day, for fifteen years, I have been editing news about it, writing it, scouring it, cajoling reporters and photographers to go forth to negotiate with it. We are reluctantly intimate with its subterranean economies, its government extortions, its skins, its rejections, its hidden mercies, not to mention where to get the best goat curry.
Oddly though, the knowledge of these Karachis has had the opposite effect of creating confidence to comment with any authority on the city. If anything, I know that you cannot know anything about it for sure. I have come to see it as intellectually dishonest to hold forth on Karachi. To generalize, especially, is a sin.
Take for example, the long-held view of the residents of Karachi and its police that our slums are the root of crime and religious extremism. It is a convenient snobbery to declare that the poor are criminals. More specifically, we assume that the Afghan refugees, who flocked here from their homeland upon the Russian invasion in the 1970s, are holed up as the Taliban or are the only ones peddling crack on our streets. Crime statistics reveal a more nuanced picture that criminals also live in middle class apartments and not just our ghettoes. When crime shoots up the police and paramilitary forces raid slums. Young men are rounded up, blindfolded and trundled off to police stations only to be released a few days later because there is no evidence against them. The crime graph doesn’t budge a coordinate. We fool ourselves into thinking we know this city.
Perhaps my caution when it comes to reaching conclusions—and hence developing any vision—about Karachi seems extreme. But even if I suspend it for an essay to try to envision a just Karachi, I am stumped by a paralysis of imagination. I baulk at drawing on the examples of cities in the global North because there are no guarantees that what works for New York will fit for Karachi. The catch phrases resilience and smart city fail to resonate with Karachi (so much so that a friend in urban studies has started a “Dumb City Project”). Similarly problematic is casting an envious eye towards our neighbor India with its Jawaharlal Nehru National Urban Renewal Mission, Ministry of Urban Development and e-Seva services. I have come to believe that this inability to even dare to dream of a just Karachi is in part a symptom of living in a city that has been forced to run on crippled formal systems or none at all. Where would I even begin? By shamefacedly admitting that we don’t even have an office of the mayor? We have not had an elected city manager since 2009 but it is only now that the Supreme Court is trying to push the provincial or state government to hold local government elections before the year ends. (In the meantime a handpicked bureaucrat, officially referred to as a city administrator, has been in charge. But his mandate is not to run the city efficiently as he is not answerable to the people of Karachi.)
To be fair, though, not all of what Karachi is today can be attributed to the current failure to form local government. But if I am to draw from the accepted international standard of having city government systems in place to run our cities, I can be forgiven for assuming that this would be a prerequisite to forming any vision in the first place. Isn’t it supposed to be like this: You elect the best qualified mayoral candidate who presents what is closest to your vision for your city?
Instead, over the decades, there has been an erosion of the institutions that have traditionally managed Karachi, with the office of the mayor being the last nail in the coffin. With the recession of these formal systems has come a slow descent into informality, which explains why the city keeps spinning. Our water doesn’t flow from the tap because a tanker mafia steals it from the bulk mains at source and sells it back to us at Rs2,500 (US$25) for 2,000 gallons. The government’s inability to provide affordable housing has left people at the mercy of loan sharks and real estate middleman who squat on state land by developing slums. Informality is the only formality we know. To borrow from beat writer Richard Fariña: “Been down so long it looks like up to me.”
In this ‘down,’ Karachi has learned how to survive and keep working. There is a special Urdu word for this: Jugardh. It means ‘make do’ or ‘quick fix,’ to put it roughly. This is our new city social contract in the absence of government. If we want to get anything which the city management would otherwise do for us, we have to rely on informal networks. If you want to get a sewage pipeline fixed in your street, for example, you call up your uncle who happens to know the managing director of the water board.
I understand that perhaps people who have lived in cities with long histories of experimenting and honing the formula for local government are now wondering if a certain measure of informality or organic bottom-up self-determination isn’t a better model. This is a position that can be taken by someone within the luxury of a working system. To me a system is a safeguard from inequality. The system applies to everyone, not just those with enough powerful connections. Inequality and justice are two sides of a coin to me. Isn’t justice, by one definition, the administration of the law or authority to maintain what is fair and reasonable? If so, then without an elected City Council with its Treasury and Opposition to keep in check a mayor and his administration (called the Karachi Municipal Corporation), nothing this city decides for itself will be fair and reasonable. Systems inherently carry checks and balances because they are premised on rules. If informality is the only ‘system’ we have then no rules apply.
One example stands out in memory. When we did have an elected city council from 2001 to 2009 Opposition councilors from one political party locked horns with the Treasury members and the mayor, Mustafa Kamal, over the distribution of funds to their neighbourhoods. They could prove to the city, their voters and those who gave Karachi city its funding that they had been gypped. Don’t get me wrong; our experiment with devolved local government was not untainted by corruption, which emerged at the smallest city unit, the union council level. But at least people living in UC-9, for example, had someone to go to with their needs and that councilor could take it to the town nazim who could make a noise in the city council in front of the mayor.
A vision of a just Karachi then perhaps just asks for a basic system of governance. Its residents—whether they drove Mercs or motorcycles, lived in mud huts or mansions — should be able to elect their own representatives. And through them the people would be able to provide their own sense of a just Karachi or at least be able to fight an unjust one.
In the absence of a city council we have been left at the mercy of the ‘vision’ of ill-informed bureaucrats who have been handpicked by the province’s (state’s) powerful political parties to ‘run’ Karachi as puppets. So we have a Karachi Administrator instead of a mayor and he runs the Karachi Metropolitan Corporation which includes, for example, the departments of transport and communication, sanitation services, parks, land management and local taxes. This has essentially allowed the only two powerful political parties on Karachi’s scene to make unchallenged decisions about the city’s resources. Let me give one example of a series of coordinated yet unexamined decisions that were made without any input from Karachi’s residents that will have devastating effects on the future of the city.
In 2010 the government created a new high density law and declared 11 zones in Karachi, many of them slums, open for high-rise construction. Height-related restrictions were removed. The amalgamation of plots was allowed, plot ratios were removed and the sizes of buildings were increased. The reasoning provided by policymakers was that Karachi’s population was rapidly growing and densification was needed. No one pointed out that the areas earmarked for high density zones were already dense and there were plenty of rich neighbourhoods with sprawl that were untouched.
This law has opened the door to mega real estate projects without any oversight from the city’s Master Planning department, which has essentially a fairly good design for the city till 2030. This important department has been administratively placed under Karachi’s building control authority, which doles out permits for all construction in the city. The world over this hierarchy is the opposite; only if a building adheres to the plan the city has made for itself can it get the green signal.
For those of us who have tried to keep track of the changing face of Karachi it is dismaying to behold a constant slipping away of its beauty and charm, or that intangible magic that makes us love this city despite its madness. It is being taken over by the untrammelled development of gated communities. The timber mafia keeps felling its ancient Banyan trees. We had a water crisis this summer because no one is at the helm to plan for the future of our supply or fix our leaky pipes. Our footpaths are disappearing under billboards. Our parks are being taken over by the offices of political parties. Public spaces are being taken over by parking lots.
A vision of a just Karachi? I am laughing. Visions are supposed to create. What do you call wanting to undo?
One hundred ninety two national governments and the EU have signed the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), pledging to work towards its three objectives (see here). In reality, much of the onus falls on local governments although, often, neither level is aware of this nor how it should take place. In fact, local governments’ task is disproportionately important because their efforts can reach so many people in such relatively small spaces. An urban park, for example, can expect orders of magnitude more visitors per unit area than even the most popular national park. And it’s not just about the collective acreage of land. Access to nature where people live can affect their attitude towards nature in general – and this is manifested through their votes and other forms of support.
Much good work is being done by many dedicated individuals in this field. However, in most of the world’s cities management of biodiversity is given little consideration or priority. It is therefore up to the international community to set this right through initiatives to support those willing to take steps towards improvement. Unfortunately projects and programmes to address this often lack any true sense of continuity. Workshops present a common example: they are relatively easy to organize, convene and fund, and they allow a box to be ticked no matter what happens after everyone goes home. Even with longer-term projects it’s relatively easy to start something and then say “ok, now you take over”. What’s much more challenging is to ensure the sustainability of an initiative, especially if the beneficiaries weren’t consulted or involved in the conception of the idea. For local government officials, among others, this can be demoralizing in the long term. They may look to aid agencies, international organizations etc. with hope, but might receive little more than ideas and contact details – useful though these may (or may not) turn out to be.
I count myself among the guilty. I have been involved in a number of initiatives in which continuity has not been a central focus. I believe we, as “city biodiversity people”, need to be in this for the long haul. We need to figure out not what sounds good, but what is realistic; we need to figure it out in consultation with those who need to carry on with it; and we need to employ mechanisms that will increase the chances of them being able to do it. Here I’ll outline three mechanisms to which, I think, we need to pay more attention when working to support local governments: personality, politicians, and policy & planning.
Personality
Credit: www.have-a-nice-day.org
One of the most striking mechanisms to achieve positive change that I have experienced in years of working with local governments has been “champions”. In many cases an individual’s ingenuity and determination can achieve more than even a considerable amount of funding. This is partly because such an individual will find ways to ensure that the broader workforce of the local government by which they are employed can be harnessed and mobilized to achieve many of the results for which they are aiming. Almost every local government department is affected by, and has an effect on, ecosystems through their work. If each of them is made aware and considerate of the need to conserve biodiversity, much more will be achieved than the biodiversity practitioner could dream of achieving alone – even with a huge budget. And in many cases all that is required is their will, not necessarily more work or more funding, but a different approach.
Champions’ position in the hierarchy is important in affecting this kind of cross-sectoral illumination and working together but more important, I think, is personality. I have encountered many individuals who have achieved success by virtue of who they are and how they relate to others. They are also determined, thick-skinned, strategic, proactive, and patient. For example, in a Canadian municipality the director of the city’s natural areas office has established good relationships with the mayor and directors of each of the city’s major divisions so that all are now prepared to listen when biodiversity is brought up; he has increased local decision-making autonomy from the provincial level; and he has been at the centre of the development of numerous new and innovative projects. He has established his city as a known world leader through their involvement in global initiatives like ICLEI’s Local Action for Biodiversity (LAB) Programme, thereby effectively advertising and thus bolstering the work already done by his city. He is a source of inspiration for many with whom he has come into contact.
Recommendation: Identify champions so that their lessons can be shared and their actions further supported; and identify those who have the potential to fill this role, empowering them to act in their own municipalities by showing them what’s been done; how to do it; and that they are not alone in their endeavor.
Politicians
While a biodiversity practitioner’s effect is limited to some extent by their position, a politician is constrained more by their need to address a number of often-conflicting issues, and to satisfy their constituency. This also has quite a lot to do with personality but it’s more about awareness and subsequent willingness. If politicians have the will to support biodiversity, biodiversity practitioners are likely to be given considerable freedom in their work and, just as importantly, more likely to be able to access municipal funding. On the other hand if a politician has taken a stance in opposition to biodiversity, for example if they consider it to do nothing but impede development, then very little will be achieved by even a well-staffed and well-integrated biodiversity unit. Even the neutral politician can be restrictive because, when biodiversity comes up against other priorities, the likelihood is that this decision-maker will know and care more about a new road or housing development than about a concept with which they are less familiar.
In my work I have encountered fewer politicians who are really moving biodiversity work than practitioners. In some cases, however, a politician has really made things happen. One Australian mayor has made his relatively small and previously unknown city stand out globally by associating himself with biodiversity issues. It is unlikely to be a coincidence that he is also the president of his state’s local government association; member of the executive committee of the world’s largest local government organization dedicated to environmental sustainability; and that his city is regarded among the leaders in local biodiversity conservation worldwide.
Recommendation: Build relationships with politicians, and between them and their biodiversity staff, and raise awareness on how the support of ecosystem services can be used to support their position and campaign (remember politicians are always on campaign).
Policies and plans
The problem with both personalities and politicians is impermanence. While both represent very worthwhile mechanisms for maintaining a focus on biodiversity considerations, they do unfortunately come and go. This is especially true for the latter and necessitates a constant process of relationship-building which can be especially tricky when a new administration abhors the old, and may even get rid of officials associated with it. As an additional and supporting measure policy is, therefore, critical. It, too, can be changed over time depending on the administration but can provide an additional safeguard. Even if a new administration is bent on changing or removing it, the due process required may at least buy some time to win them over.
Both policy and the plans that flow from them need, however, to be timed and placed strategically. For example a recent study (Radeloff et al. 2012) of 35 countries worldwide showed that the promulgation of protected areas tended to occur in spates rather than gradually over time. 44% of the countries studied “protected more than half of their protected area in one year, and 61% did so in one 5-year period”. The authors concluded that conservationists need to account for these ‘hot moments’ in countries’ political progression, which “often coincided with societal upheaval such as the collapse of the USSR or the end of colonialism”, in order to be most effective.
Placement is equally important. Consider, for example, the case of a medium-sized city in which a biodiversity action plan is one of about 50 sectoral plans. Although it guides the biodievrsity unit responsible, it cannot be expected to influence 49 other sectoral plans. The rather simple and elegant solution was to ensure that the key principles of the biodiversity plan were integrated into one of the city’s overarching plans, which must be followed by each sector and appropriately reflected in their sectoral plans. Again, timing is also important because there is a limited period during which plans can be revised.
Recommendation: Encourage biodiversity practitioners in local government to consider their contribution to policy and plans to be a strategic component of their duties that will pave the way for their on-the-ground work.
Parting words
The mandate of the United Nations, as its name suggests, is to serve the national governments of the world. The message that I am trying, with others like my supervisor, Oliver Hillel and colleagues from ICLEI, to get across is that they are the ones only who start things. National Biodiversity Strategies and Action Plans (NBSAPs) are a requirement of each Party to the Convention but, in reality, the “A” and “P” parts of the acronym can be specific enough to result in implementation only once the plan is applied and specified at the local level. A 2010 report on progress with NBSAPs by the United Nations University confirms that “the overall NBSAP will only be implemented if corresponding strategies and action plans are also developed and implemented at the relevant sub-national level(s)”.
And yet there remains a huge gap between national strategy, and local planning and implementation. Who best to do this than the local arms of the same national governments?
There is much work to be done but implementing mechanisms at the local level, while simultaneously working to raise awareness at national and international level to increase support for what happens locally seems a good way to go.
A review ofProjective Ecologies, edited by Chris Reed and Nina-Marie Lister. 2014. ISBN: 1940291127. ACTAR, Harvard Graduate School of Design. 314 pages. Buy the book.
Several months ago, I reviewedLandscape Imagination, a collection of essays by James Corner, a professor at University of Pennsylvania and the landscape architect who designed New York City’s celebrated High Line. Composed over twenty years, his essays examine the many factors hindering the advancement of the cultural medium of landscape. One factor Corner repeatedly addresses is the hoary old dichotomy between nature and culture still pervasive in landscape architecture—the belief in a pristine nature separate from humans.
If we cannot get our most innovative and challenging ideas out of books and into real landscapes, we will squander an opportunity to determine a proud future.
While his collection proposes the “landscape imagination” as a way to transcend this outdated belief in landscape architecture, Projective Ecologies, a new collection of essays edited by Chris Reed and Nina-Marie Lister, turns to ecology for new ways to think beyond the old nature/culture split. Taken together, these complimentary volumes offer a powerful new raison d’etre for contemporary landscape architecture. But they also reveal another thorny dichotomy.
While the essays in both collections are exquisitely written, I am hard pressed to imagine contemporary built landscapes that actually represent the challenging ideas conveyed in either book. This dichotomy between landscape as idea—in academic writing and imaging—and the actual production of landscapes—in the common client/contract model of practice—is not new. Nor is it unique to the discipline. But like nature versus culture, the idea versus practice dichotomy leaves landscape architecture ill equipped to work effectively in a world of quickly hybridizing landscapes.
Projective Ecologies aims to recover a critical sense of ecology for the design professions because they operate at the intersection of nature and culture—particularly landscape architecture, since its medium holds unique environmental, social, and existential opportunities and responsibilities. Emerging from a multi-year research initiative at Harvard’s Graduate School of Design, Reed and Lister drew on Foucault’s The Archaeology of Knowledge to present three “parallel genealogies,” or intellectual traditions, dealing with the concept of ecology: natural sciences, the humanities, and design.
Reed and Lister abandon any hope of editing a chronologically linear exploration of ecology across the disciplines. Instead, they take a cue from it, and tend a wild garden of vines and sprawling, root-like ideas with no center and no linear narrative. While it was once believed that ecosystems were linear, gradually and steadily reaching stability until disturbed by an external force, it is now understood that change is built into them. Biologist Robert E. Cook eloquently explains this paradigm shift in his essay “Do Landscapes Learn? Ecology’s “New Paradigm” and Design in Landscape Architecture” (1999). For Cook, ecosystems depend on change for growth and renewal.
All of the essays are at their best when they investigate the consequences of design and planning operating from the old paradigm in ecology. Jane Wolff demonstrates how decades of decisions and actions from within the old paradigm made Hurricane Katrina such an unprecedented disaster for New Orleans. The complex hybrid ecological systems that have emerged in New Orleans are making rehabilitation efforts nearly impossible. David Fletcher discusses how Los Angeles River revitalization efforts are led by goals to fix the river rather than understand what it has become. This desire to return the river to a “natural” state threatens its urban ecologies, which have adapted to perform significant ecological functions independent of human agency.
Erle C. Ellis, a professor of anthropogenic landscape ecology at the University of Maryland, further explains why these dichotomies are so troublesome in his contribution “Taxonomy of the Human Biosphere.” Ellis defines our new geological epoch, the Anthropocene, as “the completion and permanence of human influence on the terrestrial biosphere.” He argues that the Anthropocene began roughly 10,000 years ago, when humans first started planting crops. The epoch really got underway with the dawn of the Industrial Revolution. Anything that was not altered before is now undergoing rapid changes caused by human-induced climate change. The future of all species, including our own, sits entirely in our hands. Ellis makes a case for understanding and managing our anthropogenic biosphere by moving beyond the mythology of humans as destroyers of a pristine and fragile nature, a theme that is central to the nature versus culture dichotomy. Since this cultural perception of nature does not actually exist in the reality of a biosphere that is now a hybrid of nature and culture, it will not empower us to create nurturing landscapes in the new epoch. Likewise, if we cannot get our most innovative and challenging ideas out of books and into real landscapes, we will squander an opportunity to determine a proud future.
Christopher Tuccio. Milkweed Habitats. 2008.
The essays offer three important perspectives of ecology to better understand ecology as a model of the world and the agency exercised by design and planning in shaping that world. The first perspective from Projective Ecologies is that ecology has transcended its origins as a natural science. The expansion is trans-disciplinary, cutting across the natural and social sciences, history and the humanities, design and the arts. It also pertains to the pervasive co-opting of ecology as an overused metaphor for any general idea about environment or as a poorly understood stand-in for the idea of dense networks of connectivity (see any recent issue of Forbes or Fast Company in which entrepreneurs explain the “ecology” of their multi-million dollar “ecosystem”). In Christopher Hight’s essay “Designing Ecologies,” he declares ecology among the most important epistemological frameworks for the environmental narrative of our times. But because of ecology’s expansion—and, consequentially, its descent into simplistic truisms that everything is interlinked and interacting—it loses its meaning as a specific idea. Reed and Lister say, “few designers have ventured beyond the metaphors and mechanics of these two-decade-old models to design effectively for adaptation to change, or to incorporate learned feedback into the designs, or to work in trans-disciplinary modes of practice that open new apertures for the exploration of new systems, synergies, and wholly collaborative work.”
The second perspective from Projective Ecologies (as implied by the title) is that ecology is actually a plural concept, spanning a broad spectrum of fields. Some of the specialized areas of ecologically oriented research that have emerged, include: landscape ecology, human ecology, urban ecology, applied ecology, evolutionary ecology, restoration ecology, deep ecology, the ecology of place, and unified theory of ecology. These appropriations are responses to the importance of ecology as model, metaphor, and medium for the interrelationships between plants, animals, and the physical, biological, cultural, and experiential world. In a hybrid world of nature and culture, singularities—such as ecology existing outside the city, and urban as external to ecology—no longer exist.
The third main perspective in Projective Ecologies is that ecology holds projective potential for the design disciplines. Reed and Lister explain that, “as ecologists are limited by their conceptual models of ecosystems rarely able to be tested on ecosystems themselves, the term projective thus embraces the creative and speculative ambitions of representation.” Reed and Lister model a speculative and creative approach with the very structure of their book, layering essays, drawings, and other graphics in an effort to bring new connections and new ideas to light. Chris Hight explains a projective ecological program of design as less about organizing matter or even catalyzing processes, as much as it is about researching the critical junctions and “pressure points” of systems. Projective Ecologies proposes a synthetic understanding of ecology as a medium of thought, exchange, and representation for design.
Michel Desvigne Paysagistes. Thirty-Year Planting Development. Thomas Plant, Guyancourt, France. 1989.
While Projective Ecologies raises many questions about the future of ecology and urbanism, it left me asking one critical question: “What is next in the lineage of the project?” We can surely anticipate similar collections of essays and drawings from ecological thinkers. But how does ecology as a medium of thought, exchange, and representation translate to the messy realities of our cities? How does it translate to practice more broadly? How do mid-career practitioners like myself “catch up,” so to speak, with advancements in the ecological paradigm shift since we were in landscape architecture school? How do we become familiar with the realities of a hybridized world shaped by cultural intention and natural process?
Jane Wolff asks a question in her essay, “Cultural Landscapes and Dynamic Ecologies: Lessons from New Orleans,” that is applicable across hybrid landscapes: “What can be done to address the tension between what we know and what we do? With enough public investment, the technical dilemmas posed by New Orleans and southern Louisiana could be addressed successfully. The most significant obstacles to progress are cultural. The need for public literacy about New Orleans’s hybrid ecology suggests a new role for landscape and urban designers, who have the skills to mobilize, represent, and synthesize information about current conditions and more resilient alternatives.”
Perhaps attaining more widespread ecological literacy should be the first goal in breaking down the “nature versus culture” and “ideas versus practice” dichotomies plaguing landscape architecture. As practitioners, taking responsibility for our own knowledge will allow us to better use our skills and creatively mobilize, represent, and synthesize information for the public. These goals may not be practical within the dominant model of practice where methods are monetized, outputs are commoditized, and the march of ecological time is suspended to create landscapes with instant appeal. But the world depends on us to learn from ecology and create hybrid forms of ideas and practice that enable us to better understand the ecosystems and human populations we impact through the landscapes we shape. Offering up the insight that we may not be making the most of a diverse and complex concept of ecology, is, perhaps, the greatest success of Projective Ecologies.
“Science is meaningless because it gives no answer to our question, the only question important for us: ‘What shall we do and how shall we live?’ ” — Leo Tolstoy
Knowledge production can be elitist and exclusionary, with important voices omitted. Further, the knowledge produced by current knowledge systems is often disconnected from action. We need to diversify the kinds of knowledge available to support NBS.
We know that our cities need to look and function differently. There is a wealth of scientific evidence showing that urbanisation has been, and continues to be, a global driver of habitat loss and ecological transformation, but that cities can also be places of rich biodiversity. Nature-based solutions are needed for urban resilience, human health, and environmental protection, as has been highlighted many times on this blog (e.g. here and here). The COVID-19 pandemic has highlighted the importance of local green space to human well-being and has opened opportunities for new ways of connecting with and stewarding urban nature.
Here in Nottingham, as in many cities around the world, the pandemic has dealt an enormous blow to the local economy, in addition to the tragic human health toll and social disruption caused by restrictions on social mobility. Yet, in the midst of this crisis, opportunities for change have emerged. The most striking is the Broadmarsh site in the centre of Nottingham. Plans had been in place to redevelop the prominent shopping centre, with the previous building already demolished. However, partway through the redevelopment process, the economic impacts of the pandemic drove the company into administration, opening up an opportunity for the city to reimagine a renewed and ecologically-sensitive urban centre. Creative ideas have emerged such as the site being transformed into an inner wildlife sanctuary incorporating woodlands, wetlands, and grasslands, or a new ‘green quarter’ focussed on sustainability, urban agriculture, and eco-housing.
A concept imagination of a new greenspace in the centre of Nottingham. Credit: Influence Architects and Nottinghamshire Wildlife Trust
The Broadmarsh site is just one of many examples of opportunities for ecologically-sensitive urban transformation. In seeking to operationalise this change, the topic of knowledge comes to the fore. The quote by Tolstoy above suggests that science is unable to provide knowledge of what a good life (or city) looks like, or how we can create one. Certainly this is true of traditional, explanatory science grounded in reductionism and experimental approaches that seek to control complexity. However, in recent years, new forms of “post-normal” science have emerged that embrace system uncertainties, ethical complexities, and value-laden decision contexts – characteristics that define urban systems, and urban science. So what kind of science is required to direct us to transformative, regenerative urban solutions? What kind(s) of knowledge is (are) needed? Who contributes to this knowledge? How will necessary knowledge be produced? As a city that is home to two large universities, how can these institutions contribute to the kind of knowledge needed for a sustainable and resilient Nottingham? These questions lead to a bigger question for many of the readers of The Nature of Cities: with many of us working to generate and apply knowledge, are our knowledge systems failing us? TNOC is a rare home for transdisciplinary dialogue and collaboration yet, arguably at a global scale, our knowledge is not having the necessary impact as urban trends in terms of habitat loss, energy use, and resource consumption continue to show.
The question of how formalised knowledge systems, such as universities, research institutes, and educational institutions can contribute to ecologically flourishing futures was explored in the recent paper by Fazey et al. (2020) “Transforming knowledge systems for life on Earth: Visions of future systems and how to get there”, published in Energy Research and Social Science. The article documents insights from a participatory research methodology that elicited responses from 340 participants from diverse disciplinary backgrounds at the “Transformations to Sustainability” conference in Dundee, 2017. The Three Horizons Practice was used to gather participant understandings of (1) the challenges of current knowledge systems; (2) what future, more effective systems might look like; and (3) the domains of policy and practice needed to help facilitate shifts from the current to the future desired knowledge systems. A summary of the results is outlined below.
A summary of the key characteristics of current and envisioned knowledge systems, as reported in Fazey et al. (2020).
The current knowledge system was understood to be fragmented and compartmentalised. Legitimate forms of knowledge are neglected: there is often an emphasis on positivist epistemologies with little attention to ethics and aesthetics (knowledge of what is right and beautiful). Knowledge production can be elitist and exclusionary, with important voices missing such as marginalised socio-economic groups including the poor, young, women, and non-white cultures and ethnicities. Further, the knowledge produced by current knowledge systems is often disconnected from action, with academia specialising in precisely assessing problems rather than learning how to implement solutions.
In contrast, the knowledge systems desired by conference participants that can support regenerative futures are characterised by collaboration rather than competition, and an openness to different ways of knowing including intuitive, experiential, and traditional knowledge. The world is viewed as interconnected and inter-related, with an openness to the ‘re-enchantment’ of the mysteries around us. Future knowledge systems need to be focussed on solutions, and these solutions should be empathetic to the needs, desires, and perspectives of the diverse communities impacted via direct involvement in knowledge production. Citizens should play an important role in setting agendas, generating knowledge, and making decisions. Yet solutions must also have a transformational dimension, going beyond incremental change so as to address the scale of the climate and nature crises facing the planet. This kind of knowledge system reflects Aristotle’s idea of phronesis (or practical wisdom), which recognises that knowledge, action, and concern for human (ecological) flourishing are inseparable. Such a system is enabled by cultures of freedom and trust, leading to enhanced creativity, and allowing researchers and other actors to bring their ‘full selves’ to the process of research.
Clearly, this description of a future knowledge system is a long way from what many experience in cities around the world, yet it finds resonance with many of the examples of co-production of knowledge highlighted in The Nature of Cities. The researchers identified a number of domains for policy and action that can help to bring about this change. First, windows of opportunity need to be identified. These can be technological, socio-economic, environmental, or other forms of change. Notwithstanding the huge social, economic, and health costs, the current pandemic offers an enormous opportunity to think differently about how universities, in particular, can help renew and regenerate cities and open up knowledge and learning to a wider citizenry. Second, there is a need to experiment with new ways of creating and implementing knowledge, with research funding bodies having an especially important role to play in this. Third, promising innovations need to be protected and amplified. Fourth, new support and organisations are needed to allow new ways of producing knowledge to become embedded in the context of established structures, routines, and dominant interests. Finally, in many cases, for transformations to knowledge systems to occur, transformations to other accompanying systems (e.g., media, education, finance) are also necessary, as these shape prevailing narratives and norms around legitimate and valued knowledge.
Returning to Nottingham, there is now a valuable opportunity to begin to work towards this new vision of a knowledge system oriented towards the ecological renewal of the city. Already, the local authority has committed to being carbon neutral by 2028. The City’s Carbon Neutral Action Plan has incorporated an emphasis on scaling up biodiverse green and blue infrastructure to enhance resilience and adaptation to flooding and other climate change impacts. Further, the two universities (University of Nottingham and Nottingham Trent University) have recently signed a Civic Agreement with commitments to collaborative working, environmental sustainability, and unlocking the universities to enable stronger partnerships among different actors in the city.
There are already promising signs of action. For example, the Department of Architecture and Built Environment at the University of Nottingham are aligning c.1000 architecture, planning, and engineering student projects to sites across Nottingham to find solutions to challenges and opportunities related to the carbon neutral 2028 target and the pandemic recovery. Similarly, students on the MSc in Environmental Leadership & Management programme are connecting with local organisations such as the Environment Agency and Nottingham City Council to find solutions to local environmental challenges. Further, research on blue-green infrastructure is being conducted in partnership between planners, decision-makers, and university researchers to increase resilience to flood risk while enhancing biodiversity and open space provision. Now is the time to scale up these activities and embed a new collaborative, solutions-oriented knowledge system in Nottingham.
An example of a proposed blue-green solution to flood resilience in Nottingham. Credit: Nottingham City Council – Blue Green Infrastructure.
While the scale of change outlined in Fazey et al. (2020) may seem overwhelming, there are signs of promise from many cities highlighted on TNOC. Let’s continue to identify and enhance opportunities “for future systems to go beyond creating knowledge about the world to rapidly creating the wisdom about how to act appropriately within it.” (Fazey et al., 2020: 15).
A review of Kuwait Transformed: A History of Oil and Urban Life, 1st Edition. by Farah Al-Nakib. 2016. 296 pages. ISBN-13: 978-0804798525 / ISBN-10: 0804798524. Stanford University Press. Buy the book
A thought-provoking mixture of urban history and urban sociology, Al-Nakib’s book sheds a much-needed spotlight on urban planning practices in 20th century Kuwait and their implications on the everyday life of its residents.
For anyone interested in understanding urban development in the Arabian Gulf (“Gulf Urbanism”), Farah Al-Nakib’s Kuwait Transformed: A History of Oil and Urban Life (2016) is a must-read. Benefitting from both a thorough academic historical research approach and a deep personal understanding of local context and culture, Al-Nakib’s multi-layered book provides a sharp, nuanced and grounded critique of urban and social change in twentieth century Kuwait, focusing on the link between the two.
The book begins with a chilling snap shot of present urban life in Kuwait: four fatal criminal incidents (2012 – 2013) which shocked the general public because they were undertaken in the open, “in the midst of hundreds of witnesses who chose not to intervene” (p. 2). Al-Nakib argues in the remainder of the book that the transformation of urban areas in Kuwait has led to a “highly segregated and factional society” where such incidents are to be expected. In this piece, I hope to draw out the book’s main themes and arguments which are applicable not only to Kuwait but also to the wider region, and perhaps also to other fast-developing cities around the world.
Al-Nakib is unequivocal in her criticism of modernist city planning: the “top-down”, wholesale master planning promoted by planners like Le Corbusier in the decades post World War I. In Kuwait, this movement began in 1951 with the commissioning of foreign planning experts to develop a masterplan with the stated objective of transforming pre-oil Kuwait town into the most socially progressive city in the Middle East. The relative wealth and power of the Kuwaiti government and society’s open and unquestioning attitude to change in the early post-oil era rendered Kuwait an ideal setting for the implementation of centralized planning projects.
The result of these projects was the obliteration of the pre-oil urban character and tangible history of Kuwait and consequently a complete change of its society’s lifestyle and behaviors. People moved from living in traditional houses in close-knit neighborhoods to living in sprawling, single-family villa developments with limited opportunities for community interaction. Furthermore, the related state-led process of land acquisition and redevelopment was not implemented transparently, leading to significant inequalities in wealth distribution and therefore to social tensions. As such, while the modernist masterplans advocated for urban change as a tool for progressive social change, the absence of community involvement and influence in their development and implementation led to the destruction of both Kuwait’s physical character and social fabric.
Al-Nakib vividly depicts the economic, social, and political interactions occurring in the port, the suq (market), the mixed-class firjan (neighborhoods), and the homes of pre-oil Kuwait town. Urban life in that era is described as characterized by diversity of place and people, simultaneity of activities in spaces, spontaneity, engagement with difference, and a sense of need which strengthened social relatedness. This changed with the advent of oil, with affluence removing the sense of need and allowing community members to exist in physical and social isolation from one another. In other words, the small maritime town of Kuwait possessed more of the aspects of cosmopolitan urbanity than the post-oil, suburban city of Kuwait with its physically and socially segregated spaces. This is similar to Saskia Sassen’s critique of mega development projects in cities, which raise density but destroy the finer grain of streets and squares effectively de-urbanising city neighbourhoods.
The success of the port economy in Kuwait town was dependent on the friendly and accepting nature of its society. The town attracted immigrants from various ethnic and religious backgrounds, to the extent that its cultural identity was defined by the hybrid of languages, customs, and tastes harmoniously coexisting. As highlighted by Al-Nakib, this stands in glaring contrast to ethnically and spatially segregated Kuwait of today and to the post-oil identity narrative in the region’s cities which is centered around a singular national identity.
“Islamic city” design principles
Al-Nakib’s historical narrative of pre-oil Kuwait town highlights aspects of traditional city planning and architecture in the region: inward-oriented courtyard houses, gender-segregated spaces, the importance of privacy in both street and building design. However, she cautions from over-simplifying traditional planning principles and basing them solely on the concept of gender separation or more specifically female containment. Firstly, she points to the reality of women’s lives whereby there is evidence of them having access to the larger society, beyond female-only spaces. Second, she highlights other context-specific influences on planning including climate and building materials.
Public and private spaces
Many of Al-Nakib’s most interesting insights relate to the delineation of city spaces on the spectrum between public and private use, in both pre-and post-oil Kuwait. Within a farij (neighbourhood), spaces between houses such as sikak (narrow pedestrianized streets) and barahas (small squares) were treated as “semi-private spaces” used only by the particular farij’s residents as spaces for children to play and people (including women) to interact more openly, compared to other public spaces outside the farij. Similarly, spaces within private courtyard houses functioned as “semi-public” spaces facilitating access between neighbors.
Another significant space for Kuwaiti society was the diwaniyya (space within a home, primarily utilized by males and accessible from the main street). While physically attached to private homes, visitors were not turned away from a diwanniya and thus this space straddled the public/private divide and acted as meeting space for public social, business and political discussions in the farij. As Al-Nakib notes, the “…integration of multiple functions and daily activities in the town’s various morphological sectors created a vibrant everyday life…” (pp 68-69).
Today’s single-family, detached homes and car-centric neighborhoods in Kuwait bear no resemblance to the traditional neighborhood and homes described above. To the contrary, the new suburban areas provide almost no quality public or semi-public spaces to encourage social interaction.
Al-Nakib also comments on today’s malls: the region’s “quintessential urban form”. Privatized and often exclusionary to some income and social classes, malls are the primary public spaces in Gulf cities today, highlighting the lack of diversity in spaces and experiences.
Restoring “the right to the city”
The book concludes with a call for a restored “right to the city” and to public involvement in planning. Al-Nakib cites the example of The Secret Garden, a community project started by a diverse group in order to upgrade an existing public space and facilitate its use by various segments of society, promoting community ownership and diversity. Since the publication of the book, The Secret Garden is sadly reported to have been destroyed; however, this project may still serve as the starting point for a different kind of transformation.
Conclusion
A thought-provoking mixture of urban history and urban sociology, Al-Nakib’s book sheds a much-needed spotlight on urban planning practices in 20th century Kuwait and their implications on the everyday life of its residents. Al-Nakib explores these themes without romanticizing the past and without calling for the reversal of the cycle of development. What she argues for is the importance of place and people-sensitive urban development, one which respects the past and seeks to encourage diverse and dignified social interaction.
These principles are at risk in times of radical transformation (in Kuwait’s case from pre to post-oil), when change is rapid and there is limited professional reflection and assessment or community participation and feedback. It is particularly during these times when investment must be made in understanding the existing economic, social and cultural fabric of the city and the intricate interdependencies with physical space and urban form. In addition, a critical assessment of the short and long-term impacts of transformation on the spaces and interactions in the city must be encouraged. This will require an open dialogue involving government entities, planning and design professionals and academics, the local business community, local community groups and the general public.
En tant que paysage patrimonial avec de nombreuses années d’histoire, il semblait fondamental d’intégrer la fragmentation du Parc Jean-Drapeau plutôt que d’essayer de l’aplanir. L’idée était de reconnaître que le parc est un produit évolutif de plusieurs siècles, récupérant le sens perdu et affirmant l’identité.
Retrouver le sens perdu et affirmer l’identité du parc
Les parcs sont aujourd’hui une collection éclectique de strates de paysages aménagés et construits issus de multiples époques[1]. Autant pour ceux qui réalisent des parcs que ceux qui les conçoivent, il est à propos de se questionner sur la conciliation entre d’une part révéler et célébrer l’historicité des parcs et leurs composantes et d’autre part appliquer des approches actualisées de transformation pour en faire des parcs qui répondent aux besoins du XXIe siècle. Comment considérer les patrimoines qu’ils contiennent et représentent tout en laissant place à la production de nouvelles formes contemporaines?
La célébration du grand parc insulaire grâce à la consolidation de ses rives et du cœur des îles Sainte-Hélène et Notre-Dame. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)
Est-ce qu’une cohabitation des fonctions, des styles et des traces est possible et souhaitable? Comment répondre aux éléments de rupture et de désuétude tout en assurant une continuité identitaire du lieu? Quelles formes devraient prendre les parcs du futur? Ces questions ont informé l’approche conceptuelle du Plan directeur de conservation, d’aménagement et de développement du parc Jean-Drapeau 2020-2030 réalisé et dirigé par NIPpaysage, avec Réal Paul, architectes, ATOMIC3 et Biodiversité conseil.
La mise en en valeur des espaces et des écosystèmes pour assurer un continuum d’expériences paysagères. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)
Dans les dernières décennies, l’usage public du parc Jean-Drapeau a vécu une crise. Un éloignement et une distanciation se sont opérés avec les citoyens au point de faire du Parc un « landscape of estrangement» pour reprendre le concept de James Corner. Celui-ci critiquait la technologie et le capitalisme qui contribuaient à nous éloigner de la valeur poétique de l’architecture de paysage et prônait pour une conciliation de l’histoire et du sens du lieu avec les circonstances contemporaines. «Many fail to even appreciate the role that landscape architecture plays in the constitution and embodiement of culture, forgetful of the designed landscape’s symbolic and revelatory powers, especially with regard to collective memory, cultural orientation, and continuity[2]». Il convenait donc, à travers le processus de conception paysagère, d’œuvrer à positionner clairement l’identité du Parc pour lui redonner une cohérence physique, refléter ses valeurs culturelles et le réinscrire dans les pratiques citoyennes. Après avoir placé la conservation comme l’une des principales orientations stratégiques, sept principes d’aménagement ont été élaborés : positionner le Parc à l’échelle métropolitaine et régionale, célébrer le caractère insulaire du Parc, mettre en valeur le riche héritage patrimonial, mettre en valeur les paysages aquatiques et leurs écosystèmes, favoriser la diversité et la connectivité des écosystèmes, assurer le continuum d’expériences paysagères du Parc et miser sur les expériences de mobilité pour découvrir le Parc. En découla le concept d’aménagement qui répond directement à cette perte de sens et de contact, soit : «La célébration du grand parc insulaire grâce à la consolidation de ses rives et du cœur des îles Sainte-Hélène et Notre-Dame».
Les trois grands gestes d’aménagement : la liaison des cœurs des deux îles, la promenade riveraine, les attaches entre les rives et les cœurs. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)
Le parc et le paysage comme destination paysagère et sociale
À la manière des parcs de Frederick Law Olmsted, la volonté partagée était de faire du paysage insulaire réinventé du parc Jean-Drapeau une destination en soi[3]. Citons en exemple Central Park, Millenium Park ou Governor’s Island où la qualité de l’aménagement a été, dès l’étape de planification, prévue pour être une attraction locale et touristique de premier plan. Le plan d’aménagement du parc Jean-Drapeau vise aussi à créer du vide, à laisser s’exprimer le design du Parc dans toute sa créativité. Comme le soulignait Bernard Huet : «We are afraid of emptiness. Afraid of void, of an empty, beautiful space[4]». L’importance de cesser de surcharger et de remplir l’espace d’installations temporaires de tout genre (panneaux de signalisation, barrières, clôtures, mobilier, arrangements floraux, plateformes, etc.) de même que de viser l’optimisation des paysages a largement fait partie des réflexions pour valoriser le site patrimonial, célébrer les legs en architecture de paysage et surtout contribuer à l’émergence de milieux habités. Comme l’écrivait Kate Orff dans The New Landscape Declaration : «Where the spaces can be reimagined as productive landscapes that are not only pastoral settings but also active generators of social life[5]».
Clare Cooper Marcus écrivait que: «Two frequently cited reasons for park use are: a desire to be in a natural setting and a need for human contact[6]», un constat toujours d’actualité aujourd’hui qui a informé tout le processus créatif. Celui-ci s’est également appuyé sur les «guidelines», «design recommandations» et «users’ needs ” élaborés par plusieurs auteurs au fil des ans, dont les critères de qualité pour les espaces fréquentés par les piétons de Jan Gehl, (2012), qui ont fait ressortir les éléments qui font le succès des espaces publics (successfulfeatures) (notamment Whyte, 1980[7], Cooper Marcus et Francis, 1990[8], Tate et Eaton, 2015[9]). La réflexion a été particulièrement soucieuse de répondre aux besoins et aux habitudes de tous les usagers et des communautés culturelles par un engagement envers la diversité. Divers auteurs ont en effet étudié les différences culturelles dans les attitudes, comportements et occupations des parcs; certains groupes culturels préférant davantage des rassemblements autour de repas ou une récréation passive et d’autres préférant le mouvement et la récréation active à titre d’exemple[10].
Ces connaissances issues de recherches scientifiques et d’observations terrain ont été sérieusement considérées afin de s’assurer d’une justice sociale dans l’accessibilité au parc (égalité, équité, inclusion). Dans The Politics of Parks Design, Cranz écrivait que le potentiel des parcs à façonner et à refléter les valeurs sociales n’était pas encore pleinement apprécié ou compris et qu’un contrôle social a de tout temps limité l’accès au parc[11], un constat appuyé par Beardsley à travers la notion «d’érosion[12]». Cette lecture demeure plus que jamais valable et comprise dans la planification et la conception. Les aménagements proposent ainsi à la fois des opportunités de rencontres, de contact social et de rapprochement avec la nature, une complémentarité entre les espaces verts et urbains, une variété d’espaces et de types de paysages ouverts et fermés qui permet des activités dynamiques et statiques, récréatives et passives. À l’instar des écrits de Jean-Marc Besse[13], le plan d’aménagement considère le paysage avant tout comme une expérience, une manière d’être, d’y être impliqué pratiquement, c’est-à-dire de l’habiter. Les propositions visent moins à contempler qu’à vivre et sentir le paysage. La promenade riveraine de 15 km permettant de découvrir les paysages des rives des deux îles ainsi que les panoramas sur le fleuve Saint-Laurent et même au-delà est le premier geste d’aménagement clé pour renforcer l’identité du Parc et en faire une destination. Cela permet de réhabiliter la passerelle du Cosmos et le pont de l’Expo-Express et d’offrir un contact direct avec l’eau tout en bonifiant l’intérêt écologique du pourtour des îles.
La consolidation des forêts à trois strates permet une variété d’espaces et de types de paysages ouverts et fermés pour des activités dynamiques et statiques, récréatives et passives. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)
La création d’un pré-fleuri ponctué d’œuvres d’art redonne la place à la nature au cœur du mont Boullé. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)La reconfiguration de la berge, par l’adoucissement de son profil, permet la création d’une promenade riveraine et un nouveau rapport au fleuve Saint-Laurent. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau. (2019). Projet d’idéation de réaménagement du stationnement P8 en promenade verte riveraine. Société du parc Jean-Drapeau.La promenade riveraine et un emmarchement à la Place des Nations permettent de découvrir les paysages des rives ainsi que les panoramas sur le fleuve. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)
Une matrice verte comme structure de connectivité
En s’inspirant de la triade Bridging, Mediating, Reconciling d’Elizabeth Meyer[14], la stratégie d’aménagement voulait reconnecter les espaces, faire une médiation des vocations et se réconcilier avec le lieu. Influencée par l’approche «Process-based» d’Anita Berrizbeita[15], la conception s’est appuyée sur les formes existantes, le sens du lieu et l’accumulation des histoires pour révéler la trajectoire du Parc, augmenter la lisibilité des forces et faire émerger une matrice qui répond à la multiplicité, la flexibilité et la temporalité nécessaires à la vie d’un grand parc urbain. Aux qualités visuelles et spatiales recherchées s’ajoutent des notions de préservation, de performance, de connectivité et de fonctions écologiques. Gilles Clément posait la question : «Peut-on élever le non-aménagement, et parfois le désaménagement, à hauteur de projet?[16]» Sans aller jusqu’à proposer une pédagogie de l’herbe, le plan d’aménagement laisse une grande place à la protection des paysages aménagés et naturels et au design écologique adaptatif, en plantant massivement et en restreignant l’accès à plusieurs secteurs du parc. La liaison des cœurs des deux îles est le deuxième geste d’aménagement clé à travers la création d’un corridor écologique entre la micocoulaie du mont Boullé et les zones ripariennes de l’île Notre-Dame via un pont vert au-dessus du chenal Le Moyne. Cela permet d’assurer une connectivité des écosystèmes au sein du Parc et d’enrichir ces noyaux de biodiversité, où la faune et la flore sont particulièrement abondantes[17].
La matrice écologique : le corridor écologique entre les cœurs des deux îles, la bonification de l’intérêt écologique du pourtour des îles et l’aménagement de liens entres les rives et l’intérieur des îles. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)L’axe véhiculaire de la passerelle du Cosmos transformé en pont vert et en promenade urbaine. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)Creation of an ecological corridor between the Mont Boullé wetland and the riparian areas of Île Notre-Dame by widening the Cosmos footbridge and providing access for wildlife. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).
Un paysage hérité stratifié
Bernard Huet disait qu’un parc avait une continuité, une longue histoire[18], alors que Peter Latz affirmait qu’un parc n’était jamais complété, mais devait plutôt être considéré comme un processus continuel[19]. Cette vision d’agrégation qui a émergé dans les années 1990 se matérialise notamment dans les approches et les projets d’Adrian Geuze et de Norfried Pohl qui misaient sur les qualités intrinsèques du lieu comme inspiration conceptuelle. «This is one of the reasons why it is necessary to add different layers over a period of time in order to evolve into a ’public park of stature’; ‘because the already existing and intented qualities must be understood and not forgotten’[20]». En tant que paysage patrimonial ayant eu plusieurs phases de planification et couches d’occupation, il est apparu fondamental de tirer profit de la fragmentation du parc Jean-Drapeau plutôt que d’y voir qu’amalgame de choses disparates qu’il convient de lisser. L’idée n’était pas de créer un nouveau grand geste monumental, mais de faire état que le parc est un produit évolutif depuis plusieurs siècles. La prise en compte des traces, la révélation des couches et la superposition de trames ont été les bases de la réflexion. Les objectifs étaient d’inviter le public à se réapproprier le parc, de le réinscrire dans la mémoire collective et d’assurer une continuité tout en ajoutant une nouvelle structure et organisation spatiale. Le plan d’aménagement propose ainsi une matrice pour rendre manifeste l’existant et conjuguer différentes «associations de temps»[21].
Dans la considération de la valeur patrimoniale du Parc et dans la logique de la «conservation inventive» de Pierre Donadieu[22], l’aménagement de l’espace a privilégié à la fois la conservation d’éléments concrets du paysage et la création de formes innovantes correspondant à de nouvelles ou à d’anciennes fonctions du territoire. Le concept d’aménagement s’est attardé à enrichir la tridimensionnalité du paysage, ce que Jacques Simon nommait des «rapports d’alliances et d’autonomies de trois étages distincts de l’organisation de l’espace[23]». C’est dans ce contexte que le troisième geste d’aménagement clé a été imaginé, celui des attaches entre les rives et les cœurs. Ce geste est intimement lié à l’expérience de la promenade riveraine ainsi qu’à celle des cœurs historiques et écologiques du Parc. Les attaches comprennent une déclinaison d’objets paysagers (passerelles, quais, belvédères) qui permettent de décloisonner et de relier les paysages enclavés tout en offrant une expérience unique «à plusieurs niveaux» qui révèle et expose l’identité du Parc. Cette série de liens ponctuels et continus répartis sur les deux îles offre un nouveau regard sur des trésors oubliés et sur les paysages du fleuve tout en créant de nouveaux dialogues entre les ensembles autrefois isolés. Les passerelles sont inspirées des structures aériennes du minirail de l’Expo 67, à l’époque constituées de pilotis en forme de V inversé reliés par une longue poutre longitudinale. Leur matérialité dialoguera avec la signature contemporaine du paddock et des futurs bâtiments de parc, contribuant ainsi à l’émergence d’une identité architecturale ancrée dans l’histoire et l’imaginaire du lieu.
Les attaches entre les rives et les cœurs permettent de décloisonner et de relier les paysages enclavés tout en offrant une expérience unique « à plusieurs niveaux » qui révèle et expose l’identité du Parc. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)Les passerelles sont inspirées des structures aériennes du minirail de l’Expo 67, à l’époque constituées de pilotis en forme de V inversé reliés par une longue poutre longitudinale. Photo: NIPPaysage et parc Jean-Drapeau (2020)
Le ménagement d’un «parc public d’envergure»
Certes, de grands projets transformeront l’image, la mobilité et l’expérience du parc Jean-Drapeau, mais ils le seront principalement sur des terrains sous-exploités et des infrastructures existantes n’incarnant pas les valeurs du Parc. Nous ne sommes plus à l’heure de l’invention d’un nouveau paysage, mais à celle de prendre soin de notre territoire, de le lire, de le repenser et de le valoriser. Comme l’exprimait si bien Thierry Paquot : «Il faut inventer un ménagement des gens, des lieux et des choses[24]». Le parc Jean-Drapeau n’est pas et ne sera pas une esthétique unifiée et finale, mais un amalgame cohérent de formes héritées qui s’adapteront à de nouvelles préoccupations environnementales et pratiques sociales. C’est là que résidera l’innovation et que se concrétisera l’identité retrouvée et rehaussée du parc Jean-Drapeau. C’est en privilégiant les superpositions, les connexions et les médiations qu’aura lieu la réémergence d’un grand parc urbain aspirant à devenir un «parc public d’envergure».
[1] Cet article est une version plus détaillée de l’article : Jonathan Cha (2022), « Superpositions, connexions et méditations, la réémergence d’un grand parc urbain », p. 35-37, Paysages, no-17.
[2] James Corner (1991), « Theory in Crisis » in Simon Swaffield, Theory in Landscape Architecture, Philadelphie, University of Pennsylania Press, p. 20-21.
[3] Alexander Garvin (2011), « Park development », in Public Parks. The key to livable communities, New York et Londres, W. W. Norton & Company, p. 58.
[4] Bernard Huet (1995) [1993] « Park design and continuity », in Martin Knuijt, Hans Ophuis, Peter van Saane et David Louwerse, ModernParkDesign. RecentTrends, Bussum, Thoth Publishers, p. 21.
[5] Kate Orff (2016), « Urban Ecology as activism », in Landscape Architectural Foundation, New Landscape Declaration, Los Angeles, Rare Bird Booksp, p. 77-79.
[6] Clare Cooper Marcus et Carolyn Francis (1990), People Places. Design guidelines for Urban Open Space, New York, Van Nostrand Reinhold, p. 71.
[7] William H. Whyte (1980), The Social Life of Small Urban Spaces, Washington, The Conservation Foundation, 125 p.
[8] Clare Cooper Marcus et Carolyn Francis (1990), People Places. Design Guidelines for Urban Open Space, New York, Van Nostrand Reinhold, 295 p.
[9] Alan Tate et Marcella Eaton (2015), Great City Parks, New York, Routledge, 332 p.
[10] Halil Özgüner (2011), “Cultural Differences in Attitudes towards Urban Parks and Green Spaces”, LandscapeResearch, Vol. 36, no-5, p. 599-620.
[11] Galen Cranz (1982), The Politics of Public Parks. A History of Urban Parks in America, Cambridge, The MIT Press, 347 p.
[12] John Beardsley (2007), « Conflict and Erosion : The Contemporary Public Life of Large Parks » in Julia Czerniak et James Corner, Large Parks, New York, Princeton Architectural Press, p. 199-213.
[13] Jean-Marc Besse (200), “Le paysage et les discours contemporains: Prolégomènes” in J.-B. Brisson (dir.), Le jardinier, l’artiste et l’ingénieur, Paris, Les Éditions de l’Imprimeur, p. 71-89.
[14] Elizabeth Meyer, « Uncertain Parks : Disturbed Sites, Citizens, and Risk Society”, in Czerniak et Hargreaves, op.cit. : 59-85.
[15] Anita Berrizbeitia, « Re-placing Process » in Czerniak et Hargreaves, op.cit. : 175-197.
[16] Gilles Clément (2006), Où est l’herbe?, Arles, Actes Sud, 159 p.
[17] Pour plus de détails, voir Jonathan Cha (2021), « La réinvention du parc Jean-Drapeau : un nouveau parc plus accessible, diversifié, public, et vert » , The Nature of Cities, 18 octobre : https://www.thenatureofcities.com/2021/10/18/la-reinvention-du-parc-jean-drapeau-un-nouveau-parc-plus-accessible-diversifie-public-et-vert/.
[18] Knuijt, Ophuis, van Saane et Louwerse (1995) [1993], « Time, space and landscape », op.cit. : 83.
[19] Knuijt, Ophuis, van Saane et Louwerse (1995) [1993], « A park est un parc is een park ist ein Park », op.cit : 30.
[20] Knuijt, Ophuis, van Saane et Louwerse (1995) [1993], « Continous change or changing continuity », op.cit. : 34.
[21] Knuijt, Ophuis, van Saane et Louwerse (1995) [1993], « Time, space and landscape », op.cit. : 84.
[22] Pierre Donadieu (1994), « Pour une conservation inventive des paysages » in Augustin Berque et al, Cinq proposition pour une théorie du paysage, Paris, Éditions Champ Vallon, p. 52-81.
[23] Des surfaces (0 à 2 mètres) à l’organisation topographique et végétale (2 à 8 mètres) jusqu’au massif forestier (8 à 20 mètres) Jacques Simon (1980), Les parcs actuels, (Ser. Aménagement des espaces extérieurs, no-13). Espaces ouverts, 127 p.
[24] « Thierry Paquot, « Il faut inventer un ménagement des gens, des lieux et des choses ». Entrevue avec Thierry Paquot, Philosophie magazine, 19 mars 2014.
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The Conceptual Approach of the Parc Jean-Drapeau Conservation, Planning, and Development Master Plan 2020-2030
As a heritage landscape with many years of history, it seemed fundamental to incorporate the fragmentation of Parc Jean-Drapeau rather than trying to smooth it out. The idea was to acknowledge that the park is an evolving product of several centuries, recovering lost meaning and affirming identity.
Today’s parks are an eclectic collection of layers of landscapes built and developed from multiple eras. For both park makers and park designers, it is appropriate to question the balance between revealing and celebrating the historicity of parks and their components and applying updated approaches to transformation to make them responsive to the needs of the 21st century. How can we consider the heritage they contain and represent while leaving room for the production of new contemporary forms? Is a cohabitation of functions, styles, and traces possible and desirable? How can we respond to the elements of rupture and obsolescence while ensuring a continuity of identity for the site? What forms should the parks of the future take?
The celebration of the great island park through the consolidation of its shores and the heart of the islands of Sainte-Hélène and Notre-Dame. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).
These questions informed the conceptual approach of the Master Plan for the Conservation, Planning, and Development of Parc Jean-Drapeau 2020-2030, produced and directed by NIPpaysage, with Réal Paul, architects, ATOMIC3, and Biodiversité conseil.
The enhancement of spaces and ecosystems to ensure a continuum of landscape experiences. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).
In recent decades, the public use of Jean Drapeau Park has been in crisis. A distancing and estrangement from citizens have occurred to the point of making the park a “landscape of estrangement” to use James Corner’s concept. Corner criticized technology and capitalism for distancing us from the poetic value of landscape architecture and advocated a reconciliation of the history and meaning of place with contemporary circumstances. “Many fail to even appreciate the role that landscape architecture plays in the constitution and embodiment of culture, forgetful of the designed landscape’s symbolic and revelatory powers, especially with regard to collective memory, cultural orientation, and continuity. It was, therefore, necessary, through the landscape design process, to clearly position the Park’s identity in order to give it physical coherence, reflect its cultural values, and reintegrate it into the practices of citizens. After identifying conservation as one of the main strategic orientations, seven planning principles were developed: positioning the Park on a metropolitan and regional scale, celebrating the Park’s island character, highlighting its rich heritage, emphasizing the aquatic landscapes and their ecosystems, promoting ecosystem diversity and connectivity, ensuring a continuum of landscape experiences in the Park, and focusing on mobility experiences as a means of exploring the Park. The concept of development that directly responds to this loss of meaning and contact is: “The celebration of the great island park through the consolidation of its shores and the heart of St. Helen’s and Notre Dame Islands.
The three major development actions: linking the hearts of the two islands, the riverside promenade, and the links between the shores and the hearts. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).
The park and landscape as a landscape and social destination
In the manner of Frederick Law Olmsted’s parks, the shared desire was to make the reinvented island landscape of Jean Drapeau Park a destination in itself. Examples include Central Park, Millennium Park, and Governor’s Island, where the quality of the design was intended from the planning stage to be a major local and tourist attraction. The development plan for Parc Jean-Drapeau also aims to create emptiness, to let the Park’s design express itself in all its creativity. As Bernard Huet pointed out: “We are afraid of emptiness. Afraid of void, of an empty, beautiful space. The importance of not overloading and filling the space with temporary installations of all kinds (signs, barriers, fences, furniture, floral arrangements, platforms, etc.) as well as aiming to optimize the landscapes has been a major part of the reflections to enhance the heritage site, celebrate the legacies of landscape architecture and especially contribute to the emergence of inhabited environments. As Kate Orff wrote in The New Landscape Declaration: “Where the spaces can be reimagined as productive landscapes that are not only pastoral settings but also active generators of social life.
Clare Cooper Marcus wrote that: “Two frequently cited reasons for park use are: a desire to be in a natural setting and a need for human contact”, an observation that is still valid today and that informed the entire creative process. This process was also based on the “guidelines”, “design recommendations” and “users’ needs” developed by several authors over the years, including Jan Gehl’s quality criteria for spaces frequented by pedestrians (2012), which highlighted the elements that make public spaces successful (notably Whyte, 1980, Cooper Marcus and Francis, 1990, Tate and Eaton, 2015). The thinking has been particularly concerned with meeting the needs and habits of all users and cultural communities through a commitment to diversity. Various authors have indeed studied cultural differences in attitudes, behaviors, and occupations of parks; some cultural groups prefer more meal gatherings or passive recreation, and others prefer movement and active recreation as examples.
These insights from scientific research and field observations have been seriously considered to ensure social justice in park accessibility (equality, equity, inclusion). In The Politics of Parks Design, Cranz wrote that the potential of parks to shape and reflect social values is not yet fully appreciated or understood and that social control has historically limited access to the park, a statement supported by Beardsley through the notion of “erosion. This reading remains more valid and understood than ever in planning and design. The developments thus offer opportunities for encounters, social contact and closeness to nature, a complementarity between green and urban spaces, a variety of spaces, and types of open and closed landscapes that allow dynamic and static, recreational, and passive activities. Following the example of Jean-Marc Besse’s writings, the development plan considers the landscape above all as an experience, a way of being, of being practically involved in it, that is to say, of inhabiting it. The proposals aim less at contemplating than at living and feeling the landscape. The 15-km shoreline promenade, which will allow visitors to discover the landscapes along the shores of the two islands, as well as the panoramic views of the St. Lawrence River and beyond, is the first key development to reinforce the Park’s identity and make it a destination. This will allow for the rehabilitation of the Cosmos footbridge and the Expo-Express bridge, providing direct contact with the water while enhancing the ecological interest of the islands’ perimeter.
The consolidation of the three-layered forests allows for a variety of open and closed spaces and landscape types for dynamic and static, recreational and passive activities. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).
The creation of a meadow punctuated with artworks restores the place of nature in the heart of Mount Boullé. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).The reconfiguration of the riverbank, by softening its profile, allows the creation of a riverside promenade and a new relationship with the St. Lawrence River. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2019). P8 parking lot redevelopment ideation project as a waterfront green walkway. Société du parc Jean-Drapeau.The riverside promenade and a step at Place des Nations allow for the discovery of the shoreline landscapes as well as the views of the river. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).
A green matrix as a connectivity structure
Inspired by Elizabeth Meyer’s Bridging, Mediating, Reconciling triad, the planning strategy sought to reconnect spaces, mediate vocations, and reconcile with place. Influenced by Anita Berrizbeita’s process-based approach, the design drew on existing forms, sense of place, and accumulated histories to reveal the trajectory of the park, increase the legibility of strengths, and emerge a matrix that responds to the multiplicity, flexibility, and temporality necessary for the life of a large urban park. In addition to the visual and spatial qualities sought, there are notions of preservation, performance, connectivity, and ecological functions. Gilles Clément asked the question: “Can we raise the non-development, and sometimes the disdevelopment, to the level of a project? “Without going so far as to propose a pedagogy of grass, the development plan leaves a lot of room for the protection of developed and natural landscapes and for adaptive ecological design, by planting massively and restricting access to several areas of the park. Linking the hearts of the two islands is the second key design gesture through the creation of an ecological corridor between the Mount Boullé wetland and the riparian areas of Ile Notre-Dame via a green bridge over the Le Moyne Channel. This will ensure the connectivity of the Park’s ecosystems and enrich these biodiversity nodes, where flora and fauna are particularly abundant.
The ecological matrix: the ecological corridor between the hearts of the two islands, the improvement of the ecological interest of the islands’ perimeter and the development of links between the shores and the interior of the islands. Photo: and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).The vehicular axis of the Cosmos footbridge transformed into a green bridge and urban promenade.Creation of an ecological corridor between the Mont Boullé wetland and the riparian areas of Île Notre-Dame by widening the Cosmos footbridge and providing access for wildlife. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).
A stratified inherited landscape
Bernard Huet said that a park has a continuity, a long history, while Peter Latz said that a park is never completed, but rather should be seen as a continuous process. This vision of aggregation, which emerged in the 1990s, is reflected in the approaches and projects of Adrian Geuze and Norfried Pohl, who relied on the intrinsic qualities of place as conceptual inspiration. “This is one of the reasons why it is necessary to add different layers over a period of time in order to evolve into a ‘public park of stature’; ‘because the already existing and intended qualities must be understood and not forgotten’.
As a heritage landscape that has had several planning phases and layers of occupation, it seemed fundamental to take advantage of the fragmentation of Parc Jean-Drapeau rather than seeing it as an amalgam of disparate things that should be smoothed out. The idea was not to create a new great monumental gesture but to state that the park is an evolving product for several centuries. Taking into account of traces, the revelation of layers and the superposition of frames were the bases of the reflection. The objectives were to invite the public to reappropriate the park, to reinscribe it in the collective memory, and to ensure a continuity while adding a new structure and spatial organization. The development plan thus proposes a matrix to make the existing manifest and to conjugate different “associations of time”.
In consideration of the Park’s heritage value and in the logic of Pierre Donadieu’s “inventive conservation”, the planning of the space has privileged both the conservation of concrete elements of the landscape and the creation of innovative forms corresponding to new or old functions of the territory. The concept of planning has focused on enriching the three-dimensionality of the landscape, what Jacques Simon called “relationships of alliances and autonomies of three distinct floors of the organization of space. It is in this context that the third key planning gesture was imagined, that of the ties between the banks and the hearts. This gesture is intimately linked to the experience of the riverside promenade as well as to that of the Park’s historic and ecological hearts. The links include a series of landscape objects (footbridges, quays, belvederes) that break down the barriers and connect the enclosed landscapes while offering a unique “multi-level” experience that reveals and exposes the Park’s identity. This series of punctuated and continuous links across the two islands offers a new look at forgotten treasures and river landscapes while creating new dialogues between once-isolated ensembles. The footbridges are inspired by the aerial structures of the Expo 67 minirail, which at the time consisted of inverted V-shaped pilings connected by a long longitudinal beam. Their materiality will dialogue with the contemporary signature of the paddock and future park buildings, contributing to the emergence of an architectural identity rooted in the history and imagination of the site.
The linkages between the shoreline and the core areas allow for the decompartmentalization and connection of enclosed landscapes while providing a unique “multi-level” experience that reveals and exposes the Park’s identity. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).The walkways are inspired by the aerial structures of the Expo 67 minirail, at the time consisting of inverted V-shaped pilings connected by a long longitudinal beam. Photo: NIPPaysage and Parc Jean-Drapeau (2020).
The creation of a “major public park”
It is true that major projects will transform the image, mobility, and experience of Jean Drapeau Park, but they will be carried out mainly on underused land and existing infrastructures that do not embody the values of the Park. We are no longer at the time of the invention of a new landscape, but at the one to take care of our territory, to read it, to rethink it, and to develop it. As Thierry Paquot expressed it so well: “We must invent a way of caring for people, places and things”. Jean Drapeau Park is not and will not be a unified and final aesthetic, but a coherent amalgam of inherited forms that will adapt to new environmental concerns and social practices. This is where innovation will reside and where the new and enhanced identity of Parc Jean-Drapeau will take shape. It is by privileging superimpositions, connections, and mediations that the re-emergence of a large urban park aspiring to become a “major public park” will take place.
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Réinventer le parc Jean-Drapeau a été l’occasion non seulement de renouveler le développement des deux îles, mais aussi de réévaluer le rôle du parc dans la ville actuelle et future. Face à l’urgence climatique et à la crise sanitaire du COVID-19, nous devons transformer la peur en espoir, et procéder à une relance verte, sociale, solidaire, juste et équitable.
Un grand parc contemporain modèle d’adaptation et d’innovation
Le parc Jean-Drapeau, localisé en face de Montréal, sur le fleuve Saint-Laurent, fait partie de l’arrondissement de Ville-Marie et de l’archipel d’Hochelaga. Situé sur un territoire ancestral autochtone, représenté aujourd’hui par les Kanien’kehà:ka, le parc Jean-Drapeau, composé des îles Sainte-Hélène et Notre-Dame, est un des lieux les plus significatifs de l’histoire de Tio’tia:ke/Montréal, comme en fait foi son site patrimonial cité. Les Iroquoiens du Saint-Laurent, les Français et les Britanniques l’ont habité avant qu’il ne devienne le premier parc public de la ville, en 1874. Cette colline boisée nommée île Sainte-Hélène a été transformée en parc pittoresque puis agrandie artificiellement pour devenir le centre culturel du monde pendant l’Expo 67 (« Terre des Hommes »). L’île Notre-Dame a ensuite accueilli les Jeux olympiques de 1976, le circuit de Formule 1 en 1978 et les Floralies internationales en 1980. Avec la montée de l’intérêt pour les événements, un entretien déficient et un sous-financement, parmi d’autres enjeux, le parc a malheureusement connu dans la dernière décennie un important déclin de ses qualités de parc public.
Crédit : Parc Jean-Drapeau
C’est dans ce contexte que Montréal a adopté en avril 2021 son nouveau Plan directeur de conservation, d’aménagement et de développement du parc Jean-Drapeau 2020-2030, une réponse forte à l’urgence climatique et à la crise sanitaire du coronavirus. Avec le rôle significatif que joueront les parcs urbains dans l’avenir des villes, ce plan directeur arrive à point nommé. Ambitieux, audacieux, au fait des meilleures pratiques en architecture de paysage et en aménagement, il sera l’une des pièces maîtresses de la vision Montréal 2030 (plan stratégique) dont les quatre orientations sont :
d’accélérer la transition écologie
de renforcer la solidarité, l’équité et l’inclusion
d’amplifier la démocratie et la participation
de stimuler l’innovation et la créativité.
Dans les quatre dernières années, un vaste diagnostic, une importante consultation publique, de nombreux chantiers de réflexion, un travail de conception soutenu et la prise en compte des tendances mondiales ont jeté les bases du cadre stratégique et de la réinvention du parc.
La pandémie de la COVID-19 qui a frappé le monde en 2020 et en 2021 a profondément modifié notre rapport aux parcs urbains et aux espaces verts. Ceux-ci se sont révélés des lieux essentiels au bien-être physique et mental par les citoyens en étant pris d’assaut pour toutes sortes d’activités. Cette situation a largement contribué à la « renaissance des parcs publics urbains[1] », à leur grande appréciation et à une demande accrue tant d’un point de l’occupation, de la création, de l’entretien que de la programmation. C’est dans cette foulée que le parc Jean-Drapeau s’est doté d’un cadre stratégique basé sur une application transversale de développement afin d’en faire un projet de société qui soit économiquement pérenne, écologiquement durable et socialement équitable. Les stratégies d’aménagement mises de l’avant par NIPPaysage avec la collaboration de Réal Paul architectes, ATOMIC3 et Biodiversité conseil, cherchent notamment à positionner le parc à l’échelle métropolitaine et régionale, célébrer son caractère insulaire, favoriser la diversité des écosystèmes, assurer le continuum d’expériences paysagères de parc public et miser sur la mobilité pour la découverte du parc. C’est de cette manière que le parc pourra offrir des expériences paysagères rehaussées et devenir un modèle d’adaptation et d’innovation.
Crédit : Parc Jean-Drapeau
Les défis contemporains des parcs urbains
La littérature portant sur les grands parcs urbains en Occident – notamment Modern Park Design – Recent Trends (1995), Rethinking Urban Parks – Public Space and Cultural Diversity (2005), Large Parks (2007), Future Park – Imagining Tomorrow’s Urban Parks (2013), Great City Parks (2015) ainsi que le Rapport sur les parcs urbains du Canada (2019, 2020, 2021) – met en lumière les nombreux défis contemporains auxquels doivent faire face les espaces verts publics métropolitains. Le parc Jean-Drapeau ne fait pas exception à la règle. Parmi ceux-ci, notons la tenue de grands événements et leurs équipements, la valeur écologique et la résilience devant les changements climatiques, l’évolution des besoins et la mobilisation citoyenne, la valeur culturelle et l’identité collective, la grande diversité de paysages, la planification, la gouvernance et le financement, la démocratie, l’Accessibilité et la réconciliation, l’obsolescence du parc immobilier, l’utilisation accrue pendant la pandémie de COVID-19. À ces défis s’ajoutent ceux spécifiques au parc Jean-Drapeau et qui ont été adressé dans la planification : une cohabitation complexe des vocations, des rives et un rapport à l’eau sous-valorisés, un parc méconnu mais des marques fortes, un couvert végétal décousu, un patrimoine culturel et historique négligé, une vocation sportive en manque de reconnaissance, une organisation de la mobilité nuisible à l’expérience du parc, une gouvernance à renouveler et un modèle d’affaires à repenser. Le Plan directeur a pris en compte la volonté marquée des citoyens de retrouver le caractère public du parc, de favoriser l’accès au fleuve Saint-Laurent et d’en faire un environnement vert bleu qui privilégie une mobilité durable. L’idée d’un parc signature qui reflète la priorité donnée à la nature urbaine a essaimé et a alimenté tout le processus de conception du plan.
Crédit : Parc Jean-Drapeau
Des gestes forts d’aménagement pour une réappropriation citoyenne
À l’heure actuelle, seulement 9 % des utilisateurs se rendent au parc Jean-Drapeau pour jouir du parc public, notamment parce que les grands équipements y font figures de destination (le parc d’amusement La Ronde, le Casino de Montréal, les grands événements, la plage Jean-Doré). Le Plan directeur propose d’en transformer son visage, de lui donner une identité contemporaine et d’en faire un lieu reconnu et convoité. Les principaux projets célèbreront les patrimoines du parc et bonifieront la qualité des milieux et des espaces, tout en en assurant la pérennité de ses actifs construits. De nouvelles expériences de promenades, un dialogue direct avec les plans d’eau et le fleuve Saint-Laurent, une variété de paysages, des espaces accessibles pour tous, une mobilité accrue, des aménagements résilients, des éléments patrimoniaux réhabilités et des signatures visuelles distinctives sont autant d’aspects qui représenteront désormais le parc et l’ancreront dans le XXIe siècle.
La continuité de la promenade riveraine, celle débutée il y a 30 ans, est un élément phare qui poursuit les volontés de la Ville de Montréal et de la Communauté métropolitaine de Montréal de créer un parcours riverain dans le Havre et une Promenade fluviale du Grand Montréal sur la digue de la Voie maritime du Saint-Laurent. Inspirée du Seawall de Stanley Park à Vancouver, la promenade riveraine permettra de découvrir une multitude de paysages à travers la mobilité active et deviendra une destination pour les promeneurs à l’instar du chemin Olmsted du parc du Mont-Royal. Cette promenade de près de 15 km contribuera à la réappropriation du fleuve Saint-Laurent et à la création de milieux humides dédiés à la transition écologique.
Plusieurs espaces inutilisés, voués aux stationnements ou destinés uniquement à la mobilisation événementielle seront réaménagés en places publiques, renaturalisés ou verdis pour la pratique d’activités libres et la récréation légère tout en maintenant la flexibilité de leurs usages. Ceci répondra aux besoins d’accessibilité, d’inclusivité et de sociabilité des Montréalais et particulièrement des résidents des quartiers centraux. Le réaménagement permettra au parc de devenir un déterminant de l’activité physique en encourageant les déplacements actifs et la pratique sportive en toute saison. Aux activités et sports d’escalade, de baignade, de natation, de canoë-kayak, d’aviron, de bateau-dragon et de cyclisme s’ajouteront la raquette, le ski de fond, le vélo de promenade, la course à pied et la marche, par l’amélioration et l’ajout de plusieurs kilomètres de sentiers, pistes et voies réservées qui faciliteront la déambulation et le transport actif. Sachant que l’accessibilité, la sécurité, l’adaptation à la marche et les installations sportives favorisent le nombre de visites dans un parc, il est d’ores et déjà acquis que le nouveau parc Jean-Drapeau sera une nouvelle destination prisée à l’échelle métropolitaine[2].
C’est l’équivalent de plus de 30 terrains de football qui seront redonnés aux citoyens pour de nouvelles expériences. Ce verdissement créera une multitude d’espaces de rencontre et de paysages en remplacement d’aires asphaltées et de gravier. Sachant que les parcs urbains peuvent avoir une température de 10 à 15 degrés inférieurs à des secteurs résidentiels et industriels, le parc réduira par conséquent ses îlots de chaleur, offrira une variété de lieux dégagés, semi-couverts et couverts et contribuera à augmenter l’effet rafraîchissant[3] au bénéfice de la santé de la population. Rappelons que la relation est significative entre le pourcentage d’ombre dans les parcs et le nombre d’usagers qui recherchent la fraîcheur associée et la protection des UV[4].
En adoptant les meilleures pratiques en développement durable, en conservation, en aménagement et en mobilité, ce plan directeur orchestre un changement de cap significatif dans l’identité et la gestion du territoire du parc Jean-Drapeau. Par la création de corridors écologiques, la végétalisation des stationnements, l’adoption d’une gestion différenciée, la mise en valeur des habitats et des milieux naturels, la mise en place d’un plan de mobilité durable, la connexion des espaces par des parcours et des expériences paysagères renouvelées, ce grand parc public servira la santé publique et le bien-être collectif pour des générations à venir.
Crédit : Parc Jean-Drapeau
Pour une complexité écologique
Le plan d’aménagement a été précédé d’une analyse de l’intérêt écologique des habitats végétaux existants (structures, formes, superficies). Les habitats présentant une végétation multi-strates, généralement caractérisés par une grande biomasse et une diversité végétale, ont été considérées comme ayant un plus grand intérêt que les habitats ayant une structure plus simple, moins dense et diversifiée. La stratégie végétale adoptée s’est notamment appuyée sur cette analyse et sur les recommandations de l’étude de Francoeur, Dupras et al. (2018)[5] pour mettre en place un corridor de biodiversité et bonifier la complexité écologique: par l’accroissement des habitats végétaux à grand intérêt écologique, la gestion et la diversification des habitats végétaux et l’introduction de nouveaux types d’habitats, soient les arbustaies, les pré-fleuris et les “forêts à trois strates”. La complexification des zones de végétation basse contribuera à augmenter les services écosystémiques et plus largement la résilience du patrimoine naturel urbain de Montréal. “Au moment où nous cherchons à nous adapter aux changements climatiques et à accroître la biodiversité”[6], il est important, comme le rappelle Les amis des parcs, de s’assurer que les parcs comportent des aires naturelles. Le Plan directeur s’inscrit dans la tendance marquée de naturalisation des parcs urbains et de demande pour davantage d’infrastructures vertes en accroissant le pourcentage d’aires naturelles. Pour ce faire, le Plan propose un corridor écologique traversant le parc. Cette connectivité écologique assurera la performance des écosystèmes, évitera “l’effet d’îlot”[7] et offrira un potentiel de dispersion du vivant. Elle “est fondamentale pour le maintien des populations d’organismes vivants, de leurs mouvements dans le paysage et pour assurer leur diversité génétique, et ce, à toutes les échelles”[8].
Les aires où l’approche ornementale est encore appliquée, de même de plusieurs stationnements et aires gazonnées bordant les chemins, feront désormais place à des pratiques écoresponsables en matière d’espaces verts et à des prés fleuris composés de plantes indigènes qui favorisent la biodiversité, les pollinisateurs et les îlots de fraîcheur. Une part significative des espaces verts du parc adoptera une gestion différenciée qui augmentera la contribution des infrastructures naturelles. Non seulement le parc Jean-Drapeau aura plus d’espaces verts écologiques contributifs à la santé des Montréalais, mais cette grande biodiversité conditionnera de plus la perception de bénéfices, de bien-être et d’effet réparateur des espaces verts urbains[9].
Crédit : Parc Jean-Drapeau
La nouvelle valeur augmentée du parc Jean-Drapeau
Selon l’étude de King et al. menée à Denver, “l’impact du réaménagement d’un parc amène une augmentation significative du nombre d’utilisateurs et de la proportion des utilisateurs s’adonnant à des activités d’intensité modérée ou élevée”[10]. L’augmentation de l’accessibilité, de la qualité et le pourcentage de parcs à l’échelle de la ville a également pour résultante l’augmentation du bien-être communautaire[11]. Le réaménagement du parc Jean-Drapeau sera bénéfique à la santé physique et mentale de la population en accroissant les lieux de rencontres, les espaces dédiés à la marche et à la pratique d’activités physiques et le sentiment de ressourcement par une connexion à l’eau et à la nature urbaine tout en abaissant la température de plusieurs degrés. L’augmentation des surfaces appropriables par la population, notamment la plaine des Jeux, facilitera l’accessibilité et réduira les inégalités sociales en santé pour répondre aux citoyens des quartiers les plus défavorisés du centre de la ville.
Un pas vers la réconciliation
Dans la foulée de la Commission de vérité et réconciliation du Canada (2007-2015), le gouvernement du Canada s’est engagé à renouveler la relation de nation à nation avec les peuples autochtones, fondée sur la reconnaissance des droits, le respect, la coopération et le partenariat. En 2017, la Ville de Montréal a adopté la Déclaration des Nations unies sur les droits des peuples autochtones (2007) et s’est dotée d’une Stratégie de réconciliation en 2020. Les États et les municipalités ont aujourd’hui la responsabilité de mettre en œuvre les principes nationaux et internationaux en matière de réconciliation. Or, aucune stratégie de collaboration, de valorisation et de commémoration n’a été mise en œuvre au parc Jean-Drapeau dans le passé, malgré son importance historique comme lieu de passage et de rassemblement au milieu du fleuve, ses sites archéologiques autochtones et ses œuvres d’art autochtones datant de l’Expo 67. Dans ce contexte et pour l’importance que joue le plus ancien et grand parc public de Montréal, la Société du parc Jean-Drapeau (SPJD) reconnaît que les terres sur lesquelles se situe le parc – sises dans le fleuve Saint-Laurent, au cœur de l’archipel d’Hochelaga et face à Tiohtiá:ke (Montréal), font partie du territoire ancestral autochtone. Admettant les torts causés par notre passé colonial et notre responsabilité collective envers la compréhension et la réparation, la SPJD a fait de la réconciliation une orientation stratégique de son Plan directeur (les autres orientations sont le développement durable, la conservation, la gouvernance ouverte, l’innovation et l’expérience citoyenne). Portée par sa vision et ses principes de conservation, de pérennité, d’inclusion et de partenariat, la SPJD s’engage à œuvrer de concert avec les communautés autochtones (Premières Nations, Inuit et Métis) tant pour le respect et la préservation de cet environnement que pour la valorisation des cultures et des pratiques autochtones. L’aménagement, la toponymie, l’art public, la programmation, parmi d’autres, seront influencés par la concertation avec les communautés autochtones. Ces nouveaux processus et cet engagement contribueront à rendre le parc plus inclusif et plus complexe dans sa re-création, son expérience et sa narration.
Crédit : Parc Jean-Drapeau
Le retour du parc public
Réinventer le parc Jean-Drapeau ne fut pas seulement l’occasion de renouveler les aménagements des deux îles, mais de réévaluer le rôle du parc dans la ville actuelle et future. Face à l’urgence climatique et à la crise sanitaire de la COVID-19, il faut changer la peur en espoir, procéder à une relance verte, sociale, solidaire, juste et équitable. Le Plan directeur de conservation, d’aménagement et de développement du parc Jean-Drapeau 2020-2030 ouvre la voie à la société de demain en contribuant au capital santé de la ville. Les orientations stratégiques tout comme les propositions d’aménagement visent à transformer le parc Jean-Drapeau en un parc plus accessible, diversifié, public et vert.
[5] Xavier W. Francoeur, Jérôme Dupras, Danielle Dagenais, Christian Messier (2018), La fin du gazon! Où et comment complexifier les espaces verts du Grand Montréal pour s’adapter aux changements globaux, Fondation David Suzuki, novembre, 34 p.
[7] Selon Pamela Zevit, planificatrice de la conservation de la biodiversité de Surrey, tirée de Park People / Les Amis des parcs (2020), op.cit. : 27.
As scholars are allowed to experience and visit a living ecosystem from the past, they may be able to imagine and wish to sustain nature of their cities in the future. The lake thus becomes a classroom.
Civic engagement by the Jaimitra trust, and various civic organisations involved in conserving Rachenahalli Lake, was to create a space expected to help alleviate the stresses of living in an urban jungle, and break away from the infamous legacy tied to the images of highly polluted, frothing and aflame lakes of Bangalore.This article argues that using lakes as classrooms can encourage generations of urban scholars to preserve nature in the city. Such an urban pedagogy looks beyond the more established methods of either using the lake as an object of study, or as a site for exploring nature-based technologies, to the act of being in lake proximity, surrounded by nature, as a critical component of connecting with urban nature, and seeing oneself as part of urban nature.
The abundance of beautiful lakes, like Lake Ulsoor, a popular site for family gatherings used to be an indelible part of the public image of Bangalore. Yet, in the past four decades, Bangalore has lost almost 79% of its water bodies and more than 90% of remaining lakes are heavily polluted or severely threatened as a result of encroaching urbanization. Against the backdrop of these challenges, Bangalore lakes have become important sites for various types of learning initiatives, research and discovery. Lakes (and other surface water bodies) capture the attention of students and scientists, encouraging generations of scholars to apply and test myriad frameworks of relevance to urban scholarship. For instance, they have been studied as social ecological systems, by documenting and understanding both the history of the place, as well as the many socio-cultural groups that lay claim to resources in lakes and in their surroundings. Urban planning and environmental students have also conducted studies to analyse the storage capacity of these bodies of water, in relation to a burgeoning city population, and a morphing cityscape. Thus, scientific and sociological studies on Bangalore lakes have generated a multifaceted understanding of nature in the city through different lenses such as urban commons and social inclusion; and urban practices such as citizen science, civic collaborations and lake encroachment.
Biodiversity (variety of plant and animal life) is key for the waterbody to provide myriad ecosystem services and benefits of nature for neighbouring communities. Photo: Sumetee Pahwa GajjarOn one of my morning walks along the lake, I chanced upon a group of engineers from Manyata TechPark, who were clearing invasive vegetation, and planting indigenous plants along the lake. There is much potential for local businesses and industries to invest more in such spaces, as part of their social and environmental responsibility, and for their own sustainability and increased well-being.
More recently, citizen science initiatives to test pollution levels and bathymetry were conducted at several lakes in Bangalore. As a result of these efforts, what we have is a significant body of “scientific knowledge” on Bangalore lakes, with dispersed examples of translating this knowledge for wider, public consumption. Simultaneously, multiple active citizen groups associated with lakes, have achieved significant levels of awareness building among communities through cleanliness drives, events, talks and cultural programmes. Several of these awareness drives coincide with efforts which can best be understood as educational engagements. These range from extended learning programmes for school children, to guided visits and tours for practitioners, and university scholars. Yet, the translation of ‘expert knowledge’ into ‘environmental education’ is happening in pockets and needs strengthening. An overview of several such educational endeavours reveals that lakes are in fact both objects of study and, places where study or learning happens, akin to an outdoor classroom. And that the place of study component occurs both as a site for testing technologies and nature-based solutions, and as a place of being, as part of nature.
This article captures the learnings from diverse educational practices at Rachenahalli Lake, in North Bangalore. It draws upon the work of committed citizens, facilitators, college and school teachers, and attempts to discern general findings, which are common across multiple initiatives. The investigation around lakes as sites of education started as an institutionally-funded assignment, while I was associated with the Indian Institute for Human Settlements. The original question I explored was whether lakes can become places of urban scholarship on a range of issues, including urban nature, nature-based solutions, the spatial and physical processes of urbanisation, and citizens’ agency to shape urban geography and create places for reflection, amidst rapid urbanisation. The interviews and my own reflections reveal educational content which nudges at the much larger potentiality of lakes as urban classrooms.
A fenced walkway along the MGIRED campus creates a physical and visual separation between sections of the lake which are accessible by public, and those which require regular cleansing services. Photo: Sumetee Pahwa GajjarManyata Technology Park is a visual treat as backdrop to the lake’s Southern boundary. Occupants of the TechPark are direct beneficiaries of the climate regulation services and aesthetics provided by the lake. Photo: Sumetee Pahwa Gajjar
Early institutional arrangements for lake conservation
Jalmitra Trust was formed under the leadership of MGIRED (Mahatama Gandhi Institute for Renewable Energy and Development) a government institution with offices located at the Rachenahalli lakebed. The aim of the Jalmitra Trust was to achieve high levels of participation in visiting and maintaining a clean environment at Rachenahalli Lake. A functioning and healthy lake ecosystem was expected to attract and engage neighbouring communities; and help alleviate the stresses of living in an urban jungle. It could also help break away from the infamous legacy tied to the images of highly polluted, frothing and aflame lakes of Bangalore. Local ward committees and lake specific residents’ associations attempt to solve such problems, but often lack a collective voice and have to work very hard towards gaining legitimacy and agency. Jalmitra Trust aimed to provide a collective voice to citizens and resident associations passionate about Rachenahalli Lake restoration and maintenance.
Evolution of the dual mandates of environmental custodianship and education
As lake governance and associated structures were evolving, engagement with municipal departments and political leaders revealed the multi-layered structures which are involved in designing and implementing changes to support and maintain lake functions; and in improving community facilities and civic amenities, in and around the lakebed. As mentioned, MGIRED took the lead in formalising governance structures for environmental custodianship, which included the establishment of JalMitra Trust. Interestingly, part of the institution’s core mandate was to disseminate technical knowledge related to renewable energy and water management, among government officials, practitioners and government college students. These teaching and training activities were conducted both inside the MGIRED campus, as it hosted small-scale examples of renewable energy infrastructure (wind turbines and solar panels), and in the lakebed, which provided rich examples of ecological infrastructure, such as the wetland.
Majority of the walkway along the lake is kept permeable, to allow rainwater to seep into the ground, and avoid the glare and heat from a hard, paved surface. The lamp posts along the waterbody were not functional when this photograph was taken, as the lamps were damaged. They were functioning in 2013, just after installation. Photo: Sumetee Pahwa Gajjar
As civic engagement through the JalMitra Trust grew, the teaching agenda at the lakebed was expanded to include school children, from public and private schools. Facilitators, who were also members of the JalMitra Trust, found that engaging public schools was harder, due to bureaucratic requirements. Various teaching efforts across different audiences were undertaken, which are discussed more specifically in the next section.Facilitators interviewed for this research shared that young learners are naturally curious about several aspects of the lake, including the pollution levels. In order for them to understand the challenges associated with lake conservation, students were tasked to reach out to government officials, to enquire about and make recommendations for improving the lake. Having understood the limitations faced by local authorities in ensuring water quality while neighbouring communities allow untreated wastewater to flow into the lake, the students conducted awareness building campaigns. These knowledge-based endeavours were held at multi-storey apartment blocks and in various residential neighbourhoods. Funds were raised among the school community, and a cycling and tree-planting event was organised, participated in by the parents, school students, residential community-members, and neighbouring institutions. The organisers found it a great challenge to make the event inclusive to the point where residents of informal settlements would attend. However, sufficient awareness was created, so that the local politicians and municipal commissioners took note of the significance of the water body and formal lake management structures were established, after due process.
Developing and delivering an urban environmental curriculum
As discussed above, MGIRED staff were delivering teaching programmes to university students as part of their core mandate on the campus and in the lake vicinity. Through JalMitra Trust efforts, in early 2016, teaching events and training programmes were augmented to include school students, as well as non-technical colleges such as Srishti Design School. In the following narrative, these training programmes are classified across different student groups (middle and high school; pre-university, university), and content focus (ecology, sustainability, technology, urban design), exhibiting the wide variety of topics that can be taught using lakes as urban classrooms.
The fundamentals of ecosystem services of urban lakessuch as maintaining biodiversity, sourcing medicinal plants, the value of soil and wetland for flood regulation and water cleansing. School students observed nature, explored birding, and experienced art and music, at dedicated events, along the lake boundary. They measured changes in pollution levels at the lake and were able to understand practical uses of different plants – pollution abatement, medicinal or ornamental. Some of their questions were addressed through interactions with scientists at a local research centre for ecology and by conducting experiments at the school laboratory. Queries about the quality of fish at the lake however, remained largely unanswered by the local fishermen.
Global perspectives on sustainability, such as the value of nature in cities, global citizenship and climate change were taught to school children. There was a clear scaling up of content towards technology, to enhance urban eco-services such as ground water recharge, water purification and storm water management. At the same time, the challenges associated with lake governance were discussed, in the context of urban management and multiple actors and often, divergent agendas with regards to utilisation of land and water, to incite the budding social scientists. According to the facilitator, pupils established a deep connection with the lake in the process, sharing photographs of the place with overseas students, and speaking about the experience at their graduation.
Application of principles taught within ecology / biologywere explained to school students, pre-university students of biology and university scholars of science, by showcasing the biodiversity at the lakeand explaining the working of a constructed wetland and its role in purifying storm-water. Students were able to observe the interactions of various parts of nature here, and practically apply classroom learning to an actual place. Science graduates were encouraged to explore relevant technologies and implementation of nature-based solutions.
Urban water governancewas delved into greater detail for post graduate students of environmental sciences. Policies and laws related to the water sector and institutional arrangements were articulated to highlight the need for interdisciplinary approaches, which ensure that technical solutions converge with the socio-political context specific to a city, the hydrological system of which the lake is a part, and the lake
Elements of urban designsuch as designing the lake boundary for cleanliness, children’s play area, the needs of walkers, joggers, cyclists and senior citizens, were explored by graduate students of art and design. The core idea was to imbue a sense of viewing the lake as a community learning and recreational facility.
Technological interventions for lake water purificationsuch as sewage treatment plants, aerators, wetlands and water lifting mechanisms were the subject of study in a series of learning sessions for engineering students from metropolitan cities, facing the dual challenges of over-crowding and water scarcity, resulting in poor quality surface water.
Environment and Sustainabilitywas taught to working professionals of urban local bodies, and state officers of the Indian Administrative Service and the Indian Forest Service. Related to the three core ideas of ecological services, community engagement and policy interventions, practitioners and officers learnt about the importance of waste water treatment, the revival of traditional water harvesting systems, the creation of tanks for storage of water, lake governance and community involvement.
The role of communities in managing local resourceswas a half-day session planned and conducted for communities living in the lake vicinity, with the express aim of encouraging and improving community engagement. Such a learning session had to consider the varying degree of knowledge and interest among community members, and at the same time impart a sense of agency among them. Thus, the content had to skilfully scale up from teaching the importance of water, the lake, waste-water generation and current scientific methods of treatment and disposal, to conveying the significance of the various ecological services provided by the lake, including wastewater purification by the wetland. Moreover, the key role of communities in managing local natural resources and working with government institutions, as a pressure group, was explained.
Bamboo planters now mark the starting point for a complete circumambulation around the lake, which has only been possible since 2016, after the clearing of invasive alien vegetation. Gardeners employed at the lake and their dog are also visible. Photo: Sumetee Pahwa Gajjar
Desirable characteristics of the lake as a classroom
Interviews with facilitators also revealed characteristics and facilities which are desirable in the future, in order to enhance the capacity of the lakebed as a site for education.
Maintaining the non-commercial and natural character of the lake
The ecosystem of the lake is thriving, and currently a certain level of naturalness is maintained. Permeable surfaces are being maintained on pathways, ensuring catchment of local rainfall. Ordinances regarding lake governance here do not permit any vending or hawking, in contrast to other commercial lakes in the city, such as Lumbini Gardens, a mere 3 km from Rachenahalli, and also a part of the Hebbal valley lake system. Furthermore, the primary industry along the eastern boundary is non-polluting (the Manyata Technology Park). This is in stark contrast to polluting industries along lake systems in the south of Bangalore. Open areas around the lake allow relatively greater air movement, reducing local air pollution, and rendering a climate regulation service. Wildlife such as snakes have been spotted along walkways and in the lake water. Pelicans, which are a rare species in the rest of the city are spotted regularly at this water body.
Interviewees felt that this semi-natural character of the lake is imperative to utilising the surrounds for educational purposes. Without this character, the lake would resemble any other commercialised or urbanised water tank, servicing cultural or recreational activities of citizens. Education for diverse age groups and interests is possible when indigenous plants are utilised along the boundary, the wetland is maintained, attracting local birds, and commercial activities are kept at bay. However, there are concerns that current plantation drives, under the aegis of new governance arrangements and landscaping contracts, are limiting biodiversity, and concentrating on a few species, with limited functions. There are also fears of encroachment occurring on land parcels along the lake boundary, not meant for development, but nevertheless being built upon, due to pressures of urbanisation.
Greater access for the masses
Interviewees expressed that the lake and its surrounds should be opened up and made accessible for educational purposes and inclusive, knowledge awareness events. In the early years of civic engagement for environmental custodianship, the water body and its surrounds were easily accessible, from several points along the external boundary, and at any time of the day. However, as the governance changed with a larger role for the municipal government, and hard boundaries were instituted in the form of a metal fence and gates, access became controlled, requiring permissions at designated times and specified locations. It was also expressed that currently the elite, who are aware of the health benefits of walking in nature are able to maximise on the recreational and aesthetic services provided by Rachenahalli lake, and that this should change. Greater awareness would assist in drawing a diversity of people to the lake, such as through regular school excursions and participatory events. However, the challenge of balancing the natural characteristics of the lake system, while also providing greater access and improving facilities, still needs to be addressed.
Improved facilities and amenities
In terms of physical requirements, while trees provide shade, a gazebo would also provide cover from the rain. One such space has been created in the municipal park, but issues of access remain. Greater availability of maintenance funds has meant that paths are now clear of vegetation and debris. Provision of drinking water facilities and good quality sanitation amenities would increase the likelihood of people spending extended time in the lake vicinity.
Knowledge areas that can be explored further for urban scholarship
As of 2017, Rachenahalli Lake became a visiting site for practitioners attending the Urban Practitioners’ Programme (UPP) at IIHS. The one-week UPP training focused on a range of urban infrastructure networks (such as storm water drainage systems) and ecological services including wetland functions, within a larger context of urban ecology and governance thereof. I was a facilitator at one of these lake visits and experienced first-hand how well the planners and civil engineers from municipalities, were able to relate to the conservation, governance and infrastructure management issues at the lake. They were also able to express their frustration at not being able to implement much of their knowledge and translate their experience into nature-based solutions, which included the preservation of such spaces within the urban fabric.
Thinking forward, a possibility exists that such teaching / training be conducted at similar sites in multiple cities, such as wetlands or lakes, where conservation needs to be formalised, and nature-based solutions need to be explored and applied.Such teaching / training can be built upon scientific knowledge about the site topography, the history of human settlements in lake vicinity, and the evolution in cultural associations with water and its significance. Thereafter, environmental solutions to maintain and enhance wetland functions, can be developed by practitioners, alongside knowledge of bio-physical and socio-cultural contexts.
Extensive practical knowledge now exists with regards to collective approaches for arriving at nature-based solutions, both from technological and traditional perspectives. One such solution which has found much success across Bangalore water bodies is the creation of floating wetlands, using a range of organic and non-organic, recycled materials.For instance, students of Environmental Planning at Srishti Design School, worked with installation artists to design and implement a floating island at an upstream lake – Jakkur lake, in the last quarter of 2018.
In 2018, visits to Bangalore lakes were integrated into IIHS’ Urban Fellowship Programme. Slightly different to the practitioners’ (UPP) training described above, UFP lake visits were designed as part of a larger urban curriculum, structured around sustainability, infrastructure and settlements, policy and land governance, urban economy, urban planning and housing. One of the facilitators interviewed for this article, Geetika Anand, taught both practitioners and fellows, and thereafter attended an urban ecology course as part of her Masters in Southern Urbanism at UCT (University of Cape Town). Geetika now feels that urban scholars should be allowed to visit natural areas in cities, with minimal structure, so as to allow them to reflect and be guided by their individual experiences and responses to urban nature.
A case of emergent work is that of Nikhil Jain, a 2017 fellow of the Urban Fellowship Programme at IIHS, who chose Rachenahalli Lake as a site to understand sociological aspects of urbanisation. He studied a range of social actors including those who relied directly upon the ecosystem services of the lake such as shepherds and local villagers, property developers who were encroaching public land in the lake vicinity, and public institutions and individuals in their personal capacity, who had positioned themselves as guardians of the water body. His study led to the development of a learning game called Foul Waters, based upon the actors who were part of the lake social ecological system. This urban teaching tool was designed to educate learners across all age ranges, about social determinants of the environmental condition of the lake, and therefore the multiple aspects of sustainability and ecology.
Consequently, the game was played at various gatherings and events focused on sustainability such as the Bhoomi Habba (translated as Earth Festival, an annual event hosted at the Visthar Eco-sanctuary in north Bangalore). As the game progresses, learners are allotted pre-assigned roles and thus, are able to recognise the long-term impacts of decisions made by different social actors, on the sustainability of a water body.
My early training in history of architecture reminds me that there is an additional factor which renders the lake as an urban classroom in its own right, for teaching and embedding the principles of environmental conservation and urban sustainability. This is the quality of the space or place, and when it is a living lake or a thriving ecosystem, how it situates itself within the larger urban geography, physically, ecologically and socially.
It is in this quality as a space, that parallels may be drawn between the lake as a classroom for urban scholarship and practice, and sites of old monuments, some of archaeological value, as classrooms for architectural scholarship.A living lake, established centuries ago, performs the function of connecting visitors and scholars to the past, similar to historic architectural sites. When students of architecture visit, document and draw remains of old buildings, they also attempt to recreate in their minds and on paper, a past that can only be imagined. And this faculty to visualise a resurrected past, ignites the creative spark, which also allows them to imagine a future, and design evocative buildings that would inhabit that future.
Elements of design such as balance, form and symmetry in buildings of extraordinary relevance, are thus taught and transmitted while the student is in a mental state of quietude and reflection. Similarly, a lake enables students to experience a snippet of a past when perhaps the water body was the centre piece of surrounding human settlements. The place holds the potential to re-ignite a continuous and unfettered connection with nature, which is difficult to imagine or achieve in hard landscapes of modern city-building, despite well-meaning attempts at greening and pedestrianisation. Waterbodies which are the size of Rachenhalli Lake afford a vertical and horizontal escape for vision, allowing the mind to explore new ideas as the eyes explore horizons. It is a freeing of the mind, accompanied by a freeing of various senses, so that sights, smells and sounds which are more natural than manmade, are processed through conscious and unconscious thought.
The hope is that as scholars are allowed to experience and visit a living ecosystem from the past, they may be able to imagine and wish to sustain nature of their cities in the future. The lake thus becomes a classroom, not only through what we can learn by studying it as a living social ecological system, but also by us simply existing alongside its physical and ecological presence. The ideas articulated above can be used to build a particular form of urban pedagogy, used repeatedly and successfully in architectural education, and extend similar principles to urban scholarship. They can be used to undertake lake conservation / preservation or rejuvenation exercises, as part of an urban curriculum, and to enable emergent ideas among future urban practitioners, towards sustainability and ecology.
Since the majority of the work is already residing in cities, such encounters and time spent in nature, as part of a structured or semi-structured urban curriculum, may encourage an aptitude for preserving biodiversity and conserving nature (wetlands, floodplains, waterbodies and forests) at a regional scale. This will be most valuable in growing cities of Asia and Africa, where urbanisation is occurring at a rapid pace, and natural landscapes are being replaced by urban landscapes, with little consideration for not only biodiversity, nature, and nature-based services, but also human connection with nature, and nature as teacher.
To write this article, I have drawn upon six years (2013-2018) spent in the vicinity of Rachenahalli Lake, several hundred walks on the lake bundh, and ensuing interactions with hundreds of social actors, including urban activists, conservationists, educators, scholars, local residents and tourists. During this time, I participated in teaching / training experience with IIHS (UPP and UFP), Legacy School and Srishti Design School. This article also draws upon interviews with members of Jalmitra Trust, committed citizens who have been involved in education efforts at Rachenahalli Lake since 2015, and teacher / trainers associated with IIHS and Srishti Design School:
Ms Bindu Anil – facilitator for Global Perspectives at Legacy School (2015-2017)
Mr Haridas Gopalan – Retired Major General, Chairman of JalMitra Trust
Ms Shobha Anand – Consultant at MGIRED (2014-2016); Senior Consultant at IIHS (2017-2019)
Ms Geetika Anand – Senior Consultant at IIHS (1999-2016); MPhil in Southern Urbanism at UCT (2017-2019)
Ms Kamya Ramachandran – Senior lecturer at Srishti Design School (2018)
Cities pledge to reduce emissions and fight climate change—but do these commitments measure up? The transport sector makes up nearly one-third of urban emissions, a factor influenced by distances traveled and modes of travel. Most cities focus on policies to reduce emissions from modes of travel, such as encouraging residents to switch from personal automobiles to public transport.
Land use policies need to be integrated with transportation measures in order to reduce transport-related emissions.
Cities that fail to incorporate land use measures actually see an increase in transport-related emissions. To better understand how cities are addressing transport-related emissions, I investigated climate plans in 12 U.S. cities to identify and compare: 1) level of emissions reductions pledged, and 2) policies and metrics to reduce transport-related emissions. The analysis focuses on a small but diverse group of U.S. cities, and recommendations may be extrapolated to other cities in a global context.
Urban transport systems can help cities solve climate change. But it’s just one part of the equation. Photo: Pixaby
The leadership and initiative of international and U.S. cities were highlighted throughout the UN climate conference, COP21. Over 700 global mayors gathered in Paris at the Climate Summit for Local Leaders, which took place parallel to the official UN negotiations. Global leaders at the Summit, including Former Mayor Michael Bloomberg and actor Leonardo DiCaprio, espoused the importance of cities in driving and advancing measures to reduce climate change. Their message was loud and clear: cities cannot wait for mandates from state or federal governments and must instead be trailblazers to move the climate agenda forward.
The emphasis on cities was a break from previous climate conferences, and reflected the global recognition that city actions to address climate change are instrumental—but insufficient—for meeting international climate goals . International city networks, including groups like ICLEI—Local Governments for Sustainability and C40 Cities Climate Leadership Group, play an important role in championing and building capacity for cities to action on climate.. A subset of this group present in Paris was the Local Climate Leaders Circle, a delegation of 12 U.S. cities representing the diversity of urban areas in the U.S., from Des Moines, Iowa to Santa Monica, California (see map below for complete city list). These cities were identified as “speaking out as champions for climate action in national and international policy forums” and are the focus of my research on transport-related climate strategies.
Over one hundred U.S. cities have committed to addressing carbon pollution. Their reduction pledges represent the equivalent of taking 62 million cars off the road, equivalent to a quarter of the 253 million cars on the road today. Cities typically commit to climate change mitigation in order to meet a state directive, or to respond to local leadership or community action. The projected emissions reductions are driven primarily by cities with long-term targets (i.e., 2035-2050). In the U.S., 62 cities have set targets to meet the federal goal of 26-27 percent reduction in emissions below 2005 levels by 2025, and 33 local governments have targets to reduce emissions by 80 percent. Figure 1 below shows how targets and timelines in the Local Climate Leaders Circle compare; nearly half of these cities meet the federal emissions reductions goal.
Figure 1. Emissions reductions targets for Local Climate Leaders Circle cities by year and anticipated percent reduction in emissions. Cities with long-term emissions reductions targets have greater emissions reductions goals. Image: Emily Wier, Yale FES; data compiled from CDP & city Climate Action Plans
Setting specific and measurable targets is the first step in mitigating climate change. The next and critical part is figuring out how to reach mitigation goals and establishing indicators to track progress. Cities have a suite of tools available to mitigate emissions associated with urban form, which includes transportation planning, zoning, and behavioral-based policies. Geographic and municipal boundaries impact the policy options available to mitigate emissions resulting from each of these drivers. Even though mitigating emissions from transportation and land use could be an important aspect of city climate plans, few cities adequately create and implement measures to reduce these emissions.
Tackling transportation emissions
Transportation and land use—how we move around and build our cities—are two of the largest sources of city emissions. Nationally, nearly one third of carbon emissions are from transportation, but there is much more heterogeneity at the local level. Transport-related emissions can vary from 5 percent (Chula Vista, California) to over 50 percent (Grand Rapids, Michigan) of a city’s total emissions (see Figure 2). The presence of a metro or subway system, commuting distances, connectivity of transit options, and spatial composition of housing and jobs has profound impacts on city transportation emissions.
Figure 2. Percentage of total citywide emissions due to land use and transportation average 30 percent, but vary between less than 5 percent and more than 50 percent. Image: Emily Wier, Yale FES; data compiled from CDP & city Climate Action Plans
Through climate policies, cities can encourage residents to swap their cars for public transportation, make it easier to live closer to work, or support more efficient fuels. For example, a bike sharing program and electric vehicle charging stations in Columbus, OH, helped reduce the city’s emissions by 3 percent—the equivalent of taking 19,000 cars off the road. Investments made today in transportation infrastructure, housing stock, or other mobility options have long-term consequences for future emissions. If a city invests in low-carbon transportation infrastructure, it will be locked in to a low carbon emissions scenario that will make it easier to meet climate targets.
Cities tackle transportation and land use in climate plans by proposing to reduce emissions associated with vehicle transportation in two broad categories: 1) reduce vehicle miles traveled by promoting alternative transportation options or promote no- or low-carbon fuel sources; or 2) reduce the physical distance driven through land use policies. Mitigation measures in climate plans typically focus on the former category to reduce the carbon intensity of vehicle use, such as encouraging the use of electric vehicles or creating bike lanes. The two most common interventions proposed by cities in the Local Climate Leaders Circle are transportation policies to improve biking and walking infrastructure. Eight out of twelve cities implemented these policies to try and get people out of their cars and using alternative transportation.
Five of the cities analyzed integrated at least one land use policy within their climate plan. A standout example is Oakland’s Energy and Climate Change Action Plan, which begins to integrate land use consideration by reducing vehicle emissions and the physical distance driven. The integration of transportation policies and land use planning is designed to encourage more people to live closer to work and to use safe and efficient transportation alternatives. Oakland uses transport-oriented development to encourage housing development near transportation nodes and along high-use corridors. Street design optimizes bike, walk, and bus rapid transit infrastructure. Regional transportation planning incorporates the needs of Bay Area residents and plans growth targeted to promote sustainable development.
Do the numbers add up?
Some cities are getting it right. After Oakland’s Energy and Climate Change Action Plan was implemented in 2012, the city’s transportation emissions decreased slightly. Other cities that integrated transportation and land use planning in their climate plans, including Atlanta, Georgia and Columbus, Ohio, also reduced their transportation emissions.
Other cities are not doing as well. Transport-related emissions increased by around 18 percent in Boulder, Colorado and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania after they implemented their climate plans. These cities did not integrate transportation and land use, and instead implemented measures to reduce emissions solely associated with vehicle transportation. Boulder and Pittsburgh adopted policies to support hybrid vehicles, alternative fuel use, and an increase in bike lanes and associated infrastructure. But these measures alone are not enough to shift the city toward a low-carbon transportation pathway because of the exclusion of land use measures.
In developed or mature cities, infrastructure lock-in, including transport systems and land use patterns, directly impacts emissions trajectories. Due to the inertia of the existing built environment, it is more difficult to change residential patterns to aggregate housing near transit nodes or along multimodal corridors. The suburban sprawl that characterizes much of American cities and subsequent car dependency will require large shifts in the built environment and the way citizens think about their transportation options. Government policies to bring about these shifts are challenging because the policy options are decentralized, often logistically difficult, and are often reliant on personal behavioral shifts.
In creating climate plans, cities identify emissions reductions targets and measures to achieve those targets. These targets are often not associated with a specific performance level or directly tied to a policy measure. The Des Moines Tomorrow Plan identifies a goal to “provide multimodal access in the region” but it is unclear how the city aims to achieve this goal. Multimodal transportation, which integrates a variety of transportation options (e.g., bus, train, bicycling) into a transportation network, is vague—what type of multimodal access is proposed? How will this be measured? What defines the region and where investment in multimodal access will be centered? Greater clarification and specificity is needed.
Other plans, such as Santa Monica’s 15×15 Climate Plan, are more clear and direct—Santa Monica has a target to increase ridership on the Big Blue Bus by an additional 200,000 annual passengers, which is both measurable and quantifiable. Creating policy measures that are both actionable and quantifiable is tied to better success in achieving emissions reduction targets.
How can cities improve their plans?
Although many cities have reduced overall emissions as compared with baseline levels, the transport-related emissions are increasing in several cities where integration of land use and transportation measures have not been included. As cities develop Climate Action Plans, how can these plans be strengthened to ensure that transport-related emissions are effectively mitigated?
Track progress to meet goals. Not enough data is provided by cities to evaluate which land use and transportation measures have been implemented and whether they have yielded the anticipated emissions reductions. It is recommended that cities identify metrics to analyze with respect to land use and transportation, and establish a standardized reporting timeframe. A checklist, such as Oakland’s 2015 Implementation Progress Report, could be created by each city and inserted into an online portal to mark whether a mitigation measure has been implemented, the date of implementation, and emissions reductions associated with that measure to date. The data feedback helps create a reinforcing cycle to identify policy measures that reduce emissions and those that need to be modified.
Link policies to mitigation measures. Mitigation measures are too vague and do not correspond with programs or projects that can be implemented and tracked. Currently, many mitigation measures outline steps to “encourage,” “explore,” or “expand” various emissions reductions steps. The Grand Rapids Sustainability Plan outlines clear targets and measurement indicators, which are completely absent from West Palm Beach’s Sustainability Action Plan. Mitigation measures should instead be clearly linked to policy measures, or otherwise separated into ‘Policies’ and ‘Suggestions’ along with the appropriate policy instruments. This would facilitate better implementation and transparency of the legal framework and create more actionable policy measures.
Make data transparent and available to the public. Data should be readily available, downloadable, and transparent to allow for public engagement. The creation of a portal with baseline data, emissions reductions targets, policy measures, and progress reports on the city website would facilitate better public awareness, accountability, and transparency of the climate plan and its implementation. Boulder, Chula Vista, and Oakland have tracking reports and inventories available on their websites, but the data is not standardized. The scope of a central data clearinghouse, such as Carbon Disclosure Project, could be expanded to make data public and transparent.
Incorporate more land use measures. Measures focusing specifically on land use are disproportionately omitted from climate plans. About 17 percent of all measures in plans focus on land use measures. Four cities have adopted no land use measures, and three others have one land use measure each. Where they do occur, they are siloed from transportation measures, even though land use and transportation are intrinsically related. More mitigation measures aimed to reduce the total miles driven would be beneficial in climate plans; the integration of climate plans with regional plans presents opportunities to change zoning regulations to increase mixed-use development, promote the co-location of housing and employment, and ensure basic services are within a given distance of households. Land use measures are more successful when integrated with transportation policies, and combining these types of measures creates a cohesive development trajectory.
Cities have made progress to address climate change through the implementation of Climate Action Plans, and continued efforts by cities to reduce emissions will be critical to meet these existing climate commitments. However, the process and means of implementation need to be improved because many U.S. cities are not meeting their targets. Although this analysis focused on U.S. cities, many of the findings can be extrapolated to cities around the world that face similar urban challenges. On a global scale, land use policies need to be integrated with transportation measures in order to reduce transport-related emissions. This is important for growing cities, particularly in Asia and Africa, which are not yet locked-in to a high-emissions trajectory. Mayors and city officials in these rapidly urbanizing regions can learn from both the successes and challenges that U.S. cities face in implementing effective low-carbon transportation and land use measures.
When world leaders gather for the UN Habitat III conference later this year to design the New Urban Agenda, there is a strong incentive to link the theme of sustainable cities with climate commitments made in Paris. The New Urban Agenda presents a perfect opportunity to share lessons from cities on how to incorporate transportation and land use policies for low-carbon development on a global scale. Addressing climate change in cities necessitates innovative transportation planning that considers not only how people move in cities, but also the land use decisions that greatly impact carbon emissions and the future sustainability of cities.
Alisa Zomer is a Research Fellow at the Yale Center for Environmental Law and Policy. Her research focuses on urban climate change governance and sustainability policy at both local and international scales.
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
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Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Steve Brown, SydneyPeony poppies tell me a great deal about landscape. They show me how landscape is as much personal as it is urban/rural management tool.
Martha Fajardo, Bogotá The Latin American Landscape Initiative acknowledges landscapes as essential components of people’s environment.
Carla Gonçalves, PortoLet’s make the invisible, visible by launching a World Landscape Campaign that helps to share and spread landscape initiatives.
Liana Jansen, Cape TownThe biggest challenge we face in Africa is capacitating existing professionals and academics within African countries.
Monica Luengo, MadridThe city is being transformed vertiginously; we need a new approach from the perspective dynamics of urban landscape to meet future challenges.
Claudia Misteli, BarcelonaLandscape initiatives are like living cells: they have much more power when they group to form something bigger and more complex.
Osvaldo Moreno, SantiagoThrough a green infrastructure planning approach, our cities can be more sustainable and resilient living systems.
Laura Spinadel, ViennaI am constantly confronted by PRIVATIZED public space which is marked by Big Brother and the fear of what is different.
Ken Taylor, CanberraLandscape is not static; it reflects changing human ideologies over time.
Menno Welling, ZombaAs in Zomba, Malawi, officials may opt for immediate benefits, rather than the elusive prospect of increased economic potential from landscape preservation initiatives.
David loves urban spaces and nature. He loves creativity and collaboration. He loves theatre and music. In his life and work he has practiced in all of these as, in various moments, a scientist, a climate change researcher, a land steward, an ecological practitioner, composer, a playwright, a musician, an actor, and a theatre director.
What are “landscape initiatives”, and can they transform how we create cities and their surrounding regions?
Key to the relevance and context of this roundtable is the very meaning of the word “landscape”. One dictionary definition reads “all the visible features of an area of countryside or land, often considered in terms of their aesthetic appeal”. But this definition is not nearly comprehensive. Where it fails is in the limiting effect of the words “visible” and “aesthetic”, because in fact the word landscape conveys a richer meaning that includes, of course, the aesthetics of nature and the out of doors, but also the organization and design or infrastructure, the biophysical and social services of ecosystems, the livability of communities, and the justice aspects of how our living environments are (or are not) democratically decided upon and created.
Indeed, in recent decades, the concept of landscape has surpassed its limited traditional meaning, which was intimately bound up in the visual perceptions of open space. Today we speak of landscape as a system of services (e.g., ecosystem services), as an expression of social relations, as balances of designed open space and wild, and as a result of everyday experience—that is, as a superposition of layers of many meanings and values embodied in a particular place, and which is central to a place’s identity. To use a line from The Nature of Cities’ mission statement: “[cities] are ecosystems of people, nature, and infrastructure”. In other words, they are landscape in a complete and integrated sense.
How can we build such an important constellation of concepts into the planning of better cities—cities that work for people, communities, and the environment? Such a challenge requires integration of many streams of thought and action: design, ecology, sociology, psychology, governance, law, justice, inclusivity, and participatory democracy. It’s a tall, but critical order. The so-called Landscape Initiatives are a way forward. The European Landscape Convention, agreed upon in 2000, was the first international treaty to be exclusively devoted to all aspects of landscape, and it is the touchstone for many similar efforts around the world, some of which are described in the following contributions. These global attempts at the broad value and meaning of “landscape” have similarities, but also take locally adapted forms. And they can be central to creating cities with the attributes we crave at The Nature of Cities: resilience, sustainability, livability and justice.
Breaking down binaries: landscape and personal heritage
Landscape is not a helpful term when it is used to separate city from country or urban from rural. To confine the term to one or other of these poles is to enact age-old Cartesian binaries in Western thinking. When I think of my home city of Sydney, for example, I recognise that more than 30,000 years of Indigenous occupation has come before me; the suburb in which I live was, until the twentieth century, productive farmland. Thus, in an historical sense, rural landscape (“the bush,” in Australian slang) versus urban landscape is an artificial construct.
Landscape initiatives are most useful when they have relevance to individuals and relate to people’s feelings for places, things, and practices.
I argue that the idea of landscape is useful for recognising and exploring personal or “unofficial” heritage; that is, places, things, and practices valued by individuals, families, and small groups. This is because landscape can be used to refer to the physical environment, processes of change, sensory experience, and perception. To my mind, these different aspects of landscape are most evident in domestic gardens, whether associated with farmyards or suburban backyards. As Australian scholars Lesley Head and Pat Muir show, planting and working in gardens serves to entwine people with local nature-cultures.
I am currently living between homes—moving from a 350m2 suburban property in Sydney to a 56 hectare (140 acre) bush-block near Canberra. Typically, the latter would be characterised as a rural landscape and the former a component of an urban landscape. However, I have always recognised the suburban block as a landscape in and of itself. It was a place where my partner and I created a wonderful garden (and life) with plants for eating and admiring.
An example of the latter is the fiery red peony poppies that we grew in the garden. My partner inherited a container of seeds from his much-loved maternal grandmother, Doris. They grew in profusion in our garden: dense copses of stems up to a metre high with silver-green leaves and topped with spectacular, fire-engine red, pom-pom-like flowers. Year after year, each spring, the self-propagating plants emerge to re-announce their brilliant presence. The poppies mark a celebratory connection with Doris and are a direct connection to a loved family member, provoke sensations of warmth, fun, and happiness. In Sara Ahmed’s words, they are ‘happy objects’.
For me, the poppies are in themselves a landscape, one that entangles past and present, people and place, urban and rural. They are material things imbued with affective power and bound to the physicality of place (our garden). They have a capacity to recall the past (e.g., stories of Doris, sharing seeds with neighbours and friends) and to shape the present (providing a welcoming presence when returning home). Through growing peony poppies and creating a garden, connections are created to people and places—a personal landscape of attachment.
So what do poppies have to say about global landscape initiatives and their benefit to cities? For me, landscape initiatives are most useful when they have relevance to individuals and relate to people’s feelings for places, things, and practices. Landscape is neither defined by scale (large or small) nor reliant on binaries such as city/country and material/symbolic. Current initiatives by global NGOs to produce an International Landscape Convention are therefore challenged to find a balance between creating a holistic planning tool and ensuring relevance to people’s everyday lives, whether they are lived in cities or in wide open spaces.
For now, I am off to plant peony poppies in the new garden.
Martha Cecilia Fajardo, CEO of Grupo Verde, and her partner and husband Noboru Kawashima, have planned, designed and implemented sound and innovative landscape architecture and city planning projects that enhance the relationship between people, the landscape, and the environment.
It is clear that we stand at a critical moment in Earth’s history: we must choose our future. We are living in a time of intense change in the way we value our lives. There is an amazing revival taking place as society, governments, and stakeholders begin to appreciate the true value of the LANDSCAPE.
That landscape represents a direct experience of the everyday life of people explains the growing global interest in landscape.
The rise of potentially devastating problems, such as climate change, ill-conceived urbanization, water shortages, and biodiversity loss means that transboundary cooperation in landscape has become imperative. Nowhere is such cooperation more important than in Latin America.
Landscape visions for Brazil.Landscape visions for Bolivia.Landscape visions for Argentina.
Today, Latin American society is fully aware that the pressures are a threat to numerous resources, both natural and cultural, and that among them is the landscape. Therefore, we felt that we needed to move forward to stimulate regional and local initiatives through a resolution establishing the landscape as a holistic tool for the planning, management, and creation of sustainable development; in protecting the past but shaping the future, we must recognize the vital connections between government, people, culture, heritage, health, and economy.
Latin American landscape and habitat professionals, together with the academic sector and civil society, initiated the Latin American Landscape Initiative. LALI aims to foster the recognition, valuation, protection, management, and sustainable planning of Latin American landscapes. The initiative acknowledges landscapes as essential components of people’s environment, as an expression of the diversity of our shared cultural and natural heritage, and as a foundation of our identity; it acknowledges the special capacities, responsibilities, and leadership possessed by civil society when intervening in landscapes; and it commits to supporting the elaboration, execution, promotion, and communication of the Declaration Action Plan through the LALI Clusters, Landscape Charters, and members.
Latin American Landscape Initiative forum meets in Buenos Aires.
That landscape represents a direct experience of the everyday life of people does a great deal to explain the growing interest of the local world in the landscape. It is time to re-focus on local solutions and innovations. The local realm is increasingly viewing the landscape as an engine for its development and a way to boost the level of citizens’ self-esteem, identity, and quality of life. Cities around the world are already acknowledging the value of landscape for urban life; they have shown that investing in landscape and green areas can enhance economic prosperity, health, and social well-being.
From the European Landscape Convention, we have being inspired to see that physical improvement cannot stand alone. Many people care passionately about their landscapes and take pride in their distinctive character and diversity.
“Cities, towns, villages and the landscape are a reflection of their social, political, economic and environmental context. Consequently, any improvement should be part of the well-being of the people. Cities, towns and villages must make efficient and sustainable use of land and other resources; be safe and accessible by foot, bicycle, car and public transport; have clearly defined boundaries at all stages of development; have mixed uses and social diversity; have streets and parks, spaces that respects local history, the landscape and geography; and have a variety that allows for the evolution of society, function and design”.
Goals and objectives of the Latin American Landscape Initiative.
This is the vision that we link with the European Landscape Convention.
Then, and only then, will the pride we feel as landscape professionals be matched by the quality of our contributions to this world.
The European Landscape Convention (CoE, 2000) has reinforced the role of democracy in relation to landscape, increasing the knowledge and awareness that common people have about their right to landscape and to be a part of the decision making process. Being that landscape is “an area, as perceived by people, whose character is the result of the action and interaction of natural and/or human factors” (CoE, 2000), what fascinates me is that we cannot rethink landscape without acknowledging the experience of landscape initiatives that are not only designed by landscape architects, geographers, and urban planners, but also by the common citizen.
I believe we need to create a global partnership platform—a World Landscape Campaign similar to the “World Urban Campaign” from UN-Habitat—that helps to share and spread ideas and dialog about landscape.
Cities are witnessing rapid and dramatic changes. New urban territories are not only short of public spaces in terms of quantity, but also in terms of quality. Across the globe, we can find a variety of landscape initiatives in which people are engaging both with themselves and with their communities to protect or improve the common good—the landscape—and, as a result, improving the quality of their lives and of their neighborhoods, enhancing the cities they live in.
If we look carefully, we see that citizens are conscientious of the importance of landscape and that their everyday landscapes are a part of their identities. As a result, people are becoming “landscape changers”, trying to improve the urban environmental they live in, presenting solutions to challenges that today’s cities are dealing with. Landscape initiatives are crucial because they strengthen citizens’ awareness for landscape.
I think that most of the landscape initiatives that we can find today—not only those working at the city scale—are an active response to urgent needs and demands by citizens, in which it’s crucial to engage the stakeholders that have the duty to protect, manage, and plan our landscape. In my opinion, for landscape initiatives to succeed, it’s fundamental to link them to other stakeholders, cooperating towards a shared vision and strategy for our future landscape (regardless of whether we are talking about the national, regional, or urban scale), driven by a participation and proactive process. Bottom-up processes will be the key to transforming our cities—of course, there are many challenges in implementing a collaborative process and there are also many difficulties in defining operational mechanisms to implement it.
The most important thing to keep in mind is that nowadays, these process have already started and progressively more citizens are engaging with landscape initiatives, aiming to reflect on their past, present and future.
“Southwest Landscape Forum—Rethinking the implementation of the European Landscape Convention”: example of a landscape initiative organized by CIVILSCAPE and Evolving Landscape, CRL at Serralves Foundation in Oporto, Portugal, 2015, http://evolvinglandscape.org/.
I would like to thank TNOC for the opportunity to take part in this roundtable and to discuss these issues, and I cannot finish without throwing a challenge that I think could be very useful to all landscape initiatives around the world.
I believe we need to create a global partnership platform—a World Landscape Campaign similar to the “World Urban Campaign” from UN-Habitat—that helps to share and spread individual, corporate, and public initiatives that protect, manage, and plan landscapes by promoting dialogue, difficulties, and knowledge about our future landscape. Any volunteers?
Liana Jansen is a registered professional Landscape Architect and an accredited Professional Heritage Practitioner with 15 years experience in the design, planning, and conservation of landscapes.
There are a number of landscape initiatives in operation in Africa. The authors of a study published by the GlobalCanopy (2015), identified 73 such initiatives in 32 African countries, most of which have begun in the past six years. Most initiatives were motivated by and have invested in agricultural production, ecosystem conservation, human livelihoods, and institutional strengthening.
We must strengthen professional networks and host planning and events in Africa itself.
One of the largest and most recent is The African Union New Partnership for Africa’s Development, or NEPAD, which launched the African Resilient Landscapes Initiative, or ARLI. This initiative will be implemented through forest and ecosystem restoration, biodiversity conservation, climate smart agriculture, and rangeland management. ARLI will capitalise on previous experience from Africa-led partnerships such as TerrAfrica and work through various existing platforms. The initiative will be implemented through the African Landscapes Action Plan, prepared by African Union NEPAD and partners from the Landscapes for People, Food and Nature Initiative to advance landscape governance, research, and finance through priority actions that embrace all land actors and all sectors (NEPAD 2015).
In a study done by the World Agroforestry Foundation, Hart and colleagues found that integrated landscape initiatives in Africa are investing heavily in institutional planning and coordination, but they have had mixed results engaging different stakeholder groups, especially the private sector (Hart et al 2015). The authors of the Global Canopy study offer many recommendations, but the most applicable in my opinion are the following (GlobalCanopy 2015):
“Adopt integrated landscape management as a key means to make progress towards the Sustainable Development Goals at national and sub-national scales. Governments, investors, businesses, and communities adopt integrated landscape management approaches within their policies and plans, implementation strategies and reporting processes.
Empower local stakeholders to design sustainable landscape solutions that meet their unique priorities and contexts. Recognise and strengthen local organisations and institutional platforms for meeting, sharing, consulting, acting, and monitoring in landscapes.
Build capacity and facilitate learning among key stakeholders for better outcomes in integrated landscape management. Develop learning systems for emerging leaders in integrated landscape management to actively share and discuss lessons from successes and failures. Establish multi-objective landscape monitoring and data systems for adaptive management. Convene multi-stakeholder dialogues to deepen understanding of landscape management and encourage cross-stakeholder communication. Build long-term interdisciplinary research partnerships between universities and landscape initiatives.”
The biggest challenge we face in Africa is often not the amount of organisations operating on international funding, but capacitating existing professionals and academics in countries such as South Africa, Tanzania, Kenya, Nigeria, Uganda, Botswana, etc. The professionals working in the development sector—architects, engineers, and landscape architects—are actively working on projects not only in their own countries, but also in wider Africa. In my experience, they most often work in silos, not being aware of other professionals operating in the same geographic area and most certainly not aware of organisations involved with landscape initiatives. We must strengthen professional networks and move away from decentralised events and planning in Europe, England, or America, and hosting such events in Africa itself.
NEPAD. 2015. NEPAD Launches Initiative for the Resilience and Restoration of African Landscapes, available online here.
Hart, AK, Milder, JC, Estrada-Carmona, N, DeClerck, FAJ, Harvey, CA and Dobie, P. 2015. Integrated landscape initiatives in practice: assessing experiences from 191 landscapes in Africa and Latin America, World Agroforestry. 2015 Climate-Smart Landscapes: Multifunctionality in Practice, Published Report.
Monica Luengo is an art historian and landscape architect. Honorary member of the International Scientific Committee of Cultural Landscapes, consultant, and lecturer on cultural landscapes.
When I have been asked to participate in conferences on urban landscapes, I have often realized that the organizers intended me to speak only of parks and gardens—of “green” in the city, literally. Therefore, perhaps the first clarification we should make is this: What do we mean by urban landscape?
A landscape approach will be the basis for improving both cities and the global environment.
In recent decades, the concept of landscape has surpassed its traditional meaning, which was limited to the view of a natural landscape that becomes a mental construction in the mind of the observer, which subsequently becomes a critical perception of the territory (European Landscape Convention, 2000). And still further, today we speak of landscape as a system of services (e.g., ecosystem services), as an expression of social relations, and as a result of everyday experiences—as a superposition of layers of different meanings embodied in a particular place, which acquires a particular identity. Thus, a city, or its urban landscape, is made up of an amalgam of territorial, political, cultural, social, economic, and environmental layers.
From this complex view of the landscape—particularly the urban landscape—and because of progressive environmental (and landscape) degradation due to multiple factors, there have been many new initiatives exploring how landscape directly affects the welfare of people and their sense of identity.
These initiatives are born at multiple levels—international, national, regional, or local—since landscape is affected by both global (climate change, migration) and local factors; they are dependent on specific territorial policies. In 2000, the need to address these different spatial scales inspired the European Landscape Convention, or ELC, which includes both the countryside and urban areas. The Convention aims to contribute “to the welfare of human beings and the consolidation of European identity”, and has become an important element in the quality of life of populations. The ELC intends to promote the protection, management, and planning of landscapes, and organizes European cooperation based on the understanding that the landscape knows no borders.
Following from and rooted in the Convention, numerous strategies, national plans, and landscape laws have been established in most of the countries represented in the Council of Europe, and cities have established their own Landscape Plans.
General view of the “Morro da Providencia” favela, one of the most violent of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, taken on August 20, 2008. The French photographer identified as JR is launching a project called “Women Are Heroes”, through which the photographs of women, relatives of the victims of clashes between the police and drug traffickers, were placed in the facades of the houses. This project already took place in Sudan, Sierra Leone, Kenya and Liberia, and will be taken to India, Cambodia, Laos and Morocco after Brazil. Photo: VANDERLEI ALMEIDA/AFP/Getty Images
The ELC has had a large influence since 2000. Although it is not compulsory for cities to create a landscape plan, the strength of the ELC has inspired many cities to reconsider the urban landscape with new legislation, rules, or guidelines. Such legal and regulatory work has made cities healthier, safer, and happier places to be. Various actions have been implemented: reducing risk of flooding, planning inspiring environments throughout the urban fabric, taking measures against climate change, enacting biodiversity plans, and even plans that combine all of the aforementioned. This is the case with my own city, Madrid, which a few years ago adopted a landscape plan. Unfortunately, there remain many examples, as is the case with Madrid, in which the “landscape” plan is limited to mostly architectural or aesthetic aspects of the city, largely ignoring people and the complex strata of lived experience in the city. Our collective concept of the “urban landscape” is evolving, but still has some way to go to achieve a consistently holistic view of the urban environment as a matrix of people, built form, and nature.
After UNESCO adopted the Recommendation on the Historic Urban Landscape in 2011, we have seen the great challenge of the conservation of historic cities and their identity for years to come. In brief, the policy suggests abandoning a purely architectural or monumental view of the city, replacing it with a landscape approach. The idea for a possible Global Landscape Convention, another UNESCO project born at this time, has also experienced many impediments to progress. On the other hand, the innovative Latin American Landscape Initiative and MED-O-MED, or MedScapes—referring to the Mediterranean—has found surprising success.
Traditionally the domain of architects and urban planners, the city is still an uncharted area in which to experiment with these new ideas of landscape—ideas that promote an understanding of the urban phenomenon from a holistic point of view. The landscape idea views cities as processes, as dynamic entities in which both the natural and the built play important roles, but many other factors, including people and communities, also have vital influences. Moreover, in today’s world, we must not forget that cities are extraordinary meeting places, places of coexistence and of exchange of values in incredible settings of cultural diversity. Today, during an age of significant migration to cities and among countries, the evolution of cities continues or even is accelerated.
The urban landscape of our cities is changing and transforming at a breakneck speed, and, at the same time, we are faced with severe environmental degradation. Undoubtedly, a landscape approach, in which dynamism is one of the key and appreciated characteristics, will be the basis for improving both cities and the global environment.
Social communicator, journalist and social designer, interested in how design, communication and social innovation can shape and reshape a more resilient and sustainable future. A strong believer that empathy, creativity, cooperation and the force of landscape opens up infinite opportunities to build better societies, more connected to nature and people.
A landscape initiative is like living cells. Cells have all the equipment necessary to carry out functions of life. A cell can move, grow, transform, adapt to changes in its environment, and can even replicate itself. A cell has life in itself, but cells have much more power when they group themselves to form something else, something bigger and more complex.
People are the meaning, the instrument, and the main objective of the Latin American Landscape Initiative.
This is precisely the character of the Latin American Landscape Initiative, or LALI, an initiative launched and ratified in Medellín, Colombia, in October 2012. LALI is a living organism that aims to stimulate, at global, regional, and local levels, the recognition and the position of landscape as a fundamental objective in order to protect our past—our heritage—and to configure the future in a more coherent way with nature, people, and their landscape. It’s a bottom-up initiative that, from the knowledge, the experience, the persistence, and the endeavor of people and entities, has been able to weave a large network throughout Latin America for the benefit of the protection, management, planning, and recognition of the landscape.
One of the requirements of an initiative such as this one is leadership. Although these initiatives should be organized in a transverse way without a rigid hierarchy, a leadership or co-leadership of someone, several people, or several organizations, must be present.
A second key factor deals with the idea, the message, that the initiative promotes, as well as its content. For instance, the Latin American Landscape Initiative organized itself in different clusters; although they all deal with different topics and disciplines, all of the clusters are related with each other and need the energy and power of the others in order to go forward. Clusters such as Education, Civil Society, Good Practices, Catalogues, Publications, and Communications are, at present, the core of the initiative.
The LALI Network.
A third key element, and a very important one when we talk about landscape, is certainly transdisciplinarity. The diversity of approaches and perspectives (from architecture, geography, ecology, arts, publicity, etc.) enriches landscape projects and multiplies all synergies. But it is noteworthy that the LALI initiative could not work without the support and commitment of civil society (in the end, LALI comes from Latin American civil society). People are the meaning, the instrument, and the main objective.
Another relevant aspect, which does not depend on the initiative itself, is the existence of a legal landscape framework that could act as an umbrella for the development of the different activities of the initiative. For example, the lack of this legal landscape framework at a Latin American level has not stopped the work of the LALI—in Europe, the European Landscape Convention already exists—but this legal framework could help strength and provide more tools and possibilities for its implementation.
Cities are, like landscape initiatives, living organisms. This is why cities need these new approaches to develop and evolve, to become urban hubs of ideas, commerce, culture, education, and, of course, to empower people to be more aware of what they have, the cities they want to live in, the quality of cities’ landscapes and the kind of society and values with which they are identified.
Main square in Filandia (Quindío), Colombia. Photo: Claudia Misteli
Osvaldo Moreno Flores is a PhD candidate and has his MSc. in Landscape, Environment and City. He has worked as a professor and consultant in landscape architecture and in urban environmental planning.
Traditionally, the focus on green areas and public spaces in cities has been characterized by a fragmented way of addressing the problems of planning, design and management, without a systemic approach that can integrate their interrelationships and potential synergies. This has resulted in enabling spaces and equipment in contexts of urban centrality, with high construction and maintenance costs and low impacts on beneficiaries’ coverage. It should be noted here that most Chilean cities are under the standards of green areas per inhabitant defined by the World Health Organization, which recommends 9m2. of green area per inhabitant. In general, cities in Chile have rates around 4m2. of green area per inhabitant (Urban Observatory, MINVU). Under these terms, achieving the standards that relate to improved urban environmental quality is a difficult task, especially if the focus is on building new green areas.
Green spaces’ comprehensive, dynamic, and participatory management represents one of the most important challenges of urban and environmental agendas in Chilean cities.
Moreover, a large number of public and private green areas are located in areas of middle and upper socioeconomic strata, as opposed to the deficit situation observed in low socioeconomic sectors. Such sociospatial segregation affects the provision and accessibility of ecosystem services that green areas provide to city’s inhabitants. Green spaces and their components—at the level of vegetation, soil, water, programs, infrastructure and equipment—are systems that contain important ecological, sociocultural, and economic functions. Therefore, green spaces’ comprehensive, dynamic, and participatory management represents one of the most important challenges of urban and environmental agendas in Chilean cities.
From this scenario emerges the need to incorporate the notion of green infrastructure into public policies that aim to form a systemic and integrated look that can go beyond traditional management models of urban green areas. These policies should promote an innovative approach for rethinking, understanding, and managing those systems and components that contribute to the balance of life in its many forms—human, animal, plant—which generally are degraded, neglected, or hidden in urban contexts. Rivers, streams, creeks, wetlands, hills, farmland, forests, grasslands, parks, and peri-urban spaces—these systems and components, almost in the manner of a puzzle, are available to regroup and to strengthen, to establish synergies and complementarities that benefit not only natural ecosystems, but that also provide strategic functions and services for the population living in the city and its surroundings.
Through a green Infrastructure planning approach, our cities can be more sustainable and resilient living systems, improving the quality of people’s lives and helping to conserve ecosystems and landscapes, which are understood as key pieces for the balance of our social, economic, and environmental dynamics.
Architect, Urban Designer, Landscaper, Filmmaker, Multimedia Communicator, Editor. Cisiting professor in Spain, Brazil, Mexico, USA, Italy, Colombia and Argentina.
Tell me, when you were a child, were you allowed to play in the street?
I am constantly confronted by PRIVATIZED public space which is marked by Big Brother and the fear of what is different.
Autobiographical details mark us out in our thinking and our actions. I am convinced that the work I do is shaping society…and that often makes me aware that I must constantly feed my curiosity with images and experiences from all over the world. Seeing how different cultures spend their time in society is my definition of URBANITY. And by building living spaces as an integral designer, it is from those gaps that I must permanently tame the INNER CHILD we all have inside of us, in order to be open to other ways of experiencing the multiple realities that exist. My key has always been to link space with TIME, which is what leads us to understand that everything changes, and that what is important is to be sensitive, and to recognize the POTENTIAL that we must awaken in people so that they can relate to it and evolve.
Campus WU. Photo: Laura Spinadel
Going back to the question. I was not allowed to play alone in the street because I lived much of my childhood under military dictatorships in Argentina. Nowadays, I live in a city where everyone takes “pride” in not playing in the street because that is what foreign immigrants do. In my work as a holistic architect, I am constantly confronted by PRIVATIZED public space that, obviously, nobody wants to pay for, and which, in our globalized culture, is marked by Big Brother and the fear of what is different.
It was very interesting when, a few years ago, I made a film about Campus WU in Vienna, interviewing all of the protagonists who interacted in the conception and realization of the largest University of Economics and Business in the European Union. I asked all of them the same question to kick off the dialogue. Economists, architects, politicians, etc.—all people from different cultures who, together, helped us create this MIRACLE, each of them complementing the others with their NOSTALGIA, using our vision to give birth to a place for FREEDOM. The miracle was that everyone was ready to synchronize with the vision of creating a huge university park which would be open 24/7 for everyone—overcoming all preconceptions—where overstretched economics students would cross paths with visitors to the popular Prater amusement park; and with hoards of football fans who lay waste to everything before the game, drinking beer on our campus; and with international tourists trying to get a selfie in front of a piece of architecture from the “Star System”.
Campus WU. Photo: Laura Spinadel
But…careful…don’t think that we have overcome the 1960s and that everyone respects pedestrians, or that investors have suddenly discovered that they want to be patrons who BRING MORE LAUGHTER into society. When we won the competition for the Masterplan Campus WU, we had no budget for the 70,000m2 university park, nobody in the city had thought about the impact of having 30,000 intruders in a neighbourhood of 100,000 people, and, of course, there was no facility manager to set limits by pointing out that having a university open to society would result in maintenance and security costs that were higher than those for a mega building with an indoor academic life.
Campus WU. Photo: Laura Spinadel
I think it’s extremely important that someone moderate the process and set up a Hannah Arendt “table” in order to interrelate interests and allow the process to gestate COMMUNITY. In this case, it was an anthroposophic Latin American woman dreaming of a better world who managed to wake up the perceived enemies—ECONOMISTS—to the belief that public space was the added value, in order to change perspectives so that we could RETHINK ECONOMY.
In the last few years, I have travelled extensively around the world presenting this project, which has not just stayed on paper, but through the efforts of thousands of people has been transformed into a contemporary space that is driving the economy and culture in Vienna. It is not a space which is merely a baroque jewel; it is a PROCESS that this city was encouraged to start. I must say, in answer to your question, that I’m frightened by the housing speculation bubble that is destroying all of the values that I am talking about in terms of building the RES PUBLICA of the XXI century. I am given hope by initiatives such as the Landscape Law in Chile, Flower Power Neighbourhood Movements in Australia, and the new American generations in Washington who do not want the American dream.
We are learning to see and to believe again. It’s worth encouraging creation from within!
My comments focus on the relationship between the landscape idea and cities and the proposition that cities (urban areas) are in fact cultural landscapes (Taylor 2015). The cultural landscape paradigm can be seen to offer a trajectory of thinking relevant to the historic urban environment, not least because we are dealing primarily with vernacular culture, where landscape study is a form of social history. Such discourse in turn supports the notion that views landscape as a cultural construct reflecting human values.
Landscape is not static; it reflects changing human ideologies over time.
The significance of the cultural landscape concept in the urban sphere is that it allows us to see and understand the approach to urban conservation that concentrates on individual buildings as “devoid of the socio-spatial context” that “contributes to a deterioration of the [wider] urban physical fabric” (Punekar, 2006, p.110). Notable to this line of thinking is the emergence of the Historic Urban Landscape paradigm and its evolving pivotal role in the discourse on historic urban conservation. Inherent in this mode of thinking is the role of landscape change that takes place over time with changing values in culturally diverse communities. Landscape is not static; it reflects changing human ideologies over time. In the urban landscape it is critical that we are able to manage change so that historic cities, as they change in response to changing values, reflect their human history, but do not become merely designated historic zones with a tight boundary around them, devoid of a sense of lived-in places. This thinking is summarised by van Oers (2010, p.14):
“Historic Urban Landscape is a mindset, an understanding of the city, or parts of the city, as an outcome of natural, cultural and socio-economic processes that construct it spatially, temporally, and experientially. It is as much about buildings and spaces, as about rituals and values that people bring into the city. This concept encompasses layers of symbolic significance, intangible heritage, perception of values, and interconnections between the composite elements of the historic urban landscape, as well as local knowledge including building practices and management of natural resources. Its usefulness resides in the notion that it incorporates a capacity for change.”
References
Taylor K, (2015), ‘Cities as Cultural Landscapes’ in Bandarin F & Van Oers R, eds (2015), Reconnecting the City.The Historic Urban Landscape Approach and the Future of Urban Heritage, Chichester: Wiley Blackwell.
Punekar A (2006), ‘Value-led Heritage and Sustainable Development: The Case of Bijapur, India’ in Roger Zetter and Georgina Watson (eds) Designing Sustainable Cities in the Developing World, Aldershot UK & Burlington VT: Ashgate.
van Oers R, (2010), ‘Managing cities and the historic urban landscape initiative – an Introduction’ 7-17 in Van Oers, R. & Haraguchi, S., eds. UNESCO World Heritage Papers27 Managing Historic Cities; Paris: UNESCO World Heritage Centre.
Menno Welling is the owner and lead consultant of African Heritage Ltd in Zomba and African Heritage Consulting in the Netherlands. His interests are in African archaeology, cultural landscapes, heritage tourism and intangible cultural heritage.
Currently, Zomba is the fourth city in Malawi. But while the other three are ever expanding, Zomba seems to maintain a status quo. There is no big industry, and government departments are slowly moving out. In colonial days, Zomba was the capital of the Nyasaland Protectorate. It was founded by the Blantyre Mission of the Church of Scotland in the 1880s, and British Consul A.J. Hawes decided the little settlement—at the foot of a lush green plateau with several mountain streams—would be the ideal place for setting up central government administration.
In Zomba, Malawi, historic preservation and greenery seem to be considered antithetical to development and the modern city.
In the course of the next decades, Zomba slowly developed. Office buildings were constructed in vernacular architecture and residential areas laid out, the latter following racial and social segregation, as was common in that time. The high ranking white officers lived up the slopes of Zomba Mountain. A large golf course separated them from the African and Asian communities down below. In those days, Zomba was known as the Garden Capital of the British Empire. Indeed, the comparatively moderate climate lent itself to urban greenery. Trees were planted along the roads—and not only in the upper class area. Privately, the British officers, if not their wives and Malawian gardeners, tended their gardens in typical fashion. The common lot size in the white area was 1 hectare, allowing for sizable lawns surrounded by tropical flowers and trees. These, in turn, attracted the most colourful birds, such as Livingstone’s turaco and various hornbills.
A typical colonial residence in Zomba, Malawi, with a brick wall surrounding the neighbours’ plot. Photo: Menno Welling
After independence, President Kamuzu Banda decided to move the capital of what had become Malawi to Lilongwe, which was much more centrally located. The city of Lilongwe was developed with the aid of South African urban planners in the 1970s. Following South African principles of ‘divide & rule’ the Lilongwe neighbourhoods, or “Areas”, as they are called, were spaced wide apart, separated by bush or agricultural land. Ever since, Zomba has gradually seen its government departments and the parliament move to Lilongwe. Whereas other British colonial capitals in Africa have become metropolitan cities with high-rises and skyscrapers, Zomba has, for the most part, retained its charming colonial character. Indeed, its historical core would be worth a World Heritage nomination. Just as nearby Mozambique Island is an outstanding example of Portuguese colonial heritage. And like Mozambique Island–or Zanzibar, or the Island of Gorée, for that matter—Zomba could exploit that heritage for tourism purposes in order to boost the local economy.
Brick wall construction. Photo: Menno Welling
As it is, such developments seem far away. In April 2014, Zomba City Council started cutting the century old Mahogany trees that flanked the main road through Zomba and which are its hallmark. Historical buildings such as the District Assembly and the regional police headquarters were marked for destruction. As any modern city, Zomba was to have a dual carriageway, and greenery and buildings had to give way. From an urban planning point of view, the proposed development was poor; it had all the signs of a political campaign tool of a sitting president seeking re-election who had not yet left a tangible legacy in her home district. City administrators seized the opportunity, as a more sensible city bypass might never come.
On technical grounds, a group of concerned citizens managed to get a court order against further destruction and the National Roads Authority settled for merely redoing the existing road. A lot of damage to the trees was, however, already done. Given vested interests, even some trees outside the construction zone had been cut. Two year later, little seems to have come from the mandatory replanting of 500 trees as part of the court settlement. And another mahogany tree was just cut down by a local resident citing laxity in pruning by city officials.
A road with its flanking trees cut down. Photo: Menno Welling
Yet another development is threatening the garden city of modern Malawi. Under the pretence of security concerns, homeowners have started erecting brick walls around their plots. If this tendency is not kept in check, the pleasant mountain roads along lush gardens and charming white houses will turn into brick funnels. How would this historical neighbourhood then be different from a newly built, middle class area in, let’s say, Lilongwe?
At the heart of these issues lays the concept of development. I dare say security concerns in Zomba do not warrant a brick wall fence. The wall has become part of the middle and upper class homeowner mentality. The same goes for city officials; historic preservation and greenery seem to be considered antithetical to development and the modern city. At the same time, officials may opt for immediate benefits, rather than the elusive prospect of increased tourism potential—despite such being included in the Urban Development Plan.
Soil contamination is a baseline condition for most of the sites I’ve worked on over the past two decades. The toxic imprint derives from industry—steel production, shipbuilding, fabrication of automobile and machine parts, to name just a few—in both urban and rural settings. But it also comes from lead-containing gasoline and paint, banned long ago but still quietly wreaking havoc. It’s a byproduct of the human pursuit of greater material wealth and a more convenient and comfortable life. In other words, it’s the legacy of progress, for better or worse. 
The purpose of this essay is to share some considerations about the meaning of “just City” from the perspective of a lawyer dedicated to the reform of justice administration and, in particular, to the design of systems that promote, encourage and facilitate the approach of justice for the people. This historically means not only a change in the rules and culture but also a change in the design of the spaces in which justice is administered.
While a biodiversity practitioner’s effect is limited to some extent by their position, a politician is constrained more by their need to address a number of often-conflicting issues, and to satisfy their constituency. This also has quite a lot to do with personality but it’s more about awareness and subsequent willingness. If politicians have the will to support biodiversity, biodiversity practitioners are likely to be given considerable freedom in their work and, just as importantly, more likely to be able to access municipal funding. On the other hand if a politician has taken a stance in opposition to biodiversity, for example if they consider it to do nothing but impede development, then very little will be achieved by even a well-staffed and well-integrated biodiversity unit. Even the neutral politician can be restrictive because, when biodiversity comes up against other priorities, the likelihood is that this decision-maker will know and care more about a new road or housing development than about a concept with which they are less familiar.
The problem with both personalities and politicians is impermanence. While both represent very worthwhile mechanisms for maintaining a focus on biodiversity considerations, they do unfortunately come and go. This is especially true for the latter and necessitates a constant process of relationship-building which can be especially tricky when a new administration abhors the old, and may even get rid of officials associated with it. As an additional and supporting measure policy is, therefore, critical. It, too, can be changed over time depending on the administration but can provide an additional safeguard. Even if a new administration is bent on changing or removing it, the due process required may at least buy some time to win them over.
Projective Ecologies aims to recover a critical sense of ecology for the design professions because they operate at the intersection of nature and culture—particularly landscape architecture, since its medium holds unique environmental, social, and existential opportunities and responsibilities. Emerging from a multi-year research initiative at Harvard’s Graduate School of Design, Reed and Lister drew on Foucault’s The Archaeology of Knowledge to present three “parallel genealogies,” or intellectual traditions, dealing with the concept of ecology: natural sciences, the humanities, and design.
The book begins with a chilling snap shot of present urban life in Kuwait: four fatal criminal incidents (2012 – 2013) which shocked the general public because they were undertaken in the open, “in the midst of hundreds of witnesses who chose not to intervene” (p. 2). Al-Nakib argues in the remainder of the book that the transformation of urban areas in Kuwait has led to a “highly segregated and factional society” where such incidents are to be expected. In this piece, I hope to draw out the book’s main themes and arguments which are applicable not only to Kuwait but also to the wider region, and perhaps also to other fast-developing cities around the world.
For me, the poppies are in themselves a landscape, one that entangles past and present, people and place, urban and rural. They are material things imbued with affective power and bound to the physicality of place (our garden). They have a capacity to recall the past (e.g., stories of Doris, sharing seeds with neighbours and friends) and to shape the present (providing a welcoming presence when returning home). Through growing peony poppies and creating a garden, connections are created to people and places—a personal landscape of attachment.
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