Right to the City for All: A Manifesto for Social Justice in an Urban Century

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See the full list of Essays
Introduction, Toni L. Griffin, Ariella Cohen and David Maddox Tearing down Invisible Walls Defining the Just City Beyond Black and White, Toni L. Griffin In It Together, Lesley Lokko Cape Town Pride. Cape Town Shame, Carla Sutherland Urban Spaces and the Mattering of Black Lives, Darnell Moore Ceci n'est pas une pipe: Unpacking Injustice in Paris, François Mancebo Reinvigorating Democracy Right to the City for All: A Manifesto for Social Justice in an Urban Century, Lorena Zárate How to Build a New Civic Infrastructure, Ben Hecht Turning to the Flip Side, Maruxa Cardama A Just City is Inconceivable without a Just Society, Marcelo Lopes de Souza Public Imagination, Citizenship and an Urgent Call for Justice, Teddy Cruz and Fonna Forman Designing for Agency Karachi and the Paralysis of Imagination, Mahim Maher Up from the Basement: The Artist and the Making of the Just City, Theaster Gates Justice that Serves People, Not Institutions, Mirna D. Goransky Resistance, Education and the Collective Will, Jack Travis Inclusive Growth The Case for All-In Cities, Angela Glover Blackwell A Democratic Infrastructure for Johannesburg, Benjamin Bradlow Creating Universal Goals for Universal Growth, Betsy Hodges The Long Ride, Scot T. Spencer Turning Migrant Workers into Citizens in Urbanizing China, Pengfei XIE The Big Detox  A City that is Blue, Green and Just All Over, Cecilia P. Herzog An Antidote for the Unjust City: Planning to Stay, Mindy Thompson Fullilove Justice from the Ground Up, Julie Bargmann Elevating Planning and Design Why Design Matters, Jason Schupbach Claiming Participation in Urban Planning and Design as a Right, P.K. Das Home Grown Justice in a Legacy City, Karen Freeman-Wilson Epilogue: Cities in Imagination, David Maddox
7. Zarate

[The Right to the City is] the right to change ourselves, by changing the city. —David Harvey, 2008 

The cities we have

The cities we have in the world today are far from being places of justice. Whether in the South, the North, the West or the East, the cities we are living in are a clear expression of the increasing inequalities and violence from which our societies suffer, as a direct result of putting capital gains and economic calculations—greed!—before people and nature´s well being, dignity, needs and rights.

Many governments have abandoned their responsibility for any urban-territorial planning, leaving “the market” to freely operate the private appropriation of urban spaces.
The concentration of economic and political power is a phenomenon of exploitation, dispossession, exclusion and discrimination whose spatial dimensions are clearly visible: dual cities of luxury and misery; gentrification processes that displace and evict traditional and low-income populations; millions of empty buildings and millions of people without a decent place to live; campesinos without land and land without campesinos, subjected to abuses by agro-businesses, mining and other extractive industries and large scale projects. In other words, the injustice that emerges from destruction of public and community´s goods and assets, and the weakening of regulation, redistribution and welfare policies in States that instead facilitate private appropriation and accumulation of the commons, the resources and the collectively created wealth.

The conditions and rules currently present in our societies are globally condemning more than half of the world population to live in poverty. The inequalities are increasing both in so-called developed and developing countries. What real opportunities are we giving to young people if, according to the UN, 85 percent of the new jobs at the global level are created in the “informal” economy?

At the same time, the spatial segregation of the social groups, the lack of access to adequate housing and basic urban services and infrastructure, as well as many of the current housing policies in different countries, are creating the material and symbolic conditions for the reproduction of the marginalization and disadvantages of the majorities. Impoverished neighborhoods (“urban slums”) are home of to at least one third of the population in the global South—in most African and some Latin American and South Asian countries it reaches as high as 60 percent or more, including the Central African Republic, Chad, Niger, Mozambique, Ethiopia, Somalia, Benin, Mali, Haiti and Bangladesh. Not having a place to live and not having a recognized address also results in the denial of other economic, social, cultural and political rights (education, health, work, right to vote and participate, among many others). What kind of citizens and democracy are we producing in these divided cities?

It is not news to anyone that, especially during the past 25 years, many governments have abandoned their responsibility for any urban-territorial planning, leaving “the market” to freely operate the private appropriation of urban spaces, almost without any restriction to real-estate speculation and the creation of exponential revenues. It does not require expertise to realize that almost everywhere land prices have grown hundreds of times while minimum wages have remained more or less the same, making adequate housing unaffordable for the vast majority of the population. 

The Cities We Want: Right to the City and Social Justice for All

At the occasion of the World Habitat Day commemoration in October 2000, more than 350 delegates of urban social movements, community based women and indigenous people organizations, tenants and cooperative housing federations, and human rights activists from 35 countries around the world got together in the great Mexico Tenochtitlan (Mexico City) over an entire week to exchange concrete experiences and build proposals for more inclusive, democratic, sustainable, productive, educative, safe, healthy and culturally diverse cities.

Under The City We Dream motto, this first World Assembly of Inhabitants produced what would become one of the pillars for the elaboration of the World Charter for the Right to the City, a process developed inside the World Social Forum between 2003 and 2005. For the past decade, that document has inspired several similar debates and other collective documents of the city we want, as the Mexico City Charter for the Right to the City (2010), not as simple wishing list but as a clear roadmap on how to achieve it. Many of those are now included in political and legal instruments signed by local and national governments, as well as some international institutions.

Based on that foundation, the Just City for an Urban Century must be based on the six strategic principles of the Right to the City:

  1. Full exercise of human rights in the city

A just city is one in which all persons (regardless of gender, age, economic and legal status, ethnic group, religious or political affiliation, sexual orientation, place in the city, or any other such factor) enjoy and realize all economic, social, cultural, civic and political human rights and fundamental freedoms, through the construction of conditions of individual and collective wellbeing with dignity, equity and social justice.

Although universal as they are, provisions should be taken to prioritize those individuals and communities living under vulnerable conditions and with special needs, such as homeless, people with physical disabilities or mental and chronic health conditions, poor single parents, refugees, migrants, and people living in disaster-prone areas.

As duty holders, national, provincial and local governments must define legal frameworks, public policies and other administrative and judicial measures to respect, protect and guarantee those rights, under the principles of allocating the maximum available resources and non-retrogression, according to human rights commitments as included in international legal instruments.

Cities around the world, like Rosario in Argentina, Graz in Austria, Edmonton in Canada, Nagpur in India, Thies in Senegal and Gwangju in South Korea, among several others, have declared themselves as Human Rights Cities, going beyond specific human rights programs to try to instill a human rights framework in the city daily life and institutions. Of course they face many contradictions and challenges, but they also represent a concrete path for other cities to consider.

  1. The social function of the city, of land and of property

A just city is one that assures that the distribution of territory and the rules governing its use can thereby guarantee equitable use of the goods, services and opportunities that the city offers. In other words, a city in which collectively defined public interest is prioritized, guaranteeing a socially just and environmentally balanced use of the territory.

Planning, legal and fiscal regulations should be put in place with the required social control, in order to avoid speculation and gentrification processes, both in the central areas as well as in peripheral zones. This would include progressive increase of property taxes for underutilized or vacant units/plots; compulsory orders for construction, urbanization and priority land use; plus-value capture; expropriation for creation of special social interest and cultural zones (especially to protect low-income and disadvantaged families and communities); concession of special use for social housing purposes; adverse possession (usucapio) and regularization of self-built neighborhoods (in terms of land tenure and provision of basic services and infrastructure), among many others already available instruments in different cities and countries, like Brazil, Colombia, France and the United States, just to mention a few.

  1. Democratic management of the city

A just city is one in which its inhabitants participate in all decision-making spaces to the highest level of public policy formulation and implementation, as well as in the planning, public budget formulation, and control of urban processes. It refers to the strengthening of institutionalized decision-making (not only citizen consultancy) spaces, from which it is possible to do follow-up, screening, evaluation and reorientation of public policies.

This will include participatory budgeting experiences (being used in more than 3,000 cities around the world, with some important examples like Dominican Republic, Peru and Polonia), neighborhood impact evaluation (especially of social and economic effects of public and private projects and megaprojects, including the participation of the affected communities at every step of the process) and participatory planning (including master plans, territorial and urban development plans, urban mobility plans, etc.).

Several other concrete tools are already being used in many cities, from free and democratic elections, citizen audits, popular/civil society planning and legislative initiatives (including regulations around granting, modification, suspension and revocation of urban license) and recall election and referendums; to neighborhood and community-based commissions, public hearings, roundtables and participatory decision-making councils.

Nevertheless, several countries—specially in the Middle East and the South Asian region—still have strong, centralized, and in many cases non-democratic national governments, that appoint local authorities and hinder more participatory decision-making process to happen. 

  1. Democratic production of the city and in the city

A just city is one in which the productive capacity of its inhabitants is recovered and reinforced, in particular that of the low-income and marginalized sectors, fomenting and supporting social production of habitat and the development of social and solidarity economic activities. It concerns the right to produce the city, but also the right to a habitat that is productive for all, in the sense that generates income for the families and communities and strengthen the popular economy, not just the increasingly monopolistic profits of the few.

It is known that in the Global South between half and two thirds of the available living space is the result of people’s own initiatives and efforts, with little, if any, support from governments and other actors. In many cases, these initiatives go against many official barriers. Instead of supporting those popular processes, many current regulations ignore, or even criminalize, people’s individual and collective efforts to obtain a decent place to live.

At present, few countries—namely Uruguay, Brazil and Mexico—have put in place a system of legal, financial and administrative mechanisms in order to fully support what we call the “social production of habitat” (including access to urban land, credits and subsidies, and technical assistance); but even there, the percentage of the budget that goes to the private sector remains above the 90%, for the construction of “social housing” that remains unaffordable for more than half of the population.

  1. Sustainable and responsible management of the commons (natural and energy resources, as well as cultural patrimony and historic heritage) of the city and its surrounding areas

A just city is one whose inhabitants and authorities guarantee a responsible living relationship with the nature, in a way that makes possible a dignified life for all individuals, families and communities, in equality of conditions but without affecting natural areas and ecological reserves, cultural and historic patrimony, other cities or the future generations.

Human life and life in urban settings is only possible if we preserve all forms of life, everywhere. The urban life takes a vast diversity of the resources it needs from outside the formal administrative boundaries of the cities. Metropolitan areas, regions that include smaller towns in the countryside, agricultural and rural areas, and rain forest are all affected by our urban behavior.

There is an urgent need to put in place more strict environmental regulations and use of appropriate technology at an affordable cost, promote aquifer protection and rain-water collection; to prioritize multimodal public and massive transportation systems; to guarantee ecological food production and responsible consumption, notably including reuse, recycling and final disposal; among several other urgent measures.

  1. Democratic and equitable enjoyment of the city

A just city is one that reinforces social coexistence, through the recovery, expansion and improvement of public spaces, and its use for community gathering, leisure, and creativity as well as critical expression of political ideas and positions. In recent years, and especially as a local and spatial consequence of the neoliberal policies, a great part of those spaces that are fundamental in the definition of the urban and community life have not been taken care of, have been abandoned or left in disuse or, worse yet, have been privatized: streets, plazas, parks, forums, multiple-use halls, cultural centers, etc.

Infrastructure and programs to support cultural and recreational initiatives, especially, those that are autonomous and self-managed with strong participation of youth, low-income sectors and minority populations are needed. In short, public policies must guarantee the city as an open space and as an expression of diversity.

* * *

In an urban century, the meaning of justice will necessarily include all the dimensions of social life: political, economic, cultural, spatial (territorial) and environmental. The just city of the new century will be a city in which the decision making processes are not monopolized by few “representatives” and political parties, but are in the hands of the communities and the citizens; the land, the infrastructure, the facilities and the public and private resources are distributed for social use and enjoyment; the city is recognized as a result of the productive contributions of the different actors and the goal of the economic activities is the collective wellbeing; all human rights are respected, protected and guaranteed for everyone; and we conceive ourselves as part of nature, and nature as something sacred that we all should take care of.

In an urban century, the just city would be the result of, and at the same time the condition for, a just society on a healthy planet.

Lorena Zárate
Mexico City

 

The Just City Essays is a joint project of The J. Max Bond Center, Next City and The Nature of Cities. © 2015 All rights are reserved.

Risk: How Can We Put the UN, Governments, and the Public on the Same Page?

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Urban populations—and the associated concentration of livelihoods and assets in cities—continue to increase worldwide, thereby increasing exposure to hazards. Coupled with aging infrastructure and housing stock, this trend leads to an increase in vulnerability. And this vulnerability is compounded by climate-change driven storms, sea-level rise, and associated flooding and landslides. Such events are increasing year after year; still, governments avoid reducing existing risk because they prefer not to spend money on uncertain outcomes before a disaster, especially because such efforts remain invisible even if the risk materialises. Instead, there are plenty of certain and visible outcomes to spend money on: compensating people after they lose their homess and sources of income. Governments also choose not to spend resources on risk reduction because of the prevailing political-economy climate, which is curbing expenditure in the public sector. This means that new risk (in terms of both exposure and vulnerability) continues to accumulate at a rate higher than existing risk is being reduced by risk reduction and resilience strategies. Most alarmingly, the prevailing process of reconstruction of houses, infrastructure, and livelihoods after a disaster often reintroduces risk into livelihoods and the built environment. Why is this still happening?

The Political-Economy Framework for Understanding and Analysing Drivers of Change FHAMDAN
The political-economy framework for understanding and analysing drivers of change. Copyright F. Hamdan

The UN, practitioners, and risk management consultancies are doing a lot of good work on disaster risk reduction, including encouraging governments to invest in disaster risk reduction. But the participants in this work haven’t connected to the public debate that is happening about risk—they are disconnected. What can we do to connect them?

To answer the above questions, it is probably good to start with examples of some of the problems that whole cities, and certain sectors (e.g. education sector especially in poor neighbourhoods and urban slums) within cities, are facing worldwide. Below are a few such examples:

  • The rapid growth of cities and the populations within them means that cities are expanding quicker than the ability of governments to plan them according to pre-designed urban master plans and land use plans. This makes the people and the infrastructure more susceptible to damage from weather-related hazards (e.g. storms, floods, sea-level rise, etc.) and other hazards (e.g. earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis, landslides, etc.). Also, all cities have poorer neighbourhoods with aging infrastructure (sewers, rainwater drainage networks, etc.) that is becoming ineffective even without the additional pressures due to climate change. These poorer neighbourhoods tend to have high population density, with people living in cramped conditions, in old unsafe buildings, and sometimes in close proximity to hazardous polluting industries. Clearly, this is a disaster waiting to happen when the next storm or the next earthquake arrives! Everyone knows that! National and local governments know that, local businesses know that, international aid agencies and UN agencies should know that, and the people themselves most certainly know that! Yet rarely do we see these risks being reduced before a disaster! Why? This is a question that we must ask even if we don’t have a clear answer to it.
  • The stock of school buildings varies widely in many countries, with some new buildings built to resist major earthquakes and other risks together with older school buildings designed and built decades ago. Often, such older buildings are crumbling without the help of an earthquake or a storm. Countries that have succeeded in improving safety in all their school buildings are countries that have adopted what is referred to as a National School Safety Programs (NSSPs) that takes a long-term view to safety in schools. NSSPs have been successfully adopted in Chile and New Zealand and are promoted in all OECD (Organisation of Economic Cooperation and Development) member countries. Yet in many countries, even including those ranked as middle as high income countries, an NSSP is not even on the agenda! Why? This is another question that we must ask!
  • In our age of globalisation, economies and businesses in different continents are connected by complex supply chain dynamics wherein businesses in the USA depend on parts manufactured in Asia or Europe and vice versa. Businesses rely on the safe functioning of trade routes, including ports and canals, in order to ship and sell their commodities all over the world. If a trade route or a supply chain is interrupted somewhere, capital and investments will leave and not return. In such cases, local economies and livelihoods will be lost and investments wasted. Yet we still see a prevailing mentality of investments pouring into countries with a short-term view of maximising profits irrespective of the sustainability of these profits or the livelihoods producing them.
Risk Governance Framework 2 FHAMDAN
Risk governance framework model. Copyright F. Hamdan

The answer to all of these questions—or, at least, the part of the answer which is often ignored—has to do with the way decisions are made regarding 1) accountability for the creation of risk, 2) what risks we decide to reduce or not reduce, 3) to what levels we reduce those risks, 4) where we get finances to reduce those risk or why we decide not to finance risk reduction, 5) who participates in all of the above decisions and who is excluded in terms of sectors (e.g. banking, industry, commerce, agriculture, natural scientists, social scientists, etc.), and 6) to what degree the decision making process is transparent, subject to scrutiny and accountability (for example: how often are officials held accountable if risk is not reduced or if risk is reintroduced after a disaster?). All of these aspects of decision making related to risk form what we call Risk Governance: how governments arrive at decisions on risk creation and risk reduction, as well as who is allowed to participate in the decision-making process.

It is only recently that we have recognised risk governance as an issue, and so more work needs to be done to rectify problems with risk governance. Improved risk governance is very important because it forms the missing link between the knowledge creation being pioneered by various practitioners, UN agencies, and aid agencies on the one hand and between governments who are ignoring the evidence and not acting on this knowledge on the other hand. Good risk governance will empower all affected people, sectors, and businesses to lobby for enhancing the accountability of decisions regarding risk construction, risk reduction, and risk reintroduction.

But let us first start from the beginning, or near the beginning, of one of the most important international initiatives to manage and reduce risks.

International frameworks and initiatives for disaster risk reduction, including risk governance

The Hyogo Framework for Action 2005 – 2015 (HFA) is a 10-year plan to make the world safer from natural hazards and was endorsed by the UN General Assembly in the Resolution A/RES/60/195 following the 2005 World Disaster Reduction Conference. The HFA set five Priorities for Action for reducing disaster risk between 2005 and 2015:

  1. Ensure that disaster risk reduction is a national and a local priority with a strong institutional basis for implementation.
  2. Identify, assess, and monitor disaster risks and enhance early warning.
  3. Use knowledge, innovation, and education to build a culture of safety and resilience at all levels.
  4. Reduce the underlying risk factors.
  5. Strengthen disaster preparedness for effective response at all levels.

The above priorities for action are meant to be implemented at national, local, and sectoral levels. In particular, their implementation at local levels was strengthened by the development of the Making Cities Resilient Campaign, launched by the UN International Strategy for Disaster Reduction (UNISDR) in May 2010.

jeddah-flood-2011 (Saudi Gazzette)
Jeddah flood, 2011. Courtesy of Saudi Gazzette

In analysing progress in the implementation of the HFA, the following challenges have been observed:

  • More effort is needed to move from a culture of disaster management that focuses on responding to disasters after they occur to a culture of disaster risk management that prevents new risk from accumulating and reduces levels of existing risk before a disaster actually occurs.
  • While significant effort has been directed at planning to respond to disasters and to prevent new risk from accumulating (partly through building codes and land use planning), more effort is required to reduce existing levels of risk. Even when strategies for disaster risk reduction are developed, they are not regularly transformed into policies with corresponding allocations of resources.
  • Additional effort is needed in developing recovery strategies, policies, and plans a priori to ensure that reconstruction of livelihoods and the built environment in the wake of a disaster will not reintroduce risk. We can only avoid reintroducing risk by building back better. However, in many cases, in the wake of a disaster, the pressure to restore services and housing means that risk is created and transferred as a result of a reconstruction process that lacks the necessary scrutiny and participation of various stakeholders.
  • Additional work is needed to understand how risk is constructed and transferred between sectors, which will in turn allow for much-needed enhancement of accountability for risk construction and transfer.
  • Additional effort is required to engage more diverse stakeholders in disaster risk management activities, particularly in the most vulnerable sectors and communities.
  • Capacity-building for local and national governments did not lead to the desired change in disaster risk reduction practices. It was concluded that change can only be effected by focusing on improving risk governance as defined above.
  • In many cases, capacity-building and awareness-raising is driven by supply (e.g. by universities and research institutions, risk management consultancies, etc.) rather than demand and ignores the social, economic, and institutional factors contributing to vulnerability; instead, such efforts focus solely on natural and physical factors contributing to vulnerability.
  • In many cases, too much emphasis is placed on natural factors (e.g. hazard frequency and severity, which are used to produce hazard area and hazard intensity maps) and physical factors (e.g. the physical state of the built environment, critical infrastructure, etc.). Notwithstanding the importance of the physical and natural factors, these alone do not complete our understanding of why vulnerability and risk accumulate (and are allowed to accumulate) and why they are (or are not) reduced. To do that, there is a need to examine the social (construction of risk in informal settlements, limited awareness, social capital), economic (financing disaster risk management from public and private investments, competing sectoral needs) and institutional (e.g. overlap in mandates, gaps in mandates, capacity shortages) factors contributing to vulnerability.

The above challenges are also reflected in The Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015 – 2030 (SFDRR), the successor instrument to the Hyogo Framework for Action, which was adopted at the Third UN World Conference on Disaster Risk Reduction in Sendai, Japan, on March 18, 2015. The SFDRR reviewed the progress of various states in the implementation of the HFA and identified the following challenges: the need for improved understanding of disaster risk; the need to strengthen disaster risk governance; the need for accountability for disaster risk management; the need to be better prepared to “Build Back Better”; the need for recognition of various stakeholders and their roles; the need for mobilization of risk-sensitive investment to avoid the creation of new risk; the need for resilience of health infrastructure, cultural heritage, and work-places; and the need for accountability for risk creation and the transfer of risk. Based on the above, the SFDRR proposed seven global goals, outcomes, and outputs and then identified the following four priorities for action over the coming 15 years, from 2015 up to 2030:

  • Priority 1: Understanding disaster risk.
  • Priority 2: Strengthening disaster risk governance to manage disaster risk.
  • Priority 3: Investing in disaster risk reduction for resilience.
  • Priority 4: Enhancing disaster preparedness for effective responses and to “Build Back Better” in recovery, rehabilitation, and reconstruction.

Gaps in risk governance

jeddah flood 2013
Jeddah flood, 2013.

At this stage, as the SFDRR is being finalised and the monitoring framework and indicators agreed upon, it is useful to elaborate on some of the main governance gaps in the implementation of disaster risk reduction strategies and policies categorised under different headings below:

  • Institutional governance gaps: very few countries worldwide have succeeded in establishing risk governance frameworks to provide checks and balances—in a transparent and participatory manner—throughout the risk management and reduction process.
  • Science-based governance gaps: There is unanimous agreement on the need to improve the science/policy interface, particularly in view of the increased recognition of linkages with sustainable development and climate change. However, the “science” in the science/policy interface is often dominated by earth science and risk management consultancies addressing frequency and severity of natural hazards and/or by engineering consultancies addressing the vulnerability of the built environment and housing, including critical infrastructure. Therefore, often the social, economic, and institutional factors are missing from scientific assessments on vulnerability and risk. In many instances, this leads to “scientific” solutions being developed without addressing the social, economic, and institutional challenges and factors that have led to the accumulation of risk and vulnerability in the first place.
  • Preliminary assessment governance gaps: In many cases, important solutions are not identified or are ignored at the risk framing stage, when the scope of hazards is identified and the qualitative and quantitative methodologies that may be used to assess risk are being selected. For example, as mentioned in the beginning of this article, in the education sector, best practice dictates the adoption of National School Safety Programs (NSSPs) that have proven to be an effective tool in preventing new risk from accumulating in school buildings and in reducing existing levels of risks. However, in many countries worldwide, NSSPs are not identified as a possible solution. A similar argument can be made for other critical infrastructure sectors (e.g. health, industry, energy, water, public sector buildings, and primary responding agencies). Indeed, in many instances, calls for identifying the financing gap—let alone securing the finances—required for ensuring the sustainable development and resilience of cities and sectors within them go unheeded.
  • Comprehensive risk assessment governance gaps: Even though there is scientific evidence that extensive risk (risk that occurs regularly, such as the flood that happens every year due to average year rainfall and is not severe) significantly and disproportionately impacts vulnerable communities and livelihoods, leaving them more vulnerable to intensive risk (which happens rarely, such as the flood corresponding to the storm that happens once every couple of hundred years, but is more severe when it happens), the fact remains that most multi-hazard, vulnerability, and risk assessments continue to a) ignore extensive risk and b) assume that intensive risk happens in a vacuum rather than recognizing that it is superimposed on a socio-economic situation where people and communities allocate resources to address everyday needs and extensive risks (which feel more tangible because they are more frequent).
  • Societal risk governance gaps: Very few countries and cities have mechanisms for carrying out both technical and societal risk assessments, which are important in case of substantial uncertainty associated with the frequency and severity of hazards or with the consequences of its occurrences.
  • Risk evaluation governance gaps: The value of the tolerable and the unacceptable levels of risk should be determined by states and countries depending on their level of development and available financial resources. Setting values of tolerable and unacceptable risks inevitably involves setting a value on saving a human life. However, these decisions are too often made in an implicit, non-transparent manner or, perhaps even more worryingly, these decisions are knowingly or unknowingly delegated to private sector companies.
  • Disaster loss data collation governance gaps: Loss of human lives, sources of income, and assets continues to be influenced by disaster-loss data collation practices that focus on compensation. This automatically implies that those communities that are living in informal housing or whose livelihoods are obtained from the informal sector will not be included in the loss collation exercise, as they are not considered eligible for compensation. However, especially because there is wider recognition of the need to identify and strengthen linkages with sustainable development and climate change, there is a need to widen the scope of disaster loss collation and analysis so it includes direct and indirect losses to livelihoods, lives, and economic sectors irrespective of eligibility for compensation. Furthermore, loss data, when available, is not dis-aggregated according to age, sex, ability, and social and economic backgrounds, making the analysis of factors affecting vulnerability more challenging.
  • Recovery governance gaps: Few countries and cities have developed a priori recovery plans so that the reconstruction process will not reintroduce risks into the built environment, critical infrastructure, and livelihoods. Having a priori plans is particularly important when the reconstruction process is being financed using public debt for developments that are unsustainable. These will have to be paid for by future generations who will not reap the benefits of the unsustainable development.
  • Financing risk reduction governance gaps: all countries and states have fixed budgets with competing sectors and stakeholders for resource allocation. There is a need to understand why certain strategies and policies for risk reduction are not being implemented, how the winners and losers are determined as a result of decisions being made regarding where public funds are directed, and the type of incentives given to the private sector.
  • Governance gaps regarding the regulatory role of governments in disaster risk reduction: National and local governments are allocating resources for responding to disasters. More recently, through land use and building codes, amongst others, new risk is prevented from accumulating via sound investment and development decisions by both the private and public sectors. Through such decisions, governments are fulfilling part of their stewardship role of protecting people against external hazards. Currently, this role is not being completely fulfilled because existing risk is not being sufficiently reduced. In addition, governments are explicitly reviewing and refining mandates for disaster risk management to ensure they are capable of fulfilling their managerial role in disaster risk management. The main gap, however, is in the regulatory role of governments. Governments are required to protect people and sectors against risks created by other individuals and sectors. This was one of the main gaps in the HFA and therefore it is necessary to ensure that it is sufficiently addressed during implementation of the SFDRR. In turn, this requires us all to address the challenging task of understanding how risk is created by sectors and individuals and the manner in which it is transferred, legitimately or maliciously, to other sectors and individuals.

A proposed way forward

jeddah floods 2013
Jeddah floods, 2013

Risk management consultancies have vested interests in focusing on the natural and physical factors contributing to vulnerability. Other stakeholders, including insurance companies and contracting and construction companies, may have other vested interests related to risk transfer and recovery practices. Many practitioners are trying to balance these vested interests by calling for a risk governance process to manage all decisions and by producing evidence-based arguments showing the need for risk governance. However, these arguments produced by practitioners will not effect change unless they are taken on board by concerned and affected citizens and stakeholders who want to improve the environment in which we live.

Therefore, it is important for us—disaster risk management practitioners, urban designers, and others—to recognize that we must increase our efforts to ensure that we are providing the needed advice to decision makers. However, perhaps more importantly, we must also view our work as trying to act as the missing link: to inform the public debate that is taking place around disaster risk and resilience, thereby providing the public (the ultimate decision maker) with the scientific tools to carry out scientific, evidence-based lobbying to reduce disaster risk and improve resilience.

Fadi Hamdan
Beirut

On The Nature of Cities

Rock, Tree, Human

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As a Brooklyn (New York) resident for over 15 years, I’ve never thought much about whether or not I was living on high ground, within a floodplain or an evacuation zone, or how I might secure my windows during a storm.  Recent hurricanes in my city have changed my perception of where I live and, ultimately, the places that have meaning in my community.

As friends and neighbors gathered in my Carroll Gardens apartment to shelter in place during last October’s Hurricane Sandy, we enjoyed conversation and good food.  Our children, delighted by the novelty of the event, made up endless games and watched more than their typical allotment of YouTube videos.  Around midnight, a friend stopped by our apartment on her way home from her job in Manhattan.  I used this excuse to go outside to check on the large London Plane trees that have long surrounded my neighborhood park.  Despite the wind and rain, I could see the large, ominous forms of trees on the ground.  I retreated back upstairs.

The next morning, my friends returned to their house in Red Hook to survey damages.  I took the kids out for much-needed fresh air.  The park was filled with similar groups of slightly bedraggled parents alongside energetic youngsters eager to return to outdoor play.

Things in the park had changed.  It was strewn with tree limbs and there was significant damage to the play courts.  Several old trees had crashed to the ground.  Wrought-iron and chain link fencing was crushed.  As we followed the length of one downed tree, it led us out of the park and across Carroll Street where its upper trunk came to rest on a parked car and its canopy blocked the entrance to a stately brownstone.  There were several people surveying the damage.  I was struck by their silence.  Suddenly, one of my young charges squeezed through the line of onlookers, inspected the remains of what was once a fancy, red sports car, and proclaimed loudly, “Sheesh, I’m glad that wasn’t our car!”  Laughter ensued.  We continued along what was clearly a spontaneous pilgrimage to all of the fallen trees in the area.  Street trees.  Park trees.

And then we come upon one of the most significant sites of tree loss.

CP Tree Root_1CP Tree Workers_2For decades, this stately little leaf linden tree stood in a corner of the park, in a small gated area ringed by flowering shrubs.  It stood in an area adjacent to basketball courts, benches and a water fountain.  The tree’s presence, next to a large boulder, invited a different experience for the park user: one that was more peaceful.  Young parents brought their toddlers here to quietly sit upon the shaded rock.  Groups of school-aged children often scrambled atop the rock to share secrets or engage in free play in the slightly more subdued place.  At dusk, teenagers typically positioned themselves here to look out for friends or spend time talking.  Early risers have used this spot to stretch, meditate and greet the morning sun.

At the base of this fallen giant, someone left a bouquet of flowers still encased in plastic wrap from a corner deli.  I wondered whether this was the same bouquet I noticed over the weekend at the base of a temporary memorial in the park.  Perhaps the wind had blown this small offering around and another person had decidedly placed it at the base of the fallen park tree?  Or were the flowers meant only to commemorate the tree?

What seemed to matter most was the connectivity between the two events.  Humans use nature as symbols—typically rocks, trees and gardens—to celebrate life and to mourn death.  We convene around these symbols to mark the passage of time.  Here, the tree, or perhaps this former union of rock, tree, and human, was the object of our memorialization.

Amidst the grave destruction of human life and property, someone paused to mark the tree’s death.

CP Tree Looker_3Working for the U.S. Forest Service, I have become acutely aware of cycles of disturbance and resilience.  When a forest burns, there are winners and losers among the flora and fauna.  Some creatures lose nests or burrows, feeding or breeding grounds.  Others flourish as they gain space, light and air.  Disturbance is part of life in the woods and, ultimately, we never walk the same forest twice.  The quality of resilience often depends upon time and conditions before any disturbance.  Having worked as an urban forester and now a researcher of the urban forest, I revere the way in which individuals and groups often embrace nature after a significant disturbance.

In many cases, ‘nature’ was the very thing that destroyed lives, homes and communities.  Hurricanes. Ice Storms. Tornados. Floods.  After each of these disturbances, there is recovery.  Consider your own experience with such events.  After the emergency responders have moved on, someone inevitably calls for the need to plant a tree, build a garden, or reclaim a piece of the shoreline.  Often, these humble expressions have served to remind us that the most vulnerable people often live in the most fragile places, made worse by social segregation and environmental degradation.  And even after ‘not-so-natural’ disasters, as in the case of the September 11th terrorist attacks, we’ve witnessed hundreds of individuals and groups decide to plant trees and create living memorials that stand not only in remembrance of those killed, but of the universal bonds between loved ones and communities.

For decades, we have seen this same, patterned response of emergent stewardship from people living in urban areas where populations have declined, housing has deteriorated, and employment has waned.  In these forlorn places, we have seen the rise of vibrant community gardens, pocket parks, window boxes, tree lots and the like.  It has been my experience as a researcher delving into human motivations of urban stewards, that many of these acts evoke the spirit of the forest.  No matter how humble or small, these efforts loom large in the cycle of disturbance and resilience.

At some point along the path of recovery, we can lose sight of the importance of these actions.  We tend to focus on more instrumental or utilitarian questions such as: What can nature do for us?  How much is a tree worth?  How much can our wetlands and green streets absorb to save our homes and businesses from flooding?

This type of thinking is entirely reasonable when one realizes that yes, as humans we are part of nature.  And, as humans, we are the only species that can rise to a level of abstraction to actually do anything about the long-term stewardship of our ecosystems.  Thankfully, there are researchers, policy-makers and citizens working hard to help address these questions but we might consider there are some answers that are quite clear.

CP Tree Stays_4Earlier this spring, I had the honor to introduce a special lecture on ‘The Benefits of Urban Trees,’ by U.S. Forest Service scientist, Dr. David Nowak.  The lecture was part of a series to celebrate the release of a vibrant, new book of photography by Benjamin Swett, entitled “New York City of Trees.”  As I prepared my introduction, I found it remarkable that both scientist and artist had found profound, but strikingly different ways to value and understand the urban forest.

Dr. Nowak’s i-Tree model has been used by hundreds of cities throughout the world to quantify the environmental benefits of urban trees.  These benefits include cooler air temperatures, air pollution removal, carbon storage and household energy savings.  Mr. Swett, on the other hand, presents the urban tree as a ‘keeper of the city’s past.’  He depicts trees as part of the collective memory through a mix of personal stories, historical events and artistry.  In one account of a massive Eastern Cottonwood in a corner lot on Staten Island, the reader learns this tree has meaning that spans generations in the community.  The tree’s great expanse triggers memories of a parent, a grandparent, a house.  Memory continues to shape place and purpose.  I was reminded through these two distinct works how fortunate we are to have both artist and scientist value the urban forest, creating varied lenses to understand the essential relationship between rock, trees and humans.

As the audience awaited Dr. Nowak’s top benefit of the urban forest with great anticipation—(Hint: think temperature)—I was pondering the number two benefit of our urban trees: aesthetics and social benefits.  Nearly all of the benefits, including temperature, had certain values listed.  But why were aesthetics and social benefits marked ‘uncertain’?  Isn’t this value universally known?  Hasn’t it stood the test of time?

I think it’s fair to surmise that when my neighborhood tree fell down in Carroll Park, residents did not immediately mourn the loss of a few dollars in home heating and cooling bills.  Nor is it likely that they lamented its capacity to absorb water and carbon.  It is not to suggest that these benefits are not important, but only to have us reflect on the idea that quantifying and qualifying the loss of this tree is dependent upon one’s frame of reference.  At the scale of an energetic five-year-old and a parent wanting to escape the confines of an average sized, two-bedroom, Brooklyn apartment, we mourn the shade this tree provided as children spent endless hours climbing the rock beneath its branches and playing with twigs near its base.  We’ll miss the cool haven it provided during the hot summer months.  I know that many will recall the dappled sunlight and the brilliant, colorful turn of its leaves each fall.  And we will be forced to find another way for rock, tree and humans to interact to create a seemingly ordinary but decidedly sacred space.

In this way, we know what this tree was worth in terms of social benefits to the surrounding community.

When we look to the long arc of history, we can understand social value even further.  In the writings of our greatest philosophers and work of acclaimed artists of all kinds, we find inspiration from nature.  In the speeches of world leaders, we hear language that acknowledges the interplay between nature and the quality of human life.  In the actions of those engaged in social movements and acts of resistance, tree planting and reclaiming nature has become an effective ‘weapon of the weak’.  We tend to reduce these acts to gestures, moments, stories or fleeting shouts in the street.  But they are more than that.  When we discover the true value of urban nature it is social and it is transformative.  It becomes the place from where we may set a course of change and discovery.

Do we need to quantify what exists before our own eyes?

CP Tree Play_5Back in Carroll Park, there is an active group of park volunteers.  The storm’s aftermath has sparked a great deal of activity in terms of clean ups and repair.  I’m not certain who led the decision to leave a significant portion of our downed tree alongside the rock or even what exactly they had in mind in doing so.  I do know that many of my neighbors have whispered in passing, “I hope they leave it on the ground.”  In my own wanderings around the park, I’ve observed a wide range of people, young and old, pause to admire the downed tree.  Neighborhood children delight in touching it, climbing it and being in the company of this old friend.

We never experience same forest twice, as both people and place are constantly evolving. Carroll Park is different, post-storm.  My perception of it has changed, as I have changed, deepening my understanding of public space and human agency in the recovery process.  Somehow park volunteers and managers did more than repair the park, but improved it as they created opportunities for the public to experience the reciprocity of nature.  In a dynamic and ever-changing urban environment, they sustained and strengthened a place of social meaning.

Not unlike our vast wilderness areas in the American West, our urban forests have much to teach us not only about disturbance, but about what constitutes resilience.

Erika S. Svendsen
New York City

I’d like to acknowledge the dedication and care of the Friends of Carroll Park in their stewardship of a precious community resource.  I’d like to thank Mary Northridge, Sara Metcalf, and Denise Hoffman Brandt for their recent conversations that have inspired many of these ideas. And thanks to my young friend, Shane.

All photos are by Erika S. Svendsen.

 

SALT: Restoration + Recreation = Water in California

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The Mountain View Cemetery in Oakland was created by visionary landscape architect Frederick Law Olmstead whose designs “staged nature”. Our miniature tent in this setting considers the compromise between anthropogenic interests and non-human nature.
It is late June and we are up to our knees floating a small tent sculpture in a containment pond filled with a thick green milkshake-like goo. A combination of duck week and blue-green algae (cyanobacteria), this overgrowth or bloom is probably caused by fertilizer run-off from the surrounding cemetery grounds.

We are working on a photographic series exploring the connection between the reclamation of ponds and marshes and their promotion for recreational activity. The Mountain View Cemetery in Oakland was created by visionary landscape architect Frederick Law Olmstead whose designs “stage nature” by directing the gaze of the viewer and engaging contemplation of our place in the living world. The introduction of our miniature tent into this setting considers the compromise between anthropogenic interests and non-human nature.

Duckweed and Algal Bloom, Camping in a Graveyard Pond, Oakland CA, summer 2017. Image courtesy of Robin Lasser and Marguerite Perret
Seed burrs from California hedge parsley growing around the pond. Captured with a toy microscope, Mountain View Cemetery, Oakland, 2017. Photo: Image courtesy of Robin Lasser and Marguerite Perret
Eden’s Landing Emergency Relief Tent, Hayward Wetlands, summer 2017. Image courtesy of Robin Lasser and Marguerite Perret

Covered in dried algae and hitchhiking seed burrs, we pack our gear into the car. It is getting late, we want to get to Eden’s Landing before sunset.

Eden’s Landing emergency relief tent celebrates a Bay Area environmental victory; the restoration of the artificially made salt ponds flanking the southern shores of the bay back to its original wetlands eco system. As far as changing the physical structure of Southern San Francisco Bay, no industry, not even waste disposal, has had as great an impact on the environment. In the past, more of the south bay had been diked and ponded for salt than not. Eden’s Landing emergency relief tent, as an intervention in this landscape, becomes a celebratory marker for this important transition of the land and water back to their original states.

Living in and on mats of filamentous algae. Captured with a toy microscope, Eden’s Landing, 2017. Image courtesy of Robin Lasser and Marguerite Perret

The return of natural tidal flows along the South San Francisco bay constitutes one of the largest wetland restoration projects in history, turning stagnant industrial ponds into vital sustainable ecologies. Salt has been harvested from the San Francisco Bay since the mid-19th century in a patchwork of salt evaporation ponds. Cargill, an agricultural chemical company based in Minneapolis is the contemporary entity overseeing this process. Cargill works with Morton salt which processes the harvest.

Cargill / Morton Salt Mountain, Hayward, CA, 2017. Photo: Robin Lasser

Things changed in 2003 when a large swath of coastline was returned to the public as a wildlife preserve. Since that time, the wetlands are recovering and now support migratory birds, brine shrimp, fish, and people! The restoration areas are now popular recreation sites for hiking, kayaking and photography.

Video: Electrical towers stretching over the restored salt marsh at the Don Edwards National Wildlife Refuge. Human infrastructure shares the environment with endangered species such as the California gray fox and the western snowy plover.

The next day we crossed through Yosemite arriving at Mono Lake in time to witness the setting sun glowing hot magenta, hurling shimmering embers across the surface of the water before disappearing behind the Sierra Nevada mountains. Tufa formations along the lake banks and extending into the shallows reinforced a sense of an otherworldly landscape. Tufas are calcium carbonate columns, the result of freshwater mineral springs beneath the surface reacting with the alkaline water of the lake. Their visibility is evidence of an incomplete recovery; they should be underwater. And the dramatic color, amplified as light scattered over atmospheric particulates from the wildfires in nearby Mariposa, was a consequence of drought and human negligence. Sometimes beauty is deceptively complicated.

Miniature tent among the tufas, Mono Lake sunset augmented by the Mariposa fires, June 2017. Image courtesy of Robin Lasser and Marguerite Perret

Located 350 miles north of Los Angeles in the Eastern Sierras, the tributaries that feed Mono Lake were diverted for city use for over seven decades dropping the lake level 40 feet until successive litigations finally halted withdrawals. Mono Lake is part of an Endorheic basin, a system with no outlet save evaporation. Normally the lake is already three times saltier than the ocean. But evaporation without adequate replenishment precipitated a near ecological collapse in one of North America’s oldest lakes. Conditions have improved, but the vicissitudes of climate change are still a threat.

The next day was hot. Carrying awkwardly shaped, heavy, three-foot steel armature tent sculptures a mile through scrub brush to photograph under the dessert sun is a sweaty business, so we went for a swim. Swimming in Mono Lake is encouraged. The water is warm with a distinctive slippery feel. Pinkish clouds in the blue water are formed by trillions of tiny Artemia monica, a species of brine shrimp unique to Mono Lake. Small brown/black flies rested along the shore. The lake biome is contingent on brine shrimp and alkali flies; the shrimp and flies eat algae and the birds eat the shrimp and flies; as long as there is an inflow of water and stable pH levels the system works. Simple.

Brine shrimp. Captured with a toy microscope, Mono Lake, CA, 2017. Image courtesy of Robin Lasser and Marguerite Perret

Tourists from all over the world passed us by as we worked. A few paused to watch with puzzled looks. A group of visitors from Germany asked: Are you shooting an advertisement? We thought, yes, in a way, and replied: We are making images that encourage recreational use of the lake to build support for conservation. One of the men smiled appreciatively: Oh yes, we were just reading about this.

Beauty and rarity alone are never enough. Humans need a reason, a benefit.

Reclamation + Recreation = Water.

Mono Lake Tent Encampment, summer, 2017. Image courtesy of Robin Lasser and Marguerite Perret

Robin Lasser and Marguerite Perret
Oakland and Topeka

On The Nature of Cities

Marguerite Perret

About the Writer:
Marguerite Perret

Marguerite Perret conducts collaborative, arts-based research that scrutinizes the narratives inherent at the interstices of art, science, healthcare and personal experience.

Saving a Sense of Place, Saving Our Home / 拯救地方感，拯救家乡

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This winter holiday, I initiated, with some friends I grew up with, a local program called Legends of Sevenli. We created a platform to record the beautiful parts of our sense of place, and to inspire such a sense in other local people. 这个寒假，我和我的朋友们在家乡发起了一个名为‘七里传说’的项目，通过微信公众平台记录地方感之美，期以引起更多当地人共鸣。
Webinar of Urban Environmental Education online class. 城市环境教育在线课程视频会议 Photo: Yueyang Yu.

Sometimes, as we strive to embrace our future, we are quick to abandon our past. In the process of changing and growing, do we let go of those elements that formed the foundation of who we are, the things that tether us to the place we came from, or do we reflect on them and see them in a new light?

有时候，人越着急追求未来，过去的痕迹也褪得越快。在变化中成长，在成长中变化。面对那些曾定义了“我们是谁、我们从哪儿来”的答案，是放手？还是反思？或者，是做点什么呢？

Last April, I participated in a Cornell University online course called Urban Environmental Education, it was here that I first learned about a “sense of place”. This concept soon led me to ideas I have never thought about before.

去年四月，通过康奈尔大学的在线课程《城市环境教育》，我第一次听闻了“地方感”这一概念，并顿时思如泉涌，联想到了我的家乡。

My hometown and sense of place
我的家乡和地方感

The construct of a sense of place first reminded me of something interesting about my hometown, particularly about its name. I am from a place called Qinling, but I promise you will never find this place on a map of China except for the famous Qinling mountains, where my family and I definitely do not live. If you ask local people in my hometown where “Qilizhen” is, few of them could help you, because they probably have never been told they are, in fact, officially in Qilizhen. The first name, Qinling, is actually a convenient name, used by local people for more than sixty years, while the second name, Qilizhen, is the official name, yet not important to local life. I started to wonder if Qinling is derived from our sense of place. Are we calling our hometown by a name that reflects something about our forebears’ sense of place?

首先，我联想到了关于我的家乡很有趣的一点——它的名字。我会说我来自一个叫秦岭的地方，但在中国地图上你却不一定找得到它。即使是的确叫做秦岭的秦岭山，也离我家还有相当一段距离。你可以再问问当地人“七里镇在哪”，相信他们几乎也回答不上来，因为基本上没人在讲“这里就是七里镇”。事实上，“秦岭”是我们当地人已经使用了超过六十年的惯称，而“七里镇”则是当地行政区划的官名（1966年开始使用）。可为什么惯称更容易被接受和流传呢？或许是因为“秦岭”这个名字和我们或者长辈的地方感有关？

View of Qinling. 秦岭局部鸟瞰图 Photo: http://www.snxingping.gov.cn

First, Qilizhen extends beyond the border of Qinling. It not only includes Huaxing, which is next to and very similar to Qinling, but also includes the several villages surrounding the two districts. Qinling and Huaxing are not big—it takes no more than twenty minutes to walk from one end to the other, but both provide everything you need, so there is often no reason to go very far. To local people, Qinling and Huaxing are two different places. And similar to those in Qinling, most people in Huaxing have never heard of Qilizhen either. How were these place names created and how did they come down through generations?

“七里镇”，实际上是包括“秦岭”、“华兴”和周边农村的区域名称。“秦岭”和“华兴”相邻、相似且都不大，大概二十分钟就能从各自的东头走到西头。由于基本上能满足生活的一切需求了，所以对当地人来说，也没什么理由外出太远。对他们来说，秦岭和华兴是两个不同的地方；作为华兴人和秦岭人，也都对“七里镇”没怎么听说过。那么这样根深蒂固的惯称是如何产生和传承下来的呢？

To find out, I asked my grandparents.

于是，我主动去问了我的姥姥姥爷。我的姥爷在上世纪五十年代就从上海来到了这里。

Introduction of Qilizhen on Baidu Baike (China’s Wikipedia). 百度百科对七里镇的介绍.

The names Qinling and Huaxing came from the factories they were built around. In the 1950s, two factories were built on this land and workers from cities all over China came here for the jobs. Some workers migrated with their families; some came alone and formed their families here. Factory workers constituted most of the local community at that time, so when the people started using the names of the factories, Qinling and Huaxing, to identify where they worked and lived, the new names stuck. They built up the town from wastelands and farmlands to more closely resemble the cites to which they were accustomed. For example, local buildings were built in the same style as city buildings of the day; they set up hospitals, schools, bus stations and stores, which were rare in the towns before; and they divided residential areas according to a common urban style.

“秦岭”和“华兴”实际上是当地两个国企工厂的名字。上世纪五十年代，“秦岭”和“华兴”建厂，并在全国范围招工。有的工人是和家人一起迁过来的；有的则是来了才组建家庭。由于这个地方当时基本上就是农村间的空地，所以当时定居下来的人几乎都是迁来的工人和他们的家庭。由于习惯里工作和住所不分家，所以渐渐地工厂的名字便成了地方的惯称了。于是，农村间的空地在他们的建设下一座小镇拔地而起，照着他们习惯的城市的样子：精心设计的建筑，全面的社区设施和按街坊划分的居民区……都是这里不曾有的。

Fuxin building, which was once the center of Qinling. 福鑫楼，曾经的秦岭中心. Photo: Yueyang Yu
Qinling Qiyuan Park. 秦岭憩园. Photo: Yueyang Yu
There are many sculptures in Qinling Qiyuan, among them fairies, geese, deer, fish, and frogs. 憩园中随处可见的雕塑，有仙女、天鹅、鹿、鱼和青蛙等. Photo: Yueyang Yu
Qinling Qiyuan Park was created in June,1990, next to Qinling factory. 憩园建设于1990年6月，位于秦岭厂旁边. Photo: Yueyang Yu

The new towns were built less for the workers themselves and more for their children. My mother’s generation grew up in local schools and most of her peers stayed in Qinling and Huaxing to work in the factories where their parents’ generation also worked. Her generation joined in building the town as well, so they were also builders. The two generations of builders often couldn’t speak the local Shaanxi dialect, but they could speak Mandarin or the dialects from where they grew up. For example, my grandfather speaks Mandarin and Shanghai dialect, but my mother can only speak Mandarin. Even today, those old and middle-aged migrants appear to have more common words with distant city people but share fewer common words with countryside people who are geographically closer to where they now live. Over the past 60 years, the urban community of migrants and their families have become very close but have not bonded with nearby farmers.

虽然是为了工作而来，但无论如何定居下来总要为了下一代着想，于是当一个完整的生活社区逐渐建成，也形成了我妈妈那代人常见的“就地教育—进厂工作”的闭环。我妈妈那代人也是社区的建设者，并见证了九十年代的发展高潮。不过，你会发现两代的社区建设者们通常都不太会说陕西话，更多讲普通话和他们原籍的方言。比如，我的姥爷讲普通话和上海话，而我妈妈只会讲普通话。甚至在今天，当地上了年纪的人也似乎与城里人更有共同语言，而不是生活在他们周边的农村人。毕竟，“秦岭”和“华兴”很好地将自己与农村区别开来。在过去的六十年中，“秦岭人”和“华兴人”生活关系紧密、社区联络很强，这里就仿佛是城市一隅。

Soviet-style buildings built nearly 50 years ago. 50年前的苏联式建筑. Photo: Yueyang Yu

Although many families have moved to nearby bigger cities in recent years, such as Xianyang and Xi’an, Qinling and Huaxing remain a significant part of their life-long identity. My grandparents, parents, and their friends often talk about how fast changes are taking place, satisfied with their life today, but also speaking of the past fondly. There was no reason for them to leave, for Qinling/Huaxing provides everything they need to live, and also becomes something they own, something that can’t exist without them. This is especially true for my grandparents’ generation, who came here in 1950s. Qinling/Huaxing witnessed almost every moment of peace and chaos in their past collectivistic life, when each of them was highly bonded with the fate of the country, when their work was such a contribution to the country—a cause of honor. During specific periods in China, my grandparents and parents’ generations survived a series of ups and downs, as a result they developed strong place meanings and attachments as part of their values, and thus formed a deep-rooted sense of place.

虽然近年来，许多家庭还是搬去了临近的大城市，比如咸阳和西安，但是“秦岭人”和“华兴人”始终还都是他们难以忘却的重要身份。留在这里目睹了发展和变化的两代建设者们，也能在对如今生活的满足中欣慰地回忆起过去。“秦岭”和“华兴”，不仅给了他们生活的一切，也是他们所拥有的；而他们也是“秦岭”和“华兴”存在的意义所在。尤其是对我姥姥姥爷的那一代人，他们自五十年代陆陆续续来到这里，可以说，“秦岭”和“华兴”见证了他们过去集体生活的涨落起伏。“那个时候人心很齐”，每个人都能自觉地将自己与国家的命运紧密结合，不仅视自己的工作为对国家的贡献，也骄傲于这样一项荣誉的事业。于是，强烈的地方意义和依附感成了他们价值观的一部分；也正是如此的价值观，也才成就一批人深刻的地方感。

Sense of place crisis

地方感危机

However, since the 1980s, as my generation came of age (I was born in 1996), things began to change. For example, this period saw both the implementation of China’s one-child policy and the nation-wide administering of the National Higher Education Entrance Examination. As a result, our experiences are different than those of earlier generations. For example, we have no experience building a town, or even planting a tree as my uncle did, as a family’s only child should be protected. Nor are we expected to stay here, so we long for bigger cities, new identities, achievements, and seek new values. It hard for us to understand why our parents and grandparents stayed in these small places. Qinling and Huaxing became nothing more than two distant names for us.

自八十年代起，是我们这一代人的到来（我出生于1996年），颠覆性的变化也开始出现。这一时期，独生子女政策实施，高考制度正式恢复。我们这一代人独自探索在同长辈们截然不同的人生道路上。我们没有建设过社区，甚至没有像我的舅舅一样种过一棵树。因为独生子女是一家子的唯一希望，是要受保护的。同时，我们也不再被期望留下来，反而被鼓励去大城市，去获得新身份新成就，去寻找新的价值。当我们开始难以理解为什么长辈们宁愿一直呆在小地方时，“秦岭”和“华兴”，对我们来说也不外乎就是两个地方的两个名字而已了。

The children’s trampoline, where we played twenty years, ago is still open for children. 儿童蹦蹦床，二十年前就在玩，现在还开放给孩子们. Photo: Yueyang Yu
The “best-ever elephant” slide for local children. 大象滑梯，同样有超过二十年的历史. Photo: Yueyang Yu

Education is largely responsible for the shift. On the one hand, the information we receive through school education, from kindergarten, primary, to middle school, is often about how much better it is in the new, bigger outside world; on the other, the education itself also gets tougher as we grow up. We are thus strongly motivated by the contrast to “finish and harvest”, which is the success in college entrance examination.

与此同时，教育也起着关键的影响。一方面，我们通过幼儿园、小学和中学教育获得的信息不外乎都是关于“外面更大的新世界有多好”；另一方面，越长越大，教育本身也越来越艰苦。于是在这样的反差下，我们拼命地想“结束并丰收”，就是在高考中获得成功——离开艰苦的教育，前往美好的新世界。

Besides, as we value the individual benefits of modern education so much, we can’t help but blame our small-town origins for placing us on the downside of an unbalanced distribution of education resources too. Therefore, the contrast again undermines the positive aspects of the place and even disturbs its interpretation. The relatively unsatisfactory local conditions, once compared with cities, would be ever more obvious signs of backwardness and poverty to us. And an increasing number of migrants from rural areas are also perceived to be lowering our community quality. When such uncomfortable thoughts finally arrive at an intention of abandoning Qinling/Huaxing, making it even more real, our original care and love for the place seems worthless, and even the strong part of sense of place turns to a sense of shame. “This place is good for nothing. When will I be rid of this small poor place?”

除此之外，坚定的“知识改变命运”信仰也让我们没办法不去埋怨我们小地方的教育资源弱势，甚至把“小地方”视为绊脚石。尤其和城市一对比，“小地方”看起来就更不怎么样了。同时，随着更多农村人口的迁入，社区质量也被认为降低了。消极的感受日积月累，直到立志要抛弃“秦岭”和“华兴”，“小地方”消极的一面也更加真实了。以往对家的关心和留恋变得没用，甚至地方感越强，羞愧感也越强，因为这都成了“没出息”的表现。“这个小地方没出路的！我什么时候能摆脱这里呢？”

Trash in the old residential area, where the poorest people of the town now live. 老街坊的垃圾堆，老街坊成了当地大多数经济困难人口的居住地.  Photo: Yueyang Yu

I can’t say our sense of place is broken, or gone, or wrong, or whatever, but indeed the sense of place crisis is felt here. No one is making a voice for the place, so there is no one listening.

是我们的地方感是破碎了？消失了？失常了？还是怎么了呢？不过在这里，你能确实感受到一股“地方感危机”。没有人在为这里发声，也因此没有人在听。

What if there were a reminder for local people, or a place to record memories and history, a platform to rediscover something about the place they live? Would it be an opportunity to increase people’s positive sense of the place? Thanks to my experience with Cornell University’s online Urban Environmental Education course, I learned of some promising approaches to address the crisis, such as digital story-telling and place-based education.

如果能给当地人一个提醒，或者能记录起这里的记忆和历史……如果能有这样一个平台能帮助他们重新发现这里，那会怎么样呢？或许会是一个机会能让大家正视“小地方”的积极面？或许能拯救“地方感”？还是通过康奈尔大学的《城市环境教育》在线课程，我学到了一些有望缓解危机的方法，比如数字传媒和在地教育。

Action for our sense of place!

为我们的地方感行动！

The logo card of Legends of Sevenli. 七里传说名片. Photo: Yueyang Yu
Landmarks blogging column showing local tales about important local spots. 七里地标栏目记录七里镇重要地点的故事. Photo: Yueyang Yu

I still remember that last summer when I brought home the questions about my sense of place, how the familiar landscape suddenly appeared so different before my eyes. I even felt myself energized to learn more about my place for the first time. I started to care about questions like what it was like before and why it had changed. I became curious about how the town was built half a century ago and felt proud of it for the first time. I also felt happy when I discovered that I felt angry to find that the land had not been well cared for, because I believed this was how my sense of place should work. Besides, the idea of having a sense of place has given me an adult perspective on my hometown: “What can I do for it, even if I will not live here for long, but I am still part of it, forever?”

依旧记得上个夏天，我首次带着对地方感的思考回到家乡，竟发现以往熟悉的景象忽然变得如此与众不同，那是一种被激发的感觉，是我第一次想要去好好了解一下这个地方。我开始好奇这里那里变化以前的模样，以及为什么变化。我渴望了解这半个世纪的社区建设史，也是第一次为这里感到骄傲。我也欣喜地发现，自己因为这里那里没有被照料好而感到空前的愤怒。这才是好好表达自己地方感的样子啊！除此之外，地方感也启发了我更成熟地看待自己与家乡的关系—“我能为它做什么呢？即使我将不会在这里住很久了，但我仍然是它的一部分，永远啊？”

Cuisines blogging column showing good foods and happy memories. 七里佳肴栏目讲述七里镇的美食记忆. Photo: Yueyang Yu
Old Home blogging column showing old life stories in a specific area. 七里老家栏目讲述在七里镇老街坊的生活故事. Photo: Yueyang Yu
Childhood blogging column showing memories of our early life in the town. 七里童话栏目讲述在七里镇的童年记忆. Photo: Yueyang Yu

This winter holiday, I initiated with some friends I grew up with, a local program called Legends of Sevenli (i.e., Qili). We created a WeChat public account (a popular blogging and social media platform in China) to record the beautiful parts of our sense of place, and to inspire such a sense in other local people. During the whole month of the winter holiday, we posted about 20 place-based articles to four special columns—Old Home, Landmarks, Childhood, and Cuisines. Old Home collects pieces of story cards from local people related to their old life in a certain area. Landmarks provides local tales about important local spots, such as statues. Childhood gathers memories of our early life in the town, happy or unhappy, excited or upset. Cuisines “re-cooks” those tasty foods, bringing readers back to good times in the town. Happily, some of the articles were very popular among local people, receiving a thousand hits, and were even subscribed to by local newspapers.

于是，这个寒假我和我的朋友们在家乡发起了一个名为‘七里传说’的项目，通过微信公众平台记录地方感之美，期以引起更多当地人共鸣。在寒假的一整个月中，我们创作了约二十篇和地方相关的文章，并分了四个栏目，即七里老家、七里地标、七里童话和七里佳肴。七里老家希望能收集当地人过去在老街坊生活的故事片段；七里地标讲述当地重要地点的故事，比如雕塑和老建筑；七里童话记录在七里镇童年的喜怒哀乐；七里佳肴从地方美食的角度回忆地方故事。令人欣喜的是，一些文章很受欢迎，获得了上千的阅读量；有的甚至还刊登在了地方报纸上。

A comment made by my grandfather’s friend regarding an article on old 10th Street, very beautifully describing the summer and fall of the street fifty years ago. 姥爷的朋友在一篇讲述十街老街坊的文章下评论，怀念了五十年前那里的春夏之美. Photo: Yueyang Yu

My friends and I also successfully organized a three-day story map activity with local children and teenagers. Even though only a few joined in, we were happy because we were doing something for local people. Two teams collaborated to draw one map of an old residential area and collected stories for the map using self-reflection and interviews. As university students, we also taught the children what we have learned, such as how to draw a professional map, and how to interview family members and strangers.

我和我的朋友们也成功组织了一次为期三天的故事地图活动，面向七里镇的少年儿童。即使坚持参与到最后的孩子不多，但我们还是为我们的行动骄傲，至今还在回味那段令人激动的经历。第三天，两支队伍合作完成了十街老街坊地图的绘制，并通过反省和采访的方式收集了十几个小故事。而在之前，我们几个大学生也将我们在大学学到的教给了参与的小伙伴们，比如如何绘制专业的地图，如何采访家人和陌生人等。

At last, it became obvious that the organizers, once so determined to abandon the place, had rediscovered its beauty and began reconstructing a new sense of place, and are now ready to take more efforts to improve their hometown too.

我们这些组织者们也格外感受到了家乡的另外一面，好像重新发现了它的美和精贵，有了一种新的地方感，也期待着为家乡做出更多努力。

Story map activity. 故事地图活动. Photo: Yueyang Yu
Story map activity. 故事地图活动. Photo: Yueyang Yu

Program sustainability?

项目的可持续性？

However, the winter holiday was short, so the aforementioned is all we have done so far. Since returning to our schools for the new semester, it has been not easy for our group to meet again for new activities and articles. The public account of Legends of Sevenli has already been quiet for three months. We invited a middle school teacher to join us as local facilitator, to help collect articles from other teachers and students to keep the public account alive. Unfortunately he was unable to participate because of an unpredictable work load in the new semester. So, it comes to the question of program sustainability. How do we make the program sustainable? Or, is program sustainability even necessary?

然而寒假苦短，也只能就此作罢。开学返校后，我们组织者的几个人见个面或者再商量个事儿都很困难，七里传说的公众号也不得不寂静了三个月多。我们曾邀请了一名当地的中学老师作为“七里传说”的地方联络人，协助从师生收集文章，以充实公众号内容。不过因为新学期中高考的工作压力，他也不得不婉拒了我们。所以问题来了，我们该如何让这个项目可持续呢？或者这个项目本身的可持续性是否必要呢？

We have had serious discussions about our individual time commitments, needs and career demands with regard to finding ways to sustain the program. Unfortunately, there is very little agreement among us, because none of us are in a position to take on the level of entrepreneurship a sustainable program requires. We don’t want to give up on the important idea that originally generated this project; reinforcing our sense of place. It is a worthy goal to continue to strive for; but continuing the program requires a creative spark that needs to be renewed.

我们曾严肃讨论了这个问题，包括我们的个人时间、需求、发展与项目的关系，以寻求持续下去的可能性，不过始终没达成持续下去的最终决定，因为我们之间没有一个人有想过或者准备好为了持续项目而创业。虽然我们并不愿意放弃衍生出这个项目的初衷—“拯救地方感”，但持续下去这个项目或许还需要更多火花。

However, we are all very sure that our program has had an impact, and that it will serve as a reminder to us and others about appreciating where we come from, and the importance of a sense place. We hope that someday organizations or institutions will create opportunities to support teams of students or concerned citizens like us to take meaningful actions back home to help nurture an appreciation for local history and foster a sense of place. After all, home is always the best place to “act locally, think globally”; it is the origin of our sense of place.

我们将项目产出作为网络图文都保存了下来，提醒着更多人去正视自己的地方感，感激自己的家乡。我们也希望能有组织机构能支持我们以及做着类似事情的其他队伍，即使是一年一次的短期项目也好，为了家乡的历史和我们的地方感，每一次行动都会有意义深远的影响。毕竟，家乡永远是“全球视野，地方行动”的最佳起点；家乡也是我们地方感的根源。

Today though, if there is any chance to tell others our story, we will take it; any chance we can continue the program, we will take it; any chance we meet others with similar ideas in mind, we will help them! Beyond continuing our program, sharing the message of the importance of creating a sense of place is the ultimate sustainability of the cause for the benefit of many others. Isn’t that exciting?

如今我们也约定，一旦有机会向其他人讲述我们的故事，我们就上；一旦有机会能持续我们的项目，我们就上；一旦有类似打算的人需要打气助力，我们就上！不再局限于仅仅持续我们的项目，因为能力所能及地传达地方感的重要性才是有利于更多人的终极“可持续性”；而我们正处于其中，不亦乐乎？

Yueyang Yu / 于悦洋， 
Beijing / 北京

With editorial support by Marianne Krasny
Ithaca / 伊萨卡

On The Nature of Cities

Marianne Krasny

About the Writer:
Marianne Krasny

Marianne Krasny is professor in the Department of Natural Resources and Director of the Civic Ecology Lab at Cornell University, and leader of EPA’s national environmental education training program (“EECapacity”).

Scentimental Associations with Nature: Odor-Associative Learning and Biophilic Design

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When you walk outside after a summer rainstorm, you know it when it hits you: that distinctly earthy, musty, yet crisp scent that flows with optimism and a desire to be in nature as you take a long, deep breath. It is the smell of rain, known as petrichor, and it is released as raindrops hit the ground, spreading odor molecules from the soil into the air.

Olfactory stimuli, with their unique chemical properties and ability to evoke powerful emotional responses, can be implemented in biophilic designs.

Biophilia, humanity’s innate biological connection with nature, is utilized in biophilic design, which incorporates nature into the built environment to improve our health and wellbeing. Specifically, a Non-Visual Connection with Nature (Pattern 2 of the 14 Patterns of Biophilic Design) provides an exciting opportunity for design to further enhance our perception of a space. Biophilic odors, or olfactory sensory stimuli that reflect nature, have physiological effects (e.g., arousal and improved immune function), as well as profound associations with memory and emotion, impacting both the body and mind.

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The wet ground releases the earthy odor of petrichor along with geosmin, which is produced by bacteria in the soil. Scents like this can cue quick and powerful memories, emotions, and physiological responses. Image copyright Noirhomme/Flickr.

Odor-associative learning

Olfaction, or the sense of smell, was the first sense to evolve in animal cells and arose as a way to recognize and respond to chemicals in the environment [1]. The human threshold for sensing some odors is impressively low—the earthy scent of geosmin (the compound that assists the release of petrichor) can be detected at concentrations under ten parts per trillion [2]—and the estimated number of odors that humans can detect ranges from a conservative 5,000 [3] to 1 trillion [4]. Odors are processed very quickly by the human body compared to other stimuli; odorous molecules bind to olfactory receptors in the lining of the nose and send signals through the olfactory nerve directly to the limbic system, the network in the brain responsible for emotion and memory [1].

This intimate anatomical connection between stimulus and response makes olfaction a powerful mnemonic trigger, playing an important role in human cognition, behavior, and memory [5]. In odor-associative learning, an olfactory stimulus becomes linked to an emotion, memory, behavior, or physiological response through experience [1]. That is why smelling bacon may make your mouth water or why the scent of charcoal may remind you of a summer camp cookout. A body of research indicates that most responses to odors (Table 1) are due to associative learning and have measurable effects on cognitive performance, stress, and mood.

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Table 1. Exposure to natural scents has been observed to have psychophysiological effects. When designing for an olfactory experience, desired responses and odor concentrations should be considered in the context of users, settings, and time of day.

According to a study by Glass et al., odors associated with nature (e.g., summer air) have been shown to evoke positive responses, while those associated with urban environments (e.g., disinfectants) evoked negative responses [6]. For example, the scent of summer air not only improved mood, but also was identified by study participants to be associated with meadows, grass clippings, and tomatoes. Odor preference was also linked with physical response, which was largely due to associative memory. Studies on Shinrin-yoku, or Japanese forest bathing, present evidence of the physiological benefits (e.g., lower cortisol concentrations, pulse rate, blood pressure) of spending time in wooded areas compared to urban areas [7, 8]. Other opportunities exist in the scope of non-plant-based natural scents such as seawater or clay.

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Many plants emit odorous essential oils, which can elicit responses when detected: alertness with peppermint (left) and relaxation with lavender (middle). The practice of Shinrin-yoku involves refreshing walks through wooded areas (right), where tree oils called phytoncides can be inhaled and improve immune function [9]. Left image copyright Tonomura/Flickr; middle image copyright Kramer/Flickr; right image copyright Raybourne/Flickr.
Better input, better output

Designing for positive psychophysiological responses to natural scents can improve occupant health, productivity, and performance, translating to economic savings and enhanced well-being. In The Economics of Biophilia, Terrapin Bright Green explains that much of an office’s cost is devoted to salary and benefits, so employee health is a smart investment. The main factors of productivity loss in the workplace (e.g., poor focus, negative mood) may be lessened with proper implementation of olfactory stimuli such as using peppermint to improve focus and performance [10]. Similarly, an improved learning experience in schools may be achieved with odors like rosemary, to enhance alertness and cognitive performance [11, 12]. In high-traffic open settings like offices and schools, generally pleasant odors in low concentrations may be most effective in improving well-being for the most people.

Healthcare facilities such as hospitals or dentist offices can encourage more comfortable experiences by incorporating odors such as lavender to alleviate anxiety, reduce agitation in patients with severe dementia, or lessen the demand for postoperative painkillers [13, 14, 15]. These environments, with a relatively high amount of control over localized air quality, may cater odors to personal preferences or associations, creating a more effective healing space. Faster recovery times mean happier patients and reduced costs.

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Different strategies are appropriate for different spaces. An office (left) with an open floor plan may serve its employees and clients best by using odors that have universally or culturally positive associations. Private spaces, such as hospital rooms (right), may have more control over local odor, allowing for personal preferences. Left image copyright Bilyana Dimitrova for COOKFOX Architects; right image courtesy of Bill Browning.

Design strategies

As forms of both Nature in the Space and Natural Analogues, olfactory stimuli may be incorporated into design in several ways to support a biophilic experience:

  1. Odorous building materials such as cedarwood can be used to integrate olfactory stimuli directly into the exposed structure or finishes of the space, contributing to its ambient scent.
  2. Mechanical systems may be programmed to appropriately administer odors via airflow to specific areas at specific times.
  3. Vegetated areas such as herb gardens, window boxes, water features, and plant-lined walkways enhance spaces by designing around the source of the odor and providing access to physical interactions with nature.

Design should consider the use of odor as one of many strategies to be integrated into the ecological, utilitarian, and experiential context of a space. A multi-sensory experience amplifies the benefits of a scent and connects it with other patterns of biophilic design. The olfactory experience may be enhanced by Visual Connection with Nature, which gives context to odor; Thermal & Airflow Variability, which distributes odor throughout space; and Presence of Water and Material Connection with Nature, which each contribute to ambient odor. Olfactory stimuli may also contribute to Non-Rhythmic Sensory Stimuli with stochastic exposure to natural scents and to Mystery, which has conventionally been reserved for the visual experience, by attracting individuals using far-reaching scents. The interplay of multiple senses is essential in designing for people with limited vision or mobility, an idea realized by the Universal Design movement.

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The Fragrance Garden of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden creates a multi-sensory experience—designed for the sight-impaired and wheelchair-bound—by providing olfactory, visual, haptic, and auditory stimuli that emanate from plants (e.g., mint and geranium) and the wildlife they attract. Image copyright Daderot/Wikimedia Commons.

“Every touching experience of architecture is multi-sensory; qualities of space, matter and scale are measured equally by the eye, ear, nose, skin, tongue, skeleton, and muscle. Architecture strengthens the existential experience, one’s sense of being in the world.”

— Juhani Pallasmaa

Implementation opportunities

Olfactory stimuli, with their unique chemical properties and ability to evoke powerful emotional responses, provide challenges and thus opportunities during design implementation. Thoughtful design choices can create a supportive user experience by engaging these aspects of human nature:

  1. Subjective associations. Variation exists in responses to odors within and across groups of people. Some scents (e.g., vanilla, decomposition) elicit universal positive or negative responses that may be hardwired into our brains. Others vary across cultures (e.g., wintergreen is associated with candy in the U.S., but with medicine in the U.K.) with different histories, foods, and ecologies [16, 1]. In addition, subjectivity in personal associations of odors with individual life experiences is exceptionally important; an odor may elicit drastically different responses in different people. Scents with unique personal meaning may evoke positive responses or they may be distracting. Designers should take care to be familiar with their clients’ needs in order to make effective use of odor responses.
  2. Establishment and flexibility of associations. Most emotional, behavioral, and mnemonic associations are established when an odor is first encountered, which usually happens early in life [1]. Designing for these associations—often shared among people (e.g., preference for vanilla)—may be more effective than attempting to create new ones, which may turn out to be negative. Designers should also note the opportunity of improving existing associations with odors and, consequently, a space.
  3. Allergies and ability. Sensitivities to odors and allergens, as well as varying abilities to detect scents, are factors that should be considered for proper implementation. Possible strategies include using hypoallergenic scents (i.e., natural essential oils rather than synthetic fragrances), controlled concentrations, or containment to personal spaces. Further research on odor thresholds, conscious odor perception, and ability to focus on multiple odors will create more design opportunities.
  4. Habituation. Over time, the novelty and emotional response to familiar odors diminish (e.g., eventual numbness to the scent of your own cologne), defaulting to general physiological and preference-related responses [1]. Intensity, persistence, and duration of exposure needed for response vary among odors. Strategic design can help prevent a scent from fading into the background by providing access to physical interaction with its source or by releasing a scent stochastically.
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As with any effective biophilic design, olfactory stimuli should reflect local ecology, borrowing from fragrant plants and materials endemic to the area, such as red hyssop (left) from the West, lemonade berry (middle) from southern California, and red cedar (right) from the eastern United States. Left image copyright proteinbiochemist/Flickr; middle image copyright Gaither/Flickr; right image copyright plantsforpermaculture/Flickr.

Looking forward

As a Non-Visual Connection with Nature, the olfactory experience is often overlooked in the built environment, yet it has a profound impact on the perception of our surroundings. With such potent associated memories, emotions, and physical reactions, odors open new doors for biophilic design. While ongoing research will explain the unknowns of perception and the human experience, it will ultimately be up to designers and planners to make use of these insights and create supportive environments that better connect us to nature.

Sam Gochman
New York City

On The Nature of Cities

This essay is posted with permission from Terrapin Bright Green and originally appeared on http://www.terrapinbrightgreen.com/blog/ on May 9, 2016.

*Feature and header image copyright Barklay/Flickr.

References

  1. Herz, R. (2002). Influence of odors on mood and affective cognition. In C. Rouby, B. Schaal, M. Georgescu, & C. Perederco (Eds.), Olfaction, taste, and cognition (160-177). Cambridge University Press.
  2. Jiang, J., He, X., & Cane, D. E. (2007). Biosynthesis of the earthy odorant geosmin by a bifunctional Streptomyces coelicolor enzyme. Nature chemical biology, 3(11), 711-715.
  3. Gerkin, R. C., & Castro, J. B. (2015). The number of olfactory stimuli that humans can discriminate is still unknown. Elife, 4, e08127.
  4. Bushdid, C., Magnasco, M. O., Vosshall, L. B., & Keller, A. (2014). Humans can discriminate more than 1 trillion olfactory stimuli. Science, 343(6177), 1370-1372.
  5. Willander, J., & Larsson, M. (2007). Olfaction and emotion: The case of autobiographical memory. Memory & cognition, 35(7), 1659-1663.
  6. Glass, S. T., Lingg, E., & Heuberger, E. (2014). Do ambient urban odors evoke basic emotions? Applied Olfactory Cognition, 158.
  7. Park, B. J., Tsunetsugu, Y., Kasetani, T., Kagawa, T., & Miyazaki, Y. (2010). The physiological effects of Shinrin-yoku (taking in the forest atmosphere or forest bathing): evidence from field experiments in 24 forests across Japan. Environmental health and preventive medicine, 15(1), 18-26.
  8. Tsunetsugu, Y., Park, B. J., & Miyazaki, Y. (2010). Trends in research related to “Shinrin-yoku”(taking in the forest atmosphere or forest bathing) in Japan. Environmental health and preventive medicine, 15(1), 27-37.
  9. Li, Q., Kobayashi, M., Wakayama, Y., Inagaki, H., Katsumata, M., Hirata, Y., … & Ohira, T. (2009). Effect of phytoncide from trees on human natural killer cell function. International journal of immunopathology and pharmacology, 22(4), 951-959.
  10. Barker, S., Grayhem, P., Koon, J., Perkins, J., Whalen, A., & Raudenbush, B. (2003). Improved performance on clerical tasks associated with administration of peppermint odor. Perceptual and Motor Skills, 97(3), 1007-1010.
  11. Sayorwan, W., Ruangrungsi, N., Piriyapunyporn, T., Hongratanaworakit, T., Kotchabhakdi, N., & Siripornpanich, V. (2013). Effects of inhaled rosemary oil on subjective feelings and activities of the nervous system. Scientia pharmaceutica, 81(2), 531.
  12. Moss, M., & Oliver, L. (2012). Plasma 1, 8-cineole correlates with cognitive performance following exposure to rosemary essential oil aroma. Therapeutic advances in psychopharmacology, 2(3), 103-113.
  13. Lehrner, J., Marwinski, G., Lehr, S., Johren, P., & Deecke, L. (2005). Ambient odors of orange and lavender reduce anxiety and improve mood in a dental office. Physiology & Behavior, 86(1), 92-95.
  14. Perry, N., & Perry, E. (2006). Aromatherapy in the management of psychiatric disorders. CNS drugs, 20(4), 257-280.
  15. Kim, J. T., Ren, C. J., Fielding, G. A., Pitti, A., Kasumi, T., Wajda, M., … & Bekker, A. (2007). Treatment with lavender aromatherapy in the post-anesthesia care unit reduces opioid requirements of morbidly obese patients undergoing laparoscopic adjustable gastric banding. Obesity surgery, 17(7), 920-925.
  16. Candau, J. (2004). The olfactory experience: constants and cultural variables. Water Science & Technology, 49(9), 11-17.

Table 1 References

Sakamoto, R., Minoura, K., Usui, A., Ishizuka, Y., & Kanba, S. (2005). Effectiveness of aroma on work efficiency: lavender aroma during recesses prevents deterioration of work performance. Chemical senses, 30(8), 683-691.

Diego, M. A., Jones, N. A., Field, T., Hernandez-Reif, M., Schanberg, S., Kuhn, C., … & Galamaga, R. (1998). Aromatherapy positively affects mood, EEG patterns of alertness and math computations. International Journal of Neuroscience, 96(3-4), 217-224.

Toda, M., & Morimoto, K. (2008). Effect of lavender aroma on salivary endocrinological stress markers. Archives of oral biology, 53(10), 964-968.

Warm, J. S., Dember, W. N., & Parasuraman, R. (1991). Effects of olfactory stimulation on performance and stress. J. Soc. Cosmet. Chem, 42, 199-210.

Moss, M., Hewitt, S., Moss, L., & Wesnes, K. (2008). Modulation of cognitive performance and mood by aromas of peppermint and ylang-ylang.International Journal of Neuroscience, 118(1), 59-77.

Toda, M., & Morimoto, K. (2011). Evaluation of effects of lavender and peppermint aromatherapy using sensitive salivary endocrinological stress markers. Stress and Health, 27(5), 430-435.

Moss, M., Cook, J., Wesnes, K., & Duckett, P. (2003). Aromas of rosemary and lavender essential oils differentially affect cognition and mood in healthy adults. International Journal of Neuroscience, 113(1), 15-38.

Akpinar, B. (2005). The effects of olfactory stimuli on scholastic performance. The Irish Journal of Education/Iris Eireannach an Oideachais, 86-90.

Matsumoto, T., Asakura, H., & Hayashi, T. (2014). Effects of olfactory stimulation from the fragrance of the Japanese citrus fruit yuzu (Citrus junos Sieb. ex Tanaka) on mood states and salivary chromogranin A as an endocrinologic stress marker. The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 20(6), 500-506.

Goes, T. C., Antunes, F. D., Alves, P. B., & Teixeira-Silva, F. (2012). Effect of sweet orange aroma on experimental anxiety in humans. The Journal of Alternative and Complementary Medicine, 18(8), 798-804.

Warrenburg, S. (2005). Effects of fragrance on emotions: moods and physiology. Chemical Senses, 30(suppl 1), i248-i249.

Chen, C. J., Kumar, K. J., Chen, Y. T., Tsao, N. W., Chien, S. C., Chang, S. T., … & Wang, S. Y. (2015). Effect of Hinoki and Meniki Essential Oils on Human Autonomic Nervous System Activity and Mood States. Natural product communications, 10(7), 1305-1308.

Ikei, H., Song, C., & Miyazaki, Y. (2015). Physiological effect of olfactory stimulation by Hinoki cypress (Chamaecyparis obtusa) leaf oil. Journal of physiological anthropology, 34(1), 1.

School Partnerships are Key to Vibrant and Sustainable Cities

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Urban schools—any public, private, or charter schools delivering formal primary or secondary education—are key institutions in the shaping of vibrant and sustainable cities. Imagining such cities depends on the assumptions and ideologies of those involved in the transformation of urban sites, and moving beyond perceiving urban schools as problematic institutions (Pink and Noblit, 2007).

Urban schools can use local environments to serve as stimulus, context, and content for teaching and learning about sustainability.
Globally, a steady process of urbanization results from migration from rural and conflict areas. This trend points to the urgent need to develop programs—including environmental education—that target schools as pivotal in serving diverse, translocated, and often marginalized students. Such urban environmental education can also empower those who live in challenging circumstances to work together to improve social-ecological well-being, and foster “citizens that are informed and motivated to live more sustainably, be responsible stewards of the environment, and help ensure future generations’ quality of life” (Alberta Council for Environmental Education, 2015).

To see more chapters from the book, click here.
A variety of programs that encourage student engagement in environmental initiatives have supported schools worldwide. Two foremost international initiatives are the Eco-Schools Program established in Europe in 1992, and the Green Schools Alliance introduced in the U.S. in 2007. They provide environmental education programs, environmental management systems for school facilities and grounds, and award schemes that promote and acknowledge actions for the environment and transitioning towards sustainability. Further, United Nations Agenda 21 acknowledges local jurisdictions as being best positioned to tailor programs to the individual needs of schools and communities.

In this chapter we build on the definition of urban environmental education as “any environmental education that occurs in cities” (Russ and Krasny, 2015, p. 12) by acknowledging the importance of overarching curricular goals set by formal educational institutions. The following sections present “socioecological refrains” adapted from Knowlton Cockett (2013), which incorporate stewardship, pedagogy, interrelationships, and heritage, and highlight the role schools can play in shaping sustainable cities through urban environmental education. These refrains promote a connectedness to place through: (1) the use of the local environment to stimulate learning, (2) the development of curricula and pedagogies that embrace the development of sustainable cities, and (3) the establishment of links with the community to foster relationships, stewardship, and resiliency. Case studies from Canada, Australia, China, and Spain illustrate these refrains, as well as show how schools are engaged more broadly in Green School initiatives.

Local environments as stimulus, context, and content

Creating learning environments where students can develop as citizens with pronounced understandings of sustainability is a major educational challenge. While much emphasis has been placed on incorporating sustainability into formal schooling, recent scholarship shows that significant sustainability learning can happen beyond the four corners of the classroom (Knowlton Cockett, 2013; Russ and Krasny, 2015; Tidball and Krasny, 2010). Urban contexts that can be used to deliver urban environmental education typically include nature centers, parks, community gardens, resource recovery centers, and landfills. Extending to other vital urban settings such as hospitals, jails, shelters, government housing, immigrant organizations, businesses, and women’s and seniors’ centers provides meaningful opportunities for schools to form partnerships aimed at integrated urban sustainability education. Such partnerships can stimulate learners in schools to understand environmental, political, social, cultural, and economic dynamics of systems.

Through such partnerships, urban environmental education presents concrete social-ecological issues that develop student problem-solving skills, and recognizes urban communities as powerful landscapes to guide learners’ understandings, confidence, and competence in relation to sustainability. In our case studies, we present examples of students working with park managers, landscape architects, and naturalists to understand the management of invasive species to support native biodiversity. Other examples involve partnering with scientific organizations in a constructed wetland on a former coal mine site, and studying water issues in municipal river systems. We also present a case in which a network of schools works with city administrators and universities to develop food systems and seed banks, and to expand agroecology into urban settings. In each case, urban students are working within their local social-ecological contexts.

Curriculum and pedagogy oriented towards sustainable cities

The presence of sustainability and environmental education in the curriculum varies dramatically around the world: in some countries, sustainability or environment is a stand-alone curriculum; in other countries, it features as a cross-curricular interdisciplinary area; in yet other countries, there is a notable silence in relation to sustainability (Dyment, Hill and Emery, 2014). Irrespective of curricular mandates, teachers can identify urban environments as sites for learning involving hands-on or embodied interactions within a particular place. These experiences are often framed by inquiry-based learning that positions students as investigators, designers, scientists, and gardeners (Stine, 1997).

School curricula and teacher pedagogies both limit and enable what is possible through urban environmental education.

Teacher understanding of pedagogies that support learning outside the classroom is a vital factor in enabling children to use urban spaces to learn about sustainability (Skamp, 2007). Teaching in urban landscapes requires new and different pedagogies involving letting go of some control and structure afforded by inside spaces, and allowing for risk-taking with students. Luckily, potential Green School activities abound. Students might utilize mathematical concepts such as perimeter or area to determine the capacity of a rooftop to harvest water into tanks. Outdoor sites such as community gardens may provide inspiration for personal writing, artwork, or science activities. In these contexts student learning is focused towards specific features of the urban environment and may be guided by the curriculum or the teacher, or emerge organically from the place itself.

Establishing community links to foster relationships and stewardship

School Agenda 21 and Green Schools programs seek to promote socially and environmentally sustainable schools and municipalities by helping urban schools collaborate with their communities. Despite these mainstreaming efforts, some urban schools experience challenges emerging from the collaboration (Sandäs, 2014). School Community Collaboration for Sustainable Development, a European Union-funded, multilateral network supported by the Environment and School Initiatives network, conducted an international, comparative, cross-case study (Espinet, 2014) to investigate challenges that schools face, such as funding, effective networking, cultural background, and political orientation.

To promote sustainability, schools can adopt unconventional approaches to teaching and learning that invite community actors to cross boundaries and establish vital relationships with other actors and with their place (Wals, van der Hoeven and Blanken, 2009). For example, in our case studies from China and Canada, students are communicating their learning back to the public via websites and interpretive signage. In our case studies from Australia and Spain, several nearby schools developed networks to obtain shared funding, or to have older students mentor younger students, in each case working with community partners toward a common goal.

Four case studies

 Natureground and Whispering Signs in Calgary, Alberta, Canada

The Centennial Natureground, situated on the grounds of an urban Kindergarten to Grade 6 school in Calgary, Canada, is a publicly accessible, reclaimed, and reconstructed sustainable mini-ecosystem, featuring native plants. The plants have been rescued and transplanted from natural areas undergoing urban development, and directly sowed from native seeds or planted as seedlings for the purposes of holistic education and enjoyment. The area, established by students and volunteers in 2004, is maintained through local stewardship—by classroom students during the academic year and community members during the summer. These stewards keep invasive species at bay, thus fostering urban biodiversity and supporting pollinators such as bees, birds, and bats. Classes regularly visit the area, for curriculum-related ecological studies and as a space to read, journal, and sketch. The Natureground also features biofiltration basins, swales, and culverts to capture rainwater and snowmelt, thus reducing and filtering stormwater runoff that would otherwise carry pollutants from paved roads straight into open waterways. 

Chapter 2 fig 1
Figure 1. Jackrabbits through the seasons in Calgary, Canada. Image: Polly L. Knowlton Cockett.

Whispering Signs is a curriculum-connected project consisting of a site-specific set of interpretive signs within the Natureground and an adjacent fragment of native shortgrass prairie. Students, teachers, parents, and community members worked together over several years to produce the original art, poetry, and text for 34 beautiful and provocative signs for school-based and public education. For example, an alphabet sign shows a common white-tailed jackrabbit changing its coat over the seasons, during a variety of weather conditions, and under different heights of the sun over the course of a year—all concepts within the school curriculum (Figure 1). Latitude, longitude, and elevation are indicated on each sign, and give rise to spatial geography lessons and orienteering activities. These signs stem from a place-based literacy project conducted in the area, where students researched, represented, and communicated information about plants, animals, and physical features of the landscape. Throughout these and other Green School projects, participants developed meaningful interrelationships, and became increasingly connected to place.

Constructed wetlands and frogs in Australia’s Latrobe Valley

An unusual urban environmental initiative is found in a surprising place in Australia—the heart of the Latrobe Valley in Gippsland, Victoria. This region supplies electricity through brown coal-fired power generation. Socially and economically disadvantaged, this area has huge open cut brown coal mines, massive power lines, transformer stations, and puffing chimneys of large and small power stations. The Valley has poor air quality and high pollution levels.

However, a local primary school began using the Morwell River Wetlands as a site for teaching and learning about the complex social, cultural, economic, and environmental aspects of this contested area (Somerville and Green, 2012). The wetlands have been constructed in the river overflow site that was relocated to make way for the coal mine, and encompass pools, banks, islands, and many creatures and plants, including frogs, trees, shrubs, and grasses.

When schools establish rich and sustaining partnerships with local communities, opportunities for urban environmental education are significantly enhanced.
The primary school has been involved in the wetland since it was constructed and students have monitored the plants and animals that have found “home” there. Shortly after the wetlands were created, three local schools applied for a science grant and received $20,000 to set up a wetland study and develop a curriculum model. The schools worked with the Amphibian Research Centre to develop the Frog Census program based on the belief that frogs are the gateway to understanding the wetlands.

The wetlands are visited regularly by all school grades, and curriculum links are made across subject areas. Younger students study life cycles of frogs, and raise tadpoles in a mini-wetland constructed on their school ground. Middle year students monitor the wetlands and older students measure water quality and identify micro- and macro-organisms. From an eyesore to a healthy ecosystem, these constructed wetlands have become enriched with educational opportunities for students.

 “Water-loving” studies on the Long River in Beijing, China

 The high school affiliated with the Beijing Institute of Technology is located on the southern bank of the Long River, which is an indispensable part of the Beijing city water system. Influenced by the Green School movement, which has been supported by the national government in China since 1996, the school has been promoting a series of local environmental education activities since 2001 (Liu and Huang, 2013). For example, in the context of general water inquiries, teachers have established “water-loving” student groups. These grade-level groups carry out many projects, such as investigating water usage in their school and households, as well as researching the watersheds surrounding their campus.

Under teachers’ guidance, members of “water-loving” groups study water issues relevant to the school and the Long River system. After preliminary investigations and analyses, students undertake Long River water surveys and launch environmental fieldwork integrating aspects of geography, biology, chemistry, and physics. As young scientists (Figure 2), the students design their research, divide their work reasonably, and rethink obstacles they encounter, while constantly discussing and revising plans with others. Teachers and students also use information technology to record and share students’ research processes and results, and use data they collect as resources in information technology courses. Then they create “water-loving” actions on a website, such as conservation measures and water quality monitoring, which provides a convenient way to locate and express their research process and results. Thus, this project-based learning provides rich information technology curriculum resources, and offers a medium of communication about project results and actions. These two stages of “Integrated Curriculum of Practical Activity” complement and promote each other.

Chapter 2 fig 2
Figure 2. Investigating the Long River in Beijing, China. Photo: Guochun Zhang.

Through these activities on the Long River, the “water-loving” theme is effectively spread and sets up a series of “water-loving” actions. The activities also have been playing an important role in motivating students to explore their academic and sustainability-related interests and laying a foundation for future inquiries. In addition, teachers update their own pedagogical understandings, thus enhancing the capacity for adapting and implementing curriculum reform.

School agroecology and community collaboration, Sant Cugat del Vallès, Catalonia, Spain

The Science Education Department at the Autonomous University of Barcelona and the Municipal Environment Department of Sant Cugat del Vallès in Catalonia, Spain collaborated for seven years to enhance the School Agenda 21 program in the city. Established in 2001, the program involved urban schools in the city’s effort to promote sustainable development, and established links between schools and the community for the development of a new field of study called School Agroecology (Llerena, 2015). The program built an urban school network involving all public urban schools from pre-K to secondary level, university researchers, local administrators, and environmental educators with the aim to empower students, teachers, and the community to develop agroecological food production and food consumption (Espinet and Llerena, 2014).

One of the collective projects was to transform school and community food gardens as places to grow endangered native plants (Figure 3). After consultation with a regional seed bank, each school chose a specific native plant to grow; students then harvested and preserved seeds, and shared seeds among different school and community actors to be grown in their own food gardens. Through a service-learning approach, secondary students visited primary students to teach seed preservation. Seed exchanges became an event where donor schools provided not only a sample of seeds, but also storytelling, drama, or visualizations about growing practices. Once schools started having seeds from several plants, they built seed banks inside their schools. In so doing, urban public schools, with the help of the community, became authentic urban agents of native plant preservation. One result of this urban environmental education project has been the creation of a new professional niche: the agro-environmental educator responsible for promoting and maintaining urban environmental education activities focused on the food system at the interface between the school and the city. 

Chapter 2 fig 3
Figure 3. Nurturing native plants in Sant Cugat del Vallès, Catalonia, Spain. Photo: Mariona Espinet and Lidia Bassons.

Conclusion 

As demonstrated by our urban case studies, ongoing Green School actions—whether learning about lifecycles, monitoring water quality, or seed harvesting—guide students understanding their environment. Within the complex networks of urban settings, students also become directly engaged in urgent and interrelated global movements, for example pertaining to food security, as well as global initiatives, such as Local Action for Biodiversity or BiodiverCities. Thus, socioecological refrains, involving place-based, curriculum-connected, community-engaged, collaborative practices, serve as effective frameworks for urban primary and secondary schools to provide students with rich, meaningful experiential learning opportunities fostering systems-thinking, stewardship, and sustainability.

Polly Knowlton Cockett, Calgary
Janet Dyment, Hobart
Mariona Espinet, Barcelona
Yu Huang, Beijing

* * * * *

This essay will appear as a chapter in Urban Environmental Education Review, edited by Alex Russ and Marianne Krasny, to be published by Cornell University Press in 2017. To see more pre-release chapters from the book, click here.

This essay also appears at the North American Association of Environmental Educators site.

References

Alberta Council for Environmental Education. (2015). Mission and vision. Canmore, Canada: ACEE.

Dyment, J.E., Hill, A., and Emery, S. (2014). Sustainability as a cross-curricular priority in the Australian curriculum: A Tasmanian investigation. Environmental Education Research, 21(8) 1105-1126.

Espinet, M., and Llerena, G. (2014). School agroecology as a motor for community and land transformation: A case study on the collaboration among community actors to promote education for sustainability networks. In Constantinou, C.P., Papadouris, N., and Hadjigeorgiou, A. (Eds.). Proceedings of the ESERA 2013 Conference: Science Education Research For Evidence-based Teaching and Coherence in Learning (p. 244-50). Nicosia, Cyprus: ESERA.

Espinet, M. (Ed.). (2014). CoDeS selected cases of school community collaboration for sustainable development. Vienna, Austria: Austrian Federal Ministry of Education and Women’s Affairs.

Knowlton Cockett, P. (2013). In situ conversation: Understanding sense of place through socioecological cartographies. Doctoral dissertation, University of Calgary, Canada.

Liu, J. and Huang, Y. (2013). Practices and inspirations on a school-based curriculum for ESD. Research on Curriculum, Textbook and Teaching Method, 33(3), 98-102. (In Chinese.)

Llerena, G. (2015). Agroecologia escolar. Doctoral dissertation, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Bellaterra, Spain.

Pink, W.T. and Noblit, G.W. (Eds.). (2007). International handbook of urban education. Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Springer.

Russ, A. and Krasny, M. (2015). Urban environmental education trends. In Russ, A. (Ed.). Urban environmental education (pp. 12-25). Ithaca, New York and Washington, DC: Cornell University Civic Ecology Lab, NAAEE and EECapacity.

Sandäs, A. (2014). Travelling through the landscape of school-community collaboration for sustainable development. In Affolter, C. and Reti, M. (Eds.). Travelling guide for school community collaboration for sustainable development. ENSI i.n.p.a:. CoDeS Network.

Skamp, K. (2007). Understanding teachers’ “levels of use” of learnscapes. Environmental Education Research, 15(1), 93-110.

Somerville, M., and Green, M. (2012). Place and sustainability literacy in schools and teacher education. Paper presented at Australian Association for Research in Education, Sydney, Australia.

Stine, S. (1997). Landscapes for learning: Creating outdoor environments for children and youth. Toronto: John Wiley & Sons.

Tidball, K.G. and Krasny, M.E. (2010). Urban environmental education from a social-ecological perspective: conceptual framework for civic ecology education. Cities and the Environment, 3(1): article 11.

Wals, A., van der Hoeven, N., and Blanken, H. (2009). The acoustics of social learning: Designing learning processes that contribute to a more sustainable world. Utrecht, The Netherlands: Wageningen Academic Publishers.

Janet Dyment

About the Writer:
Janet Dyment

Dr. Janet Dyment is a Senior Lecturer in the Faculty of Education at the University of Tasmania. She is also a trained mathematics, environmental science, and outdoor education high school teacher.

Mariona Espinet

About the Writer:
Mariona Espinet

Mariona Espinet is a Professor in the Departament de Didàctica de la Matemàtica i de les Ciències Experimentals at Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, in Catalonia, Spain.

Yu Huang

About the Writer:
Yu Huang

Yu Huang is an Associate Professor of Environmental Education, at the Institute of Comparative and International Education, Beijing Normal University, China.

Searching for Sustainable Lawns in Sweden

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Swedish lawns inspired by Swedish nature. The goal is to create biodiverse, aesthetically pleasant, and economically effective urban plant communities based on the Swedish flora. Such biodiverse lawns can return wild nature to the urban neighborhoods.
The manual Lawn Alternatives in Sweden. From Theory to Practice shared the results of the transdisciplinary project “Lawn as ecological and cultural phenomenon: Searching for sustainable lawns in Sweden” (2013-2016, funded by FORMAS) and suggested practical implementation—guidelines for possible alternatives to existing contemporary lawns in Sweden. This essay excerpts some of the ideas in the manual.

Why should we care what is underfoot?

Most people associate lawns with everyday urban life. A green carpet is considered a compulsory element of all green areas. Lawns look very similar and can be found in all climatic zones. We think we know all about lawns, but in reality, studies on this subject are sporadic. The majority of the world’s literature mostly concerns creating a perfect lawn. However, there is a growing interest in lawn as a global urban ecology phenomenon.

The first surprise while writing our manual was the lack of a decent definition of lawn. We need to fill this gap and define what is a lawn. We strongly emphasized its man-made nature, the dominance of certain selected grasses, the importance of management regimes and its role in fulfilling different human functions.

The LAWN project

Our manual can be seen as a classical example of applying results of a scientific project into landscape architecture practice. The LAWN project ran for several years and used a whole range of quantitative and qualitative methods. We used a transdisciplinary and a multiscale approach: from the large scale (estimating the total coverage of lawn as a land use type) through the medium neighbourhood level (providing typology, coverage of lawns, their functions, values and use in parks or backyards) to the fine level of the lawn itself, with emphasis on biotope characteristics such as biodiversity and carbon sequestration. We aimed to represent the geographical varieties in our case studies,  researching lawns in Uppsala (upland of Sweden), Göteborg (west part), Malmö (south part), People’s Home (Folkhem), and Million Programme typologies due to their domination in Swedish settlements. These housing types reflect a particularly Swedish style of development after the Second World War, allowing for the creation of the Swedish societal model emphasizing equality and public access.

Within each city, two types of lawns were identified for study: conventional lawns, and meadow-like lawns in multi-family residential housing areas (Figure 1). Golf courses were also included because of their very intensive use of resources. In the era of unification of urban environments, we definitely need to look at aspects of biodiversity (species diversity and composition of higher vascular plants, bees, butterflies and earthworms) and estimate environmental impacts of differently managed lawns. The interdisciplinary character of the project allowed us to model carbon sequestration and the balance between sequestration and emission of greenhouse gases (GHG). The energy use and emissions of GHG were assessed in a lifecycle perspective.

The results of our projects show that lawns have really conquered Sweden in the last 50 years and cover an area as big as Lake Mälaren (the third-largest freshwater lake in Sweden), or 0.6-0.9 percent of the whole country. The good news is that lawns have a positive carbon sequestration effect. However, this is “balanced” by the intensive management (mowing, irrigation and fertilisation—mostly in golf courses), which requires fossil fuel energy and labour costs and causes greenhouse gas emissions. Mowing is the main contributor to greenhouse gas emissions from most lawns.

Figure 1. One of the case study areas of the LAWN project. Augustenborg, Malmö. Photo: M. Ignatieva

Knowing results which were received in the USA, UK, and New Zealand on the biodiversity of lawns, we were not really surprised by receiving the confirmation that conventional lawns have lower biodiversity compared to meadow like lawns.

Our social results also clearly indicate a common fact: lawns are particularly valued by urban dwellers as important places for different activities. People cannot imagine life without lawns (Figure 2).

However, people expressed concern about too many grassy areas, which are unused and look monotonous (Figure 3). People associate the modern way of life with a variety of outdoor spaces, which could provide them benefits for recreation and health. In many cases the residents and managers were quite receptive to suggested images of alternative lawns.

Figure 2. Activity on the lawn in the park in Uppsala on sunny April day. Photo: M. Ignatieva
Figure 3. Monotonous lawn in one of the neighbourhoods of Malmö. Photo: M. Ignatieva

Results of the LAWN project provided a very good understanding of the situation with lawns in Sweden, and outlined possible pathways towards alternative solutions and their realization in real life.

Figure 4. The Virgin is sitting on the bench covered by a flowery rich piece of meadow. Painting by Jan Provoost. The Virgin and Child in a Landscape. Early 16th century. National Gallery, London. Photo: M. Ignatieva

Two important sources for alternative solutions to conventional lawns were our studies related to the historical roots of lawns in Sweden and the etymological exploration of the Swedish word gräsmatta (lawn in Swedish), and related terms. Swedish lawns generally followed the European pathway of development, very similar to other countries—from small pieces of flowery rich meadows of medieval castles and monastic gardens, to grass parterres in formal Baroque gardens, to the extended grassy areas in English-type parks, to public gardens, and finally to modern urban landscapes (Figure 4). However, Sweden, due to it specific and long agricultural history of creating and using grasslands for stock grazing, has very good “prerequisites” for accepting lawns and turning this unique garden feature into a compulsory, prefabricated element of all urban green areas as a “Swedish model”. The Swedish emphasis on developing a democratic and equal society even resulted in creating a special word for lawn in the middle of the 19th century—gräsmatta.

Analysis of Swedish municipal documents resulted in identifying different types of lawns and grass-dominated areas in Swedish cities, for example, conventional lawns, parade (ornamental) lawns and meadow-like lawns (high grass and meadows). Such critical analysis helped us to understand the current trends in management and maintenance of lawns in Sweden and choose potential case studies for alternative solutions.

Conventional lawns received special attention. This type of lawn is the most common in Sweden and withstands different recreational activities. Swedish managers even asked us for special research, which could help them in their everyday practice of handling environmental (shadow or draught) and recreational pressure in damaged grassed areas.

Figure 5. Conventional lawn in Götenborg. Photo: M. Ignatieva

We conclude that today the conventional lawn practice is quite dominant, but that there is growing awareness among managers of the importance of introducing a more environmentally friendly maintenance regime and the necessity of reducing the costs of lawn maintenance. There are a small percentage of so called “high-grass lawns” or “meadow-like lawns”. Such areas are located mostly on the outskirts of neighbourhoods or public parks.

Even though the main aim of this manual is to provide a guide for creating lawn alternatives, we would like to emphasize that it is not possible, nor is it necessary to completely replace conventional lawns. By suggesting alternatives to conventional lawns, we aim to increase awareness regarding the planning and design of green spaces, and to introduce a new paradigm for creating diverse and sustainable urban environments.

Lawn alternative case studies

Figure 6. Naturalistic herbaceous planting in London’s Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. September 2017. Photo: M. Ignatieva

There are a number of lawn alternatives based on existing case studies from Europe, North America, and Sweden to be considered. English examples included creation of annual pictorial meadows (a mixture of native and exotic plants), native meadows (a perennial mix) and English naturalistic herbaceous plantings. The most famous examples of English alternative plantings can be found in London’s Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park (Figure 6).

There is also the most recent alternative lawn approach in the UK—grass-free lawns, based on perennial, low growing herbaceous plants. The most recent approach developed in Germany—“Go spontaneous”—aims at increasing urban biodiversity and design with existing natural ruderal plant communities.

The Swedish-inspired approach

The Swedish approach for alternative lawns is based on respecting the country’s rich garden and horticultural history. There is the unique Swedish company Pratensis, exclusively producing Swedish wildflower seeds, and for ten years developing experimental meadow sites. Veg Tech—another leading company in Scandinavia—specialises in growing native plants including prefabricated meadow mats.

Our vision for lawn alternatives for Sweden is inspired by Swedish nature. Our goal is to create biodiverse, aesthetically pleasant, and economically effective urban plant communities based on the Swedish flora. Such biodiverse lawns can return wild nature to the urban neighbourhoods. We recommended several types of lawn alternatives:

  • Grass-free/tapestry lawns created by sowing or pre-growing plug planting
  • Perennial meadows (created by sowing)
  • Prefabricated (ready) meadow mats

Our recommendations were based on the case studies from the Pratensis AB and our experimental plantings at SLU Ultuna Campus established in 2014-2017.

The most important conditions for establishing alternative lawns are sun-exposed sites with poor soils that drain well. Less fertile soils benefit most meadow wildflower species. Our practice clearly demonstrated that the most effective way of turning conventional lawn into meadow-like vegetation is the removal of existing turf and addition of new soil. Even this method requires a high initial financial input, but it guarantees the successful establishment of a meadow-like lawn. We provided detailed tips on sowing and planting practices. Special attention was given to maintenance tips such as mowing. For example, meadow-like lawns need mowing only once a year and tapestry lawns up to two-three times per year.

At Knowledge Park in Ultuna Campus (SLU, Uppsala) we established four types of lawn. A detailed list of plants (and planting plan), flowering calendar (what to expect from May to September), and information on establishing experience and the maintenance plan are available in the manual. Our alternative planting won the UK Green Flag Award of 2017.

Our Swedish tapestry/grass-free lawn was inspired by the European late medieval paintings and interpretation of informal ‘flowery mead’ or meadows of paradise, planted with a great variety of aromatic herbs and flowers. Our “wish list” is to enrich biodiversity and be in harmony with nature. This lawn consists of 30 herbaceous plants native to Sweden, which provide the effect of a low-growing flowering carpet that can be used for recreation and which will be cut only 2-3 times during the summer season (Figures 7 and 8).

Figure 7. Tapestry lawn in Ultuna Campus in June 2017 (one year after planting). Photo: M. Ignatieva
Figure 8. Tapestry lawn in Ultuna Campus in August 2017. Photo: M. Ignatieva

Our meadow-mat with picnic bench was made from prefabricated meadow-mat provided by Veg Tech, consisting of 16 native low-growing perennials and grasses. The popularity of such ready meadow-mats is increasing in Europe. The beauty of such mats is their durability and capacity to survive in quite harsh environments. That is why such mats can be seen today along the highways and roads.

Figure 9. Meadow-mat in Ultuna Campus. Photo: M. Ignatieva

Taking into consideration the fact that visual simulation is one of the most effective tools for municipalities and the public to accept alternative thinking, we suggest redesigning some existing neighbourhoods in Gothenburg and Malmö through establishing different types of alternative lawns even in small public courtyards. A thorough inventory and site analyses were important prerequisites of proposed design solutions. Nice pictures before and after were an effective “trick” showing how we can turn a sterile monotonous green surface into a colourful and joyful natural landscape.

This book addressed the existing situation in Sweden (absolute dominance of short cut conventional lawns) and identified a new trend of moving away from the dense grass-dominated turf model towards more naturally looking grasslands where grasses and different herbaceous plants coexist and provide a whole range of ecosystem services.

The Lawn Alternatives in Sweden manual has an extended reference list and numerous original photos providing a visual tour on how to establish alternative lawns in Sweden.

Maria Ignatieva
Perth

On The Nature of Cities

This Manual is written by Maria Ignatieva with contributions from the LAWN project team: Thomas Kätterer, Marcus Hedblom, Jörgen Wissman, Karin Ahrné, Tuula Eriksson, Fredrik Eriksson, Pernilla Tidåker, Jan Bengtsson, Per Berg, Tom Eriksson and Håkan Marstorp and help from the stakeholders: Inge and Mat Runeson (Pratensis AB), Lina Pettersson (Veg Tech) and Maria Strandberg (STERF). Design proposals were developed by the SLU Master’s students: Sara Andersson and Ulrika Bergbrant and John Lööf Green.

Secular, Sacred, and Domestic—Living with Street Trees in Bangalore

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The lives of street trees are emblematic of the multiple entanglements that characterise the nature-society dialectic animating the ever expanding urban in the global south—entanglements that knit together the past and present, the secular and sacred, and the global and local.
In rapidly growing Indian cities, change seems like the only constant. Heritage buildings are torn down, roads widened, lakes and wetlands drained, and parks erased to make way for urban growth. Nature is often the first casualty in a constant drive towards development. Yet the street tree stubbornly survives across Indian cities—beleaguered by gasoline fumes, besieged by construction, but still tenaciously gripping the sidewalk. These trees play an important role in the daily lives of Indian cities, a role that is often hidden from our awareness. They are fiercely valued and protected by urban residents, either because of their sacrality, or due to secular civic protests, or even their daily domestic value to street vendors and families alike. Yet the dystopic nature of urban growth poses a constant challenge to their presence. Where do street trees thrive, and where do they fail? In this photo-essay of Bangalore—India’s “High-Tech City” with an ecological history of human settlement that is at least 1200 years old —we examine the hidden lives of street trees.

Bangalore’s ecological history of growth can be roughly divided into three broad periods: pre-colonial (pre-1799), colonial (1799-1945), and post-colonial (after 1945). This historical signature determined the pattern of urban growth, and is still visible in the structure and species selection of trees in the 21st century city. The former British Cantonment was designed with trees forming an integral part of the colonial landscape. Large trees—Albizia saman (rain tree), Delonix regia (Gulmohar), Peltophorum pterocarpum (copper pod)—were brought in by British and German-trained horticulturalists from areas as far flung as Brazil, Madagascar, and South-east Asia.

These trees were prized according to a secular colonial aesthetic that favoured the ornamental over the fruiting, and the exotic over the native. Trees were thickly planted along streets, and in wooded campuses, but otherwise kept under strict control. Areas of the footpath were demarcated for plantation, an even spacing was maintained between trees, and the flowering colours of trees were selected in a careful mix, so that every part of the colonial city was bound to have some flowers in season at all times of the year. This colonial signature can be seen even today in the gentrified neighbourhoods near the heart of the Cantonment—in roads adjacent to Mahatma Gandhi Road, Bangalore’s premium commercial and shopping area—with wide footpaths, cordoned off from traffic.

These trees, largely exotic imports, are planted in an orderly, disciplined manner, and the trees stick to their allotted spaces, seeming to display a finely honed sense of decorum. These trees serve an important civic need. Despite the constant churn of old heritage buildings being torn down to make way for tall multi-story offices, these trees are much prized by residents and office goers, giving the colonial neighbourhood its integral character of a “Garden City”, as it is often termed.

At Mayo Hall (a heritage colonial building housing the City Civil Court), an irregular, sprawling Ficus elastica is contained within a cemented square, a bench placed neatly parallel to the square, and its hanging roots well-trimmed so as not to interfere with the asphalt. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Trees planted at pre-determined spacing, and neatly confined to defined areas on a street near Mahatma Gandhi road in the Bangalore Cantonment. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam

Yet adjacent to this ornamental aesthetic, a very different pre-colonial aesthetic emerges—that of the sacred. The Maha Muniswara temple, on the same road as the well contained street trees in Photo 2, is built around a sprawling Ficus. Unfettered, the tree controls the urban landscape, not the other way round. Despite its location in an area surrounded by trees, owing their existence to a colonial landscape ethic, the sacred tree, and its associated temple intrude on the road, asserting their right by pre-existence to appropriate urban space, and reclaim the city for their own.

The Maha Muniswara temple, built around a Ficus tree. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
The Maha Muniswara temple from above—surrounded by Ficus trees—the temple pagoda appears to be floating in a green sky. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam

In contrast to the central parts of the city Cantonment—areas of south Bangalore between the neighbourhoods of Basavanagudi and Jayanagar—display a different street tree aesthetic. These areas constitute a well-planned mix of commercial and residential neighbourhoods, distinguished from each other by the size of the roads. Designed by colonial architects, these urban plans did not just “accommodate” street trees—trees and parks were central to the design and layout of these spaces, giving them their quintessential character. For decades in this highly urban area, it was not buildings but street trees that dominated the skyline, dwarfing the shops and bungalows that lined the streets. Even now, traces of such a past can be seen on several streets.

Sprawling rain trees dwarf the skyline in a Basavanagudi shopping area. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Street trees still dominate the aerial view in many parts of southern Bangalore – although the buildings are now beginning to compete for height. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam

In other streets, single floor buildings have given way to multi-floor shops with homes above—yet the trees grow taller still.

Less gentrified than the Cantonment, these parts of the city are also commercial spaces bustling with activity, but of a different nature. For centuries, Bangalore has been known as a city of coconuts. Coconut trees can still be seen across the city, and are needed for everyday cooking. Tender coconut water is sold across Bangalore in the hot season, believed to be good for cooling the body and preventing heat strokes in the soaring summer sun. These fruits spoil when left out in the sun for too long. Coconut vendors nearly always seek out a convenient street tree to shade their produce. So do vegetable and fruit sellers, when they can. Fortunately these older parts of the city retain their tree cover, and permit seller and buyer alike to benefit from the shade that these large trees provide, especially during the scorching mid-day sun. Attempts have been made to regulate these trees, as in the Cantonment—planting them at well-spaced intervals. But these “Indian” parts of the city seem to have integrated street trees more seamlessly into local identities, placing flyers on them, using them to advertise roadside flat tyre repair stands, and for a variety of other innovative purposes. In a city where motorbike riders often ride on the pavement to avoid traffic jams, one seller of pirated DVDs said that following a recent accident he preferred to position himself next to a large tree – so that bikers, avoiding the tree, would avoid hitting him as well!

A tender coconut vendor takes advantage of a lull in sales to catch up on the daily news. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
A series of vegetable carts, covered with plastic, are lined up in the early morning hours below the large trees on the busy DV Gundappa road in Basavanagudi, awaiting the start of business. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Even mango sellers seek out the shade of trees, to keep their mangoes from spoiling in the harsh overhead sun. The trees serve a dual purpose here: their trunks are plastered with flyers, aiming to entice eager job-seekers. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Roadside snack sellers—in this case a chaat shop—conduct brisk business next to a street tree. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
A lone fruit vendor waits for the last customers of the day, located strategically under a tree. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam

Trees in these older parts of the city are not without threat, though. Old city plans incorporated trees into their fabric. New plans do the opposite—they avoid leaving space for trees on roads. Trees are considered unavoidable casualties in a time of focused infrastructure expansion. The push of a modernizing city for an overhead Metro led to hundreds of trees on some of these roads being marked for felling several years ago. Sustained campaigns by civic groups and local residents saved many of these trees. The concrete pillars of the Metro tower over the traffic, but the rows of trees flanking the Metro line on both sides, saved by civic protests, soften the visual look—and significantly reduce air pollution on these streets, making it easier for residents and travellers to breathe. Electricity transformers make their mark on the overhead canopy as well, crisscrossing above tree branches. Sometimes entire trees or large branches are felled to make way for a new transformer. At other times, trees grow across these alien intruders, dropping branches on them during occasional storms, and leading to long power cuts.

Long term residents, used to living with trees, may complain about these minor inconveniences, but are rather tolerant of them, preferring to live with the occasional pitfalls of having trees to the alternative. Even service personnel adapt to the daily presence of trees on the road. It is a fairly common sight to see telephone wires coiled around trees, stored in hollows, or hanging on branches—while workers and street vendors often hang their belongings or lunch bags on a convenient shaded branch, or tuck them into nooks between branches, to be retrieved at their convenience.

The Metro line in Jayanagar is flanked by trees on both ends. The IT city is gearing up for business, with advertisements promising 1 GBPS, but the trees still stand tall on these roads, giving it an air of timelessness. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Meeting Bangalore’s growing needs for energy, an electricity transformer towers over the trees cape. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Trees form an integral part of daily life in south Bangalore streets, used to store bags, and coiled telephone wires. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam

Residential areas within the same south Bangalore neighbourhood, with smaller roads, prefer a different kind of tree. It is more likely to find fruiting trees and those with sweet scented flowers, planted by residents who care for them personally. Trees form a characteristic component of these neighbourhoods. The canopies of trees often connect, forming a seamless canopy, teeming with biodiversity: birds, butterflies, ants, squirrels and monkeys. Cars—from the small to the expensive—are parked under the shade of roadside trees. Flower vendors sell their garlands in the morning, to be attractively wound around braided hair, or carried home or to the temple, for esteemed rituals of daily worship.

Trees of different species form a connected canopy of green above inner residential streets. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Birds nest in overhead trees, safe from traffic and from ground predators. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Many small homes lack space for a garage. Instead, cars are parked outside in a shady spot. Street trees are much valued in these neighborhoods. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
A larger car seeks out the shade of a giant tree. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
A resident takes a morning walk on a wooded street. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Customers conduct a close inspection of flower garlands under a neighbourhood tree. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam

Dystopia hits when you travel further out of the city, moving into its peri-urban fringes. The outer fringe of Bangalore is an agglomeration of villages, some of which can trace their past history as far back as far 1200 years. The trees found here are largely native, or naturalised through centuries of local presence. A mix of sacred Ficus species like the banyan and peepal, and large fruiting trees like the mango, jackfruit, and tamarind, whose produce is used locally. Yet as the city expands its presence into the hinterland, the fruiting trees are often the first casualties. Of 43 wooded groves of fruiting trees in the south-eastern periphery of Bangalore, we found only 3 that continued to be protected—the rest were either completely denuded of trees, or severely degraded—with several trees removed or felled. Sacred trees are often the last to be left standing. Even one of these sprawling keystone Ficus trees can provide refuge to a number of threatened urban fauna – bats, monkeys, even the endangered slender loris.

A wooded grove in the south-eastern periphery of Bangalore. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Another peri-urban road leading from Bangalore to the highway. All trees have been felled, except for a majestic Ficus benghalensis (banyan). Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
Ficus trees are important keystone species that support a variety of urban fauna, including the monkeys pictured here. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam

Yet even the sacred is not completely safe from the threat of urban expansion. The Maduramma temple of Huskur, at the south-eastern periphery of Bangalore, provides an example of the expansion of the built construction of the temple, at the expense of the grove of trees that once surrounded it and contributed to its sacred identity. A historical temple of great antiquity, the front of the temple is now largely concreted, whereas the areas to the back, more protected from visitors, are still green.

The front view of the Huskur Madurramma temple, largely devoid of trees. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
The back of the same temple, still relatively green. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam

Dystopia lurks close by. As urban construction expands in the peri-urban, denudation continues at a frenzied pace. Urban planning in the periphery is not driven by planners. It is driven by a motley mix of real estate agents, large builders and land owners, each seeking to maximise the profit they can make from the tiniest patch of land. Land prices have skyrocketed more than 20-fold in the city periphery in 10 years.

This is no city for trees. Instead of wide tree lined avenues connected by parks, the aerial roads of the city periphery actively discourage trees. Municipal officials create informal restrictions discouraging the plantation of trees on sidewalks—ironically, in anticipation of future civic protests at the time of road widening, when these trees may need to be felled. Instead, saplings are squeezed into absurdly tiny spots in the central median, where they struggle to survive. Apartments and residences around these large roads jostle for space with shops and commercial buildings. Apart from an occasional ornamental, there are hardly any trees to be seen. These areas present a stark difference from the scenic green vistas of Cantonment and south Bangalore. The city periphery is dystopic indeed, with some of the highest levels of pollution, dust and breathing disorders—an obvious corollary to the absence of trees.

A section of Sarjapur road, at the city periphery, with saplings squeezed into small confines of space, too close to each other, at the median. The only large tree to be seen in the vicinity is a sacred tree to the right of the image, protected within the confines of a temple. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam
A residential area adjacent to Sarjapur road, with a single ornamental tree interspersing the view of concrete rooftops. Photo: Suri Venkatachalam

Secular or sacred, domestic or dystopic, street trees play an important role in our daily lives. As urban residents, we only too obviously need trees for shade, pollution control, fruits, and flowers. But trees are also part of the daily lives of city residents, giving localities a sense of identity—characterising gentrified, commercial, residential and peri-urban neighbourhoods in very different ways. The importance of street trees in making a city liveable lies in plain sight, and is yet hidden from our eyes. The diversity of social and ecological spaces that trees inhabit characterise the lives of Indian cities. In some places they are sacred, in others disciplined, in still other spaces struggling to get a toehold for survival.

The lives of street trees are emblematic in many ways of the multiple entanglements that characterise the nature-society dialectic animating the ever expanding urban in the global south—entanglements that pull together the past and the present, the secular and the sacred, and the global and the local.

Understanding the role of street trees in our daily lives helps us to disentangle the multiple processes, drivers and mindsets that shape Bangalore, in the past and present. Such an understanding might help us generate valuable insights to build a more sustainable future for Nature in the City—insights that can then inform purposeful collective action to chart a course away from the dystopia lurking around the peri-urban corner in Bangalore. Fortunately, the vision of a city built around trees, developed by earlier planners and bureaucrats, does not lie too far in the past. Indeed, as interviews with officials such as Seturam Neginhal, instrumental in the plantation of 1.5 million trees in Bangalore 50 years ago, reveal: these officials were well aware of the importance of street trees in our daily lives. It is that reflective attention and awareness that we must seek to reclaim.

Suri Venkatachalam and Harini Nagendra
Bangalore

On The Nature of Cities

Harini Nagendra

About the Writer:
Harini Nagendra

Harini Nagendra is a Professor of Sustainability at Azim Premji University, Bangalore, India. She uses social and ecological approaches to examine the factors shaping the sustainability of forests and cities in the south Asian context. Her books include “Cities and Canopies: Trees of Indian Cities” and "Shades of Blue: Connecting the Drops in India's Cities" (Penguin India, 2023) (with Seema Mundoli), and “The Bangalore Detectives Club” historical mystery series set in 1920s colonial India.

Seeing and Seeding the Potential of Urban Life

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Land really is the best art.

I think having land and not ruining it is the most beautiful art that anybody could ever want.

—Andy Warhol

The new year is a good time to look back before looking forward: this blog offers opportunity to take stock of 2014, which was indeed a seminal year for Landlife.  Landlife started out as a pioneering urban wildlife group in 1975, and founded the National Wildflower Centre as a UK Millennium project in 2000.  I’ve grown with them for over twenty of those years in Liverpool—a global port with close historic connections to New York City—which has undergone dramatic growth, decline, and cultural resurgence . There is currently a major UK retrospective of Andy Warhol at Tate Liverpool, and it reminded me of his perhaps surprising quote above. Placing nature in the equation of the way people and places respond to change and circumstance is a real measure of resilience, something which urban ecologists are increasingly acknowledging and building into their practice. It is also about passing and sharing experience, and the creative spark of how to retain and get the best from any given situation.

In February 2014 I was invited to Nantes in NW France to participate in a cross-sectoral roundtable event with renowned designer Thomas Heatherwick, British Council France and a group of northern artists, ecologists and researchers.  Another Atlantic-facing port city, Nantes’ year as European Green Capital in 2013 boosted the investment and usage of green spaces and energy-efficient transport, which together with massive public investment in the arts have made this city a buzzing centre for creative professionals, public art and, more recently, cultural tourism. Nantes has embraced the Loire, its gateway to the West, with inventiveness second to none, and is well worth visiting, especially if or when Heatherwick’s ferry will be carrying passengers daily.

Heatherwick’s Seed Cathedral was the chosen British Pavillion, which won the No.1 design award at the 2010 Shanghai World Expo. Seeds are Landlife’s daily bread, as, working with co-operative local farmers, we have successfully created a new seed industry on Merseyside. Seeing the thousands of glass rods from the dismantled seed cathedral made a big impression on me. Each of the 66,000 rods contained a seed from Kew’s Millennium Seed Bank, where I took Chinese visitors from Chengdu (one of the world’s fastest growing cities) in July 2014.

The seeds up close, inside the Cathedral. Image via despoke.com
The seeds up close, inside the Cathedral. Image via despoke.com

Though such seed banks may be valuable, Landlife believes that beauty and liveability lie in releasing their potential, and unlocking public space to create living seed banks, even in the world’s most densely-populated cities, like New York, Hong Kong and Chengdu. We have thus been able to bounce off some of this creativity and link it back to creative conservation projects in China, and help liberate seeds from the Chinese National Seed Bank in Kunming, which originally supplied seed for the cathedral. To this end we have already initiated special new wildflower seed industry in China, and surprisingly fronted British Week in Western China by signing a special Memorandum of understanding at the opening ceremony in Kunming.

Mrs Zhou Director of a Chengdu engineering company dancing spontaneously in one of Landlife’s fields
Mrs Zhou Director of a Chengdu engineering company dancing spontaneously in one of Landlife’s fields

As well as fields, spaces in waiting are exciting for their own spontaneous nature, and we can inject a little rhythm with deliberately sown and tended seed for the joy of the evolutionary dance.

Liverpool has the oldest Chinese community in Europe with whom Landlife has a longstanding friendship. Last year, we brokered a deal between the progressive development company Urban Splash, Liverpool City Council with funding  from John Swire & Sons Ltd, who have built their international business portfolio from Liverpool roots with the Latin motto which translates as ‘To be, rather than to seem to be’. The Tribeca Lands (named after the New York City neighborhood) is 3 hectares of vacant land below Liverpool’s Anglican cathedral. The project was in effect was a simple cultivation exercise and we made our own community splash by sowing with local children, and Chinese elders.

Landlife’s Poppy sowings on the Liverpool “Tribeca” land, below Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral
Landlife’s Poppy sowings on the Liverpool “Tribeca” land, below Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral

We sowed the areas with the glorious red poppy which had evocative connections in different ways, in England for its connection to memories of the first world war and its poignant centenary. But for many—both in the Chinese community and passers by—it was the pure joy of the unremitting red.

The sites flowered for the first time and looked fantastic from May through to July. The poppies were complete surprise to many people, and the sense of mystery added to the magic, proving that curiosity in projects can be an advertisement in itself, and signage is not always needed.

See a video here, and here.

Despite some July rain, we were able to link it to an event we staged at the Liverpool International Business Festival with an event called Seeding Tomorrow, which for some was the best event of the business festival, and formalised our seed links to our Chinese colleagues from Kunming and Chengdu, as well as strengthening links with our French colleagues from Nantes. The event was chaired by Peter Thoday who was the Eden Project’s first horticultural director. The effect of the poppies still ripples on after the flowers have long gone—but they will be back for at least another two summers maybe three and guarantee a longer-term future for clever and hopefully coordinated cycles of land projects in Liverpool, which can easily combine food growing, artistic uses (a drive in Cinema on one Liverpool vacant plot) with wildflowers and nature.

Our philosophy is to place good applied ecology in the centre of places in flux.  Temporary spaces may be short-term, but they can be a great addition to the vitality of any city. This can combine of course with longer term projects ideals, but gives a greater and rich landscape spectrum as a result.

ColourA4I am pleased to report after a successful harvest, our year culminated in a successful campaign to win, the wildflower Landmark/flagship bid for England, organised by Kew Gardens, as part of their National Lottery-funded programme called Grow Wild. After winning through a series of competitive rounds the result was finally decided by public votes over a one month period. It was an award we were very proud to win for Liverpool and Manchester after generating over 19,000 votes. We’re humbled by international support from China, India to Afghanistan and the United States.

We launched our Tale of Two Cities campaign in Everton with our own green goddess, Landlife’s trusty combine harvester, and Everton dress-maker, who wore a stunning Rio Carnival dress from Liverpool Samba School, and we sang all the way to Manchester, with the adapted classic ‘Flowers to the People’.

Two green goddesses meet in Everton Park serenaded by Ian Prowse to launch the Tale of Two Cities Campaign in October 2014
Two green goddesses meet in Everton Park serenaded by Ian Prowse to launch the Tale of Two Cities Campaign in October 2014

During the course of the campaign we canvassed and caroled museums, street markets and football matches to get enough popular votes to beat 4 other UK Cities to win the National prize. This will give us £120,000 prize to use wildflowers as the catalyst for a whole series of adventures in the spirit of creative conservation to allow other people to add their own experience and energy to those of the wildflowers themselves. Twenty football pitches of wildflowers in the the two cities. Football pitches are a significant measuring stick since we received support of past Liverpool football icon Kenny Dagliesh (King Kenny, who has 700,000 twitter followers), who tweeted his support from Liverpool’s John Lennon Airport. Although often the plant and football cultures don;t mix, Dagliesh’s Tweet immediately drew 39,000 people to our website.  Mr Silky, the football skills star from the campaign, declared on the day after the vote that he was dreaming of flowers for the first time in his life.

A Tale of Two Cities will be cultural bridge between these two often-competitive places, with planting on prominent roadways and green spaces. The title for our bid came from the Charles Dickens novel, with its fitting opening line “It is the best of times It was the worst of times”, and measures up to the challenges of recession and government cuts, and times we live in. We’ll be working with performance poets and songwriters from both cities to form a collective contemporary narrative with multiple points of entry for people of all ages. This rich cultural element makes the wildflower project unique with cross thread literary links to Gerald Manley Hopkins, to Chinese classical and dub music, and modern songwriting talent, to celebrate the flowering and bring joy to both northern cities.

Seeding this project is believing in the potential held by a single seed, and the cost-effectiveness of using seeds well, as opposed to costly landscaping schemes. The deliberation over choosing and sowing particular species is key to giving nature a helping hand, speeding things up a bit, and loading the dice in our favour. Success is the both the wow factor and the longer-term impact of the bringing the wild in wildflower seeds into city life. Seeing is believing because when people observe these dramatic outcomes for themselves it changes perspectives and gives a new vision of what is possible. This is how such projects can develop a real legacy in changing the way we view the world, in translating the best fit for nature in urban places.

This story will form a springboard of practical effort for the World Conference of the Society for Ecological Restoration coming to Manchester this August to encourage ecological restorationists, planners and communities to leap off into new areas they might not have thought of before, meeting people from all walks of life, being educated by accident. We are still accepting abstracts on the theme of Resilience Ecology.  Our conference title is Resilience Ecology: Restoring the Rural the Urban and the Wild.

For me, creative conservation gatherings have nourished and strengthened partnerships and practical actions. So I hope to see some of you in Manchester on 23-27 August 2015!

For further info on our work and projects please email [email protected].

Richard Scott
Liverpool

On The Nature of Cities

Sense of Place

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Different people perceive the same city or neighborhood in different ways. While one person may appreciate ecological and social aspects of a neighborhood, another may experience environmental and racialized injustice.

Sense of place—including place attachment and place meanings—can help people appreciate ecological aspects of cities.

A place may also conjure contradicting emotions—the warmth of community and home juxtaposed with the stress of dense urban living. Sense of place—the way we perceive places such as streets, communities, cities or ecoregions—influences our well-being, how we describe and interact with a place, what we value in a place, our respect for ecosystems and other species, how we perceive the affordances of a place, our desire to build more sustainable and just urban communities, and how we choose to improve cities. Our sense of place also reflects our historical and experiential knowledge of a place, and helps us imagine its more sustainable future. In this chapter, we review scholarship about sense of place, including in cities. Then we explore how urban environmental education can help residents to strengthen their attachment to urban communities or entire cities, and to view urban places as ecologically valuable.

Sense of place

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In general, sense of place describes our relationship with places, expressed in different dimensions of human life: emotions, biographies, imagination, stories, and personal experiences (Basso, 1996). In environmental psychology, sense of place—how we perceive a place— includes place attachment and place meaning (Kudryavtsev, Stedman and Krasny, 2012). Place attachment reflects a bond between people and places, and place meaning reflects symbolic meanings people ascribe to places. In short, “sense of place is the lens through which people experience and make meaning of their experiences in and with place” (Adams, 2013). Sense of place varies among people, in history, and over the course of one’s lifetime (http://www.placeness.com). People may attribute various meanings to the same place in relation to its ecological, social, economic, cultural, aesthetic, historical, or other aspects. Sense of place evolves through personal experiences, and defines how people view, interpret and interact with their world (Russ et al., 2015). In cities, sense of place echoes the intersections of culture, environment, history, politics, and economics, and is impacted by global mobility, migration, and blurred boundaries between the natural and built environment.

 Research and scholarship around the relationship between “place” and learning reflects diverse perspectives, many of which are relevant to urban environmental education. Education scholars point to the need for people to develop specific “practices of place” that reflect embodied (perceptual and conceptual) relationships with local landscapes (natural, built, and human). Further, some scholars and researchers have used a lens of mobility—the globalized and networked flow of ideas, materials, and people—to build awareness of the relationship between the local and global in the construction of place in urban centers (Stedman and Ardoin, 2013). This suggests that understanding sense of place in the city generates an added set of situations and challenges, including dynamic demographics, migration narratives, and complex infrastructure networks, as well as contested definitions of natural environments (Heynen, Kaika and Swyngedouw, 2006). One critical question is how we think about sense of place in cities when places and people are constantly on the move. Given rural-urban migration, sense of place today includes where a person came from as much as where she now finds herself. In one study in a large, urban center in the U.S., Adams (2013) found that notions of “home” and identity for Caribbean-identified youth were largely constructed in the northeastern urban context in which they found themselves either through birth or immigration. Such dimensions of place relationships are vital for thinking about meaningful and relevant urban environmental education.

Sense of place is determined by personal experiences, social interactions, and identities.

Understanding sense of place in the urban context would be incomplete without a critical consideration of cities as socially constructed places both inherited and created by those who live there. Critical geographers such as Edward Soja, David Harvey, and Doreen Massey draw on a Marxist analysis to describe cities as the material consequence of particular political and ideological arrangements under global capitalism. Critical educators (e.g., Gruenewald, 2003; Haymes, 1995) have drawn upon critical geography to demonstrate how cities are social constructions imbued with contested race, class, and gender social relationships that make possible vastly different senses of place among their residents. For example, Stephen Haymes (1995) argued that against the historical backdrop of race relations in Western countries, “in the context of the inner city, a pedagogy of place must be linked to black urban struggle” (p. 129). Although Haymes was writing twenty years ago, his claim that place-responsive urban education must be linked to racial politics resonates today with the Black Lives Matter movement in the U.S. and ongoing need for environmental educators to be in tune with the political realities that so deeply inform a given individual’s sense of place. This also resonates with the notion that different people may ascribe different meanings to the same place. The complexity of meaning surrounding urban places and our understandings of such contested meanings make a powerful context for personal inquiry and collective learning.

In the U.S., Tzou and Bell (2012) used ethnographic approaches to examine the construction of place among urban young people of color. Their results suggest implications for equity and social justice in environmental education, such as the damage that prevailing environmental education narratives could do to communities of color in terms of power and positioning. Further, Gruenewald (2005) suggests that traditional modes of assessment, such as standardized tests, are problematic in place-based education; instead, we need to redefine education and research as forms of inquiry that are identifiably place-responsive and afford a multiplicity of approaches to define and describe people’s relationships to the environment.

Sense of place and urban environmental education

Although not always explicitly stated, sense of place is inherent to many environmental learning initiatives (Thomashow, 2002). A goal of such programs is nurturing ecological place meaning, defined as “viewing nature-related phenomena, including ecosystems and associated activities, as symbols” of a place (Kudryavtsev, Krasny and Stedman, 2012). This approach is prevalent in bioregionalism, the “no child left inside” movement, community gardening, sustainable agriculture, as well as in natural history, place-based, and other environmental education approaches. Place-based education has goals important to urban life, including raising awareness of place, of our relationship to place, and of how we may contribute positively to this constantly evolving relationship, as well as inspiring local actors to develop place-responsive transformational learning experiences that contribute to community well-being.

Nurturing a sense of place

With the global population increasingly residing in cities, ecological urbanism requires new approaches to understanding place. How does sense of place contribute to human flourishing, ecological justice, and biological and cultural diversity? Using a theoretical basis from literature described above, we offer examples of activities to help readers construct field explorations that evoke, leverage, or influence sense of place. (Also, see a relevant diagram in Russ et al., 2015.) In practice, urban environmental education programs would combine different approaches to nurture sense of place, perhaps most prominently place-based approaches (Smith and Sobel, 2010), which teach respect for the local environment, including its other-than-human inhabitants, in any setting including cities.

In cities, factors such as rapid development and gentrification, mobility, migration, and blurred boundaries between the natural and built environment complicate sense of place.

Experiences of the urban environment

Making students more consciously aware of their taken-for-granted places is an important aspect of influencing sense of place. Focusing on places students frequent, educators can ask questions like: “What kind of place is this? What does this place mean to you? What does this place enable you to do?” Hands-on activities that allow students to experience, recreate in, and steward more natural ecosystems in cities could be one approach to nurture ecological place meaning. Another activity could use conceptual mapping to highlight places and networks that are important to students, for example, related to commuting and transportation, the internet, food and energy sources, or recreation. Maps and drawings also might focus on sensory perceptions—sights, sounds and smells—or locate centers of urban sustainability. Such maps can help students learn about specific neighborhoods, investigate the relationship among neighborhoods, or create linkages between all the places they or their relatives have lived. Further, mapping activities may help students recognize how their own activities connect to the larger network of activities that create a city, as well as allow them to reflect on issues of power, access, and equity in relation to environmental concerns such as waste, air pollution, and access to green space.

Other observational and experiential activities to instill sense of place might include: (1) exploring boundaries or borders, for example, space under highways, transition zones between communities, fences and walls; (2) finding centers or gathering places and asking questions about where people congregate and why; (3) following the movements of pedestrians and comparing them to the movements of urban animals; (4) tracing the migratory flows of birds, insects and humans; (5) shadowing city workers who are engaged in garbage removal or other public services as they move around the city; (6) observing color and light at different times of the day; (7) observing patterns of construction and demolition; and (8) working with street artists to create murals. All of these activities could serve to develop new meanings and attachments to places that may or may not be familiar to people. The activities build on seminal works related to urban design, including Christopher Alexander’s “Pattern Language,” Randolph T. Hexter’s “Design for Ecological Democracy,” Jane Jacobs “The Death and Life of Great American Cities,” Jan Gehl and Birgitte Svarre’s “How to Study Public Life,” and the rich material coming from New Geographies, the journal published by the Harvard University Graduate School of Design.

Social construction of place meanings

Activities that allow people to explore and interpret places together could contribute to developing a collective sense of place and corresponding place meanings. Participatory action research and other participatory approaches raise young people’s critical consciousness, influence how they see themselves in relation to places, and build collective understandings about what it means to be young in a rapidly changing city. For example, photo-voice and mental mapping used during a participatory urban environment course allowed students, many of them from marginalized racial and ethnic groups, to experience a shift from viewing a community as a fixed geographic place to a dynamic, socially constructed space, and to describe how they experience and understand urban phenomena such as decay, gentrification, and access to green spaces (Bellino and Adams, 2014). These activities enabled students to expand their notions of what it means to be urban citizens, and to transform their ecological identities in ways that prompted them to take steps towards imagining environmentally, economically, and culturally sustainable futures.

Further, ecological place meaning can be constructed through storytelling, communication with environmental professionals, interpretation, learning from community members, and sharing students’ own stories (Russ et al., 2015), as well as through representation of places through narratives, charts, music, poetry, photographs, or other forms that encourage dialogue and reflection about what places are and how they can be cared for (Wattchow and Brown, 2011). Other social activities, such as collective art-making, restoring local natural areas, or planting a community garden, could contribute to a collective sense of place that values green space and ecological aspects of place. New socially constructed place meanings can in turn help to promote community engagement in preserving, transforming, or creating places with unique ecological characteristics (e.g., fighting to keep a community garden safe from developers), and create opportunities to maintain these ecological characteristics (e.g., group-purchasing solar power). Environmental educators who are able to engage with a community over time can watch these initiatives take root and grow, and can observe individual and collective changes in sense of place.

Developing an ecological identity 

Urban environmental education can leverage people’s sense of place and foster ecological place meaning through direct experiences of places, social interactions in environmental programs, and nurturing residents’ ecological identity.

In addition to paying attention to social construction of place, environmental educators can nurture ecological identity, which fosters appreciation of the ecological aspects of cities. Humans have multiple identities, including ecological identity, which reflects the ecological perspectives or ecological lens through which they see the world. Ecological identity focuses one’s attention on environmental activities, green infrastructure, ecosystems, and biodiversity, including in urban places. Ecological identity in cities can be manifested in realizing one’s personal responsibility for urban sustainability, and feeling oneself empowered and competent to improve local places (Russ et al., 2015). Urban environmental education programs can influence ecological identity, for example, by involving students in long-term environmental restoration projects where they serve as experts on environmental topics, by valuing young people’s contribution to environmental planning, respecting their viewpoint about future urban development, and recognizing young people’s efforts as ambassadors of the local environment and environmental organizations (e.g., through work/volunteer titles, labels on t-shirts, or workshop certificates). Even involving students in projects that allow them to become more familiar with their community from an ecological perspective goes a long way towards adding an ecological layer to their identity and perception of their city (Bellino and Adams, 2014).

Conclusion

The environmental education challenge presented in this chapter is how to embed deeper meanings of place and identity in dynamic urban environments. Because urban settings tend to be diverse across multiple elements, ranging from types of green space and infrastructure to global migration, there are countless ways to proceed. In addition, while environmental educators can design and facilitate experiences to access and influence people’s sense of place, it is also important for educators to have a strong notion of their own sense of place. This is especially critical for environmental educators who may not have spent their formative years in a city. Such persons may have a sense of place informed more by frequent and ready access to natural areas, and less by access to urban diversity and the density and diversity of people found in an urban environment. It is important for all urban environmental educators to engage in reflective activities that allow them to learn about their personal sense of place, including what they value about the natural, human, and built environment. Demonstrating one’s own continued learning, and learning challenges, will greatly aid in the process of facilitating other learners developing sense of place in diverse urban settings. Through sharing their own experiences with places, all learners can deepen our awareness of and sensitivity to our environment and to each other. Such awareness and receptivity to place can positively influence collective and individual actions that help create sustainable cities.

Jennifer Adams, David A. Greenwood, Mitchell Thomashow, and Alex Russ
New York, Thunder Bay, Seattle, and Ithaca

* * * * *

This essay will appear as a chapter in Urban Environmental Education Review, edited by Alex Russ and Marianne Krasny, to be published by Cornell University Press in 2017. To see more pre-release chapters from the book, click here.

This essay also appears at the North American Association of Environmental Educators site.
References

Adams, J.D. (2013). Theorizing a sense of place in transnational community. Children, youth and environments, 23(3), 43-65.

Basso, K.H. (1996). Wisdom sits in places: Notes on a Western Apache landscape. In Feld, S. and Basso, K.H. (Eds.), Senses of place (pp. 53-90). Santa Fe, New Mexico: School of American Research Press.

Bellino, M. and Adams, J.D. (2014). Reimagining environmental education: Urban youths’ perceptions and investigations of their communities. Revista Brasileira de Pesquisa em Educação de Ciências, 14(2), 27-38.

Gruenewald, D.A. (2005). Accountability and collaboration: Institutional barriers and strategic pathways for place-based education. Ethics, Place and Environment, 8(3), 261-283.

Gruenewald, D.A. (2003). Foundations of place: A multidisciplinary framework for place-conscious education. American Educational Research Journal, 40(3), 619-654.

Haymes, S.N. (1995). Race, culture, and the city: A pedagogy for Black urban struggle. SUNY Press.

Heynen, N., Kaika, M. and Swyngedouw, E. (2006). In the nature of cities: Urban political ecology and the politics of urban metabolism. New York: Routledge.

Kudryavtsev, A., Krasny, M.E. and Stedman, R.C. (2012). The impact of environmental education on sense of place among urban youth. Ecosphere, 3(4), 29.

Kudryavtsev, A., Stedman, R.C. and Krasny, M.E. (2012). Sense of place in environmental education. Environmental education research, 18(2), 229-250.

Russ, A., Peters, S.J., Krasny, M.E. and Stedman, R.C. (2015). Development of ecological place meaning in New York City. Journal of environmental education, 46(2), 73-93.

Smith, G.A. and Sobel, D. (2010). Place- and community-based education in schools. New York: Routledge.

Stedman, R. and Ardoin, N. (2013). Mobility, power and scale in place-based environmental education. In Krasny, M. and Dillon, J. (Eds.) Trading zones in environmental education: Creating transdisciplinary dialogue (pp. 231-251). New York: Peter Lang.

Thomashow, M. (2002). Bringing the biosphere home: Learning to perceive global environmental change. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press.

Tzou, C.T. and Bell, P. (2012). The role of borders in environmental education: Positioning, power and marginality. Ethnography and Education, 7(2), 265-282.

Wattchow, B. and Brown, M. (2011). A pedagogy of place: Outdoor education for a changing world. Monash, Australia: Monash University Publishing.

David Greenwood

About the Writer:
David Greenwood

Dr. David A. Greenwood is an Associate Professor and Canada Research Chair in Environmental Education at Lakehead University in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada, where he now lives in the forest with all of its wildlife.

Mitchell Thomashow

About the Writer:
Mitchell Thomashow

Mitchell Thomashow devotes his life and work to promoting ecological awareness, sustainable living, creative learning, improvisational thinking, social networking, and organizational excellence.

Alex Russ

About the Writer:
Alex Russ

Alex Kudryavtsev (pen name: Alex Russ) is an online course instructor for EECapacity, an EPA-funded environment educator training project led by Cornell University and NAAEE.

September 11, 2015: An Event Ethnography of Living Memorials

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A reading of names. A procession. Placing flowers on memorials. Music. Moments of silence. Tolling of bells.

Certain abiding symbols and gestures give structure to our memorial remembrances. In particular, we have come to expect a ritual formality and consistency at the World Trade Center site for remembering September 11, 2001. But how do we mark the day at the hundreds of smaller, community-based memorials across the region and the country? These memorials are set in town parks, beaches, waterfronts, and civic grounds. They typically feature etched stones and evoke the healing power of nature with trees, shrubs, and flowers; each of the sites described below has had an event every year since 2001.

This work is part of our longitudinal research through the Living Memorials Project, which seeks to understand how people use nature and shape landscapes as restorative and reflective symbols and practices in remembrance of September 11, 2001. (To read more about the ongoing national research, see a prior TNOC blog post). A team of researchers conducted a collaborative ‘event ethnography’ of anniversary remembrances at six different community-based memorials throughout the New York City region on September 11, 2015. Event ethnographies are research efforts to document and analyze events; they are often used to cover large-scale, global meetings such as UN negotiations or conventions. But in this case, we conducted a dispersed event ethnography at local memorial remembrances throughout the region.  We attended memorial events as participant observers documenting who attended, what the program was, what narratives framed the event, and how plants were used on the site. We wrote field notes, took photographs, and conducted a group debrief about our impressions and reflections, including notable patterns and exceptions.

Overall, we find that these memorial spaces are serving as sites of social meaning for local communities of friends, neighbors, and co-workers that are animated through formal events and everyday use. While many of the same rituals that are used at the national memorials are used at these locales, we find that activities and narratives vary with the creators of and audience for the site. Some are patriotic in tone, some call for peace, some call for a “war on terror”, some center on the emergency responders, and some focus on the local community.

Presented in chronological order of the time of the event (below), we offer a series of brief snapshots of how these memorial events occurred.

As night fell on September 11th at many of these local, hometown memorials distributed throughout the tri-state area of New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut, they were united under a common sky that, for a brief time, was aglow with Tribute in Light, two solid streams of light emanating from the September 11th Memorial and the former site of the Twin Towers in lower Manhattan.

As researchers, we reflect on our own experiences traveling through smaller towns and communities over the years. Sharing stories with our families and friends. Listening and learning as others recount their successes and setbacks in creating these special spaces in their own communities. We find that the light continues to shine in many places throughout the region as people come together in their own time and fashion to remember, to reflect, to continue on, and to pass on traditions to future generations.

We find that nature’s elements—such as an ocean view, a grove of trees, a symbolic ‘survivor tree,’ or a single rose—accompany us and serve as touchstones on a journey of land-marking and remembrance.

*  *  *

Connecticut’s Living Memorial, Sherwood Island State Park, Westport, CT: September 10, 5:30pm

1_Sherwood Island

2_Sherwood Island

Approximately 150 people gathered on the shore of the Long Island Sound to pay respects and remember residents of Connecticut who perished on September 11, 2001. Created just six months after the event occurred, this site is the state’s memorial to September 11th; as such, state officials, including the Governor and Lieutenant Governor, were in attendance, as well as representatives from the Department of Energy and Environmental Protection and the former Office of Family Support. In addition to patriotic songs and a color guard, the event featured a glee club performance of the song “Bridge Over Troubled Water” as requested by one of the organizers who is a September 11 family member. The organizers noted the therapeutic nature of creating the memorial and organizing this event. There has been a passing of the torch among several different project leaders who oversee the stewardship of the memorial and the event with continuity.

Nature symbolism is incorporated into the “Tree of Serenity”, a large sculpture of leaves, blossoms, and vines made from the cladding of the former World Trade Center and mounted on the park pavilion wall. During the ceremony, we were all invited to lay white roses on the etched marble memorial abutting the water’s edge. The site manager noted the challenges with maintaining a memorial situated so directly in the path of salt spray and tidal incursions, but the ongoing maintenance of the trees and plaques at sacred space is something to which the park remains committed.

Jacobi Medical Center, Bronx, NY: September 11, 8:30 am

3_Jacobi

Set on the hospital grounds and nestled into a wooded hillside, this site serves as a memorial to all victims from the Bronx, NY. It reflects Jacobi Medical Center’s ethos as a place that serves the community and promotes health and well-being. On September 11, the trauma center was prepared to receive survivors who, sadly, never arrived. But the hospital played a role in treating emergency responders. The event was attended by local hospital staff and administration—in lab coats, scrubs, and suits—many of whom were involved in the creation of the memorial. They were joined by their Community Advisory Board and numerous representatives of local public officials. The staff and advisory board provided the introductory remarks, the musical program (including Jacobi choir members singing Amazing Grace), the benediction, and a poem. Although public officials were acknowledge and thanked, they were not invited to speak.

4_Jacobi_IMG_3906A brief 30 minute ceremony included a moment of silence when the first plane hit; during that time you could hear the wind rustling, observe dappled sunlight through the trees, and watch commercial planes flying overhead. Being immersed in the natural setting was the goal of the site’s architect, who is retiring this year but noted that this memorial was the most meaningful project that she ever designed. The ceremony closed with everyone placing white carnations on the memorial. Though memories fade with time, one of the speakers noted that as long as she is alive, she is committed to continuing the tradition of holding September 11th remembrances.

Rockaway Tribute Park, Queens, NY: September 11, 8:30am

5_Tribute Park Rockaways_DSC02525

6_Tribute Park Rockaways

Approximately 200 people gathered in and around a small, triangular-shaped waterfront parcel on Jamaica Bay, including an array of FDNY and NYPD members, so many of whom live on the Rockaway Peninsula. Across the bay, the changed skyline of Lower Manhattan is visible from this memorial, which was created where people stood and witnessed the events of that day 14 years ago. The ceremony had few speeches, and focused on music, tolling bells, and reading of names. A procession of bagpipes was lead into the park by a four-man color guard, a new addition to the ceremony this year. Family and community members placed red roses at the memorial mosaic and steel relic from the World Trade Center site. Previously, the site had been flooded and damaged by Hurricane Sandy and was quickly repaired. Building upon this historical commitment, a NYC Parks Department administrator spoke about future repairs and improvements to the site. Stewardship of the site is also an ongoing act of care; every Tuesday morning, volunteers gather to weed, clean, and plant the site, marking the time when the planes hit the Twin Towers.

September 11 Family Group Memorial, Brooklyn, NY: Sept 11, 4:00pm

7_Coney Island

8_Coney Island

This fully bilingual service honored the memories of those of Russian descent who perished on September 11, 2001. Set in Asser Levy Park in Coney Island, the memorial features an inscribed plaque, benches, weeping willow—and a recently-planted ‘survivor tree’ that was grown from the surviving callery pear rescued from and returned to the World Trade Center site. It was clear that many in attendance had participated in prior years, as we observed that the procession “worked like clockwork”, with attendees lining up to place their flowers at the monument. The lead site steward seemed to be known and greeted by all of the hundreds in attendance—primarily adult and elderly residents of Russian descent as well as a number of local elected officials. The speeches called upon those assembled to “never forget” the memory of September 11, 2001, making parallels to the moral imperative never to forget what transpired in the Holocaust.

Glen Rock Assistance Council and Endowment (GRACE) Memorial at Veterans Park, Glen Rock, NJ: September 11, 6:30pm

9_GRACE Glen Rock

10_GRACE Glen Rock

For just a bit longer than usual, the NJ Transit commuter train lingered with its doors open as the train operators observed and paid respects to the town memorial service at the park directly adjacent to the train station. On a warm, late-summer Friday night, about 200 town residents—young and old—took time to reflect and remember. We gathered in front of a semi-circle of 11 plum trees that were planted in memory of the 11 victims from Glen Rock. GRACE always holds their event at this same time to allow family members who attend the service at the former World Trade Center site to then return home and participate in the Glen Rock service. Every victim’s name on the monument was adorned with bouquets of yellow flowers, a color that organizers chose because it symbolizes remembrance and being reunited. We were invited to process through the monument, holding white candles that were handed out and lit by the Boy Scouts.

The overarching theme of all the speeches and remarks focused on one word: community. In their brief and humble remarks, the Trustees invoked the Native American tradition of ‘wampum,’ which was originally used not as currency but to record and narrate history. Offering the ceremony as a gift, they joined together to retell the story of that day and related events in their community. This space was created by, for, and with the Glen Rock community by a committed set of nonprofit trustees focused on support for the September 11 family members, the survivors, and others in the Glen Rock community who experienced grave loss through acts of terrorism.

Babylon Hometown Memorial, Babylon, NY: September 11, 6:45pm

11_Hometown Memorial_Babylon

12_Babylon

Much like the Rockaways, this coastal town in the middle of Long Island is home to many firefighters and first responders, over 100 of whom filled the walkways and sidewalks in full dress regalia. Bagpipes, patriotic music, and invocations from a Protestant minister and a Catholic priest shaped the program. This memorial is situated directly on the coastal dunes of the town beach, a setting that all the September 11 family members—and town residents in general—remember fondly. In addition to honoring each of the 48 victims from the town of Babylon, the memorial was designed to re-vegetate and enhance the dune ecosystem to support native flora and fauna to be more resilient to future floods. The site is dotted with native grasses, goldenrod, cedars, Rosa rugosa, and other hardy plants for the coastal setting. During the event, so many yellow sunflowers had already been handed out and placed at the memorial plaques that they had run out by the time we reached the front of the procession line. As the sun set, the fire trucks drove away, and beach goers strolled the sand to enjoy the last few hours of their Friday night.

* * *

Lindsay K. Campbell, Erika S. Svendsen, Heather McMillen, Novem Auyeung, Rachel Holmes, Michelle Johnson, & Renae Reynolds
New York City

On The Nature of Cities

Erika Svendsen

About the Writer:
Erika Svendsen

Dr. Erika Svendsen is a social scientist with the U.S. Forest Service, Northern Research Station and is based in New York City. Erika studies environmental stewardship and issues related to hybrid governance, collective resilience and human well-being.

Heather McMillen

About the Writer:
Heather McMillen

Heather McMillen is the Urban & Community Forester with the Hawaiʻi Department of Land & Natural Resources.

Novem Auyeung

About the Writer:
Novem Auyeung

Novem Auyeung is a Senior Scientist, Division of Forestry Horticulture & Natural Resources, NYC Parks. Novem guides conservation, research, and monitoring priorities for the Division.

Rachel Holmes

About the Writer:
Rachel Holmes

Rachel Holmes is a conservation education specialist with The Nature Conservancy’s Forest Health Protection Program.

Michelle Johnson

About the Writer:
Michelle Johnson

Michelle Johnson is a research ecologist with the USDA Forest Service at the NYC Urban Field Station.

Renae Reynolds

About the Writer:
Renae Reynolds

Renae Reynolds is a Project Coordinator at the US Forest Service Urban Field Station in New York.

Setting Out from Bangkok. TNOC Podcast Bangkok to Barcelona 01

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Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

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Story notes: I am Jenn Baljko, and my partner Lluís and I started walking from Bangkok, Thailand, back home to Barcelona, Catalonia. Along the 12,000km journey, we’ll explore the idea of just and green cities, occasionally posting our perspectives here on The Nature of Cities—photos, podcasts, and essays on what we find in different corners of the world.

We’ll see an enormous range of cities and towns over the next three years: big populations and small, thriving and struggling, hardened and lushly green. In this Pod- and Video-cast we start out trip with a few reflections on Bangkok.

For about about this series, click here.

This episode was produced by:
Jennifer Baljko and David Maddox
Barcelona and New York

On The Nature of Cities

Setting Priorities with the Human Footprint, or Why I Am an Urban Conservationist

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A frequent refrain in conservation is that we must prioritize. A cottage industry of conservation biologists, among whom I count myself, has risen to plan conservation and set priorities. And in nearly all of the hundreds or thousands of pages of conservation prioritizations that have already been published, nearly always the first thing let go is the nature of cities.

Transforming the human footprint means seeing people as the primary asset that we, as conservationists, can actually influence.

The argument for prioritizing conservation action goes like this: since the funding for conservation is limited, we need to make wise choices about where to invest. Good places for conservation investment are where we get the most conservation benefit for the least cost, as expressed in that most American of expressions, “the bigger bang for the buck” (which, I learned recently from Wikipedia, was coined by the U.S. military during the 1950s, for whom “bang” had a literal as well as a metaphoric meaning.)

Costs for conservation are frequently associated with human development; the more developed a landscape is, the higher the costs for conservation, a difficult but unavoidable fact of urban nature conservation. Conservation in cities is more expensive, sometimes by three or four orders of magnitude per acre, not only because the threats are more numerous and more intense, but also because of competition for land. Land for nature, or anything else, is more expensive in the city than in the countryside.

One can also argue that conservation benefits per acre, in terms of the abundance of species or the amount of intact habitat or ecosystem services, are generally higher where there is less human pressure; in other words, out of town. One might quibble that cities are often constructed in places of naturally high local biodiversity, so in the absence of development, they might actually be quite wonderful places for conservation. But the unfortunate truth is, buildings and pavement and cars usually trump natural potential and trample all but the hardiest of commensal species (e.g., pigeons, weeds, cats and dogs), unless cities are designed to do otherwise.

A classic conservation prioritization is the human footprint map that I helped create many years ago with some colleagues from the Center for International Earth Science Information Network at Columbia University and at the Wildlife Conservation Society, or WCS, my home institution, which is committed to conservation of the world’s wildlife and wildest places. Through the human footprint project, we initially set out to map the Last of the Wild areas, which were defined as the places most intact in all the major biomes of the terrestrial biosphere. The trick is that intactness, as such, is difficult to identify on a global scale; what’s much easier to describe is non-intactness. In other words, to map wild places, we first mapped where people were and the ways people used the land in order to deduce, by subtraction, where people weren’t and wild places were. The Last of the Wild map that resulted found the ten largest, contiguous, wildest areas in all terrestrial biomes of the world—the places where, putatively, the bang for the buck is greatest. I’m proud to say my institution works in many of these wild places to conserve wildlife today, assembled in 15 priority regions around the world.

last of the wild
The Last of the Wild map. Image courtesy of Eric Sanderson.

Along the way, we had once of those happy accidents of the scientific process. I remember standing in the lab watching the intermediate product—the map of non-intactness—pouring off the plotter. It was an extraordinary document, completely fascinating in its detailed depiction of towns and roads and cities and the places in-between, not just in places I knew well, but for places on the other side of the Earth. I realized that the map of non-intactness had value too. Not only did it contain the story of the wilder places of the world, but it showed them in a systematically derived index of human influence that connected wild places to cities, as they existed at the end of the twentieth century. (A new update, by Oscar Venter and colleagues, is currently under review which—the peer review gods willing!—should be out soon.) Because the map was created at such high resolution—one square kilometer pixels—one could zoom in from a global perspective to individual countries and regions and identify towns, cities, highways, even neighborhoods. The patterns made a kind of universal sense regardless of culture, education, or interest in conservation. As we colored it, one can see the wildest places in shades of green; pastures and other lightly used areas appear in light orange and yellows. One can see agriculture in its distinctive geometric shapes in tints of red and umber. The suburbs and highways pop out in scarlet and purple. And the central cities are black: cartographically, the heart of darkness.

human footprint in northeast
Image courtesy of Eric Sanderson.

The human footprint challenged the premise for which it created. It showed a continuum, not a dichotomy. It measured relative levels of human influence, not absolutes. In fact, as I thought about it, I realized there really is no such place that is purely wild (i.e., uninfluenced); nor is there any place where nature is totally destroyed. Both of those abstractions live only in our heads. Midtown Manhattan has nature of a kind, and the biggest wilderness areas feel the troubling effects of climate change and atmospheric pollution. The entire world is caught somewhere in-between. A continuum defies binary distinctions. There are not wild places and non-wild places except as we arbitrarily draw the line; rather, there are less wild situations and more wild ones, more human-influenced localities and less human-influenced ones.

The human footprint was a turning point in my thinking, though I didn’t recognize it at the time. At first, it just meant reformulating my pitch for conservation at WCS. Conservation was about saving the Last of the Wild and Transforming the Human Footprint, one being impossible without the other. While the majority of my colleagues continued to focus on the first priority, I started to wonder about the second part. What does it mean to “transform” the human footprint?

Well, it can’t be just about the wild places and creatures, because if understanding and marveling at nature were enough, we wouldn’t have such a sprawling tangle of human influence in the first place. There must be more to it. Slowly, it occurred to me that transforming the human footprint requires understanding where the human footprint comes from. It means recognizing the reasons why the human footprint has extended so far and touched so much of the Earth, and why it is heavier in some places and lighter in others. Transforming the human footprint means seeing people not just as a threat, but as an asset—in fact, the primary asset that we, as conservationists, can actually influence. We can’t speak to tigers or rally forests or entreat the climate to sustain us. What we can do, and what conservation actually is, is about influencing people to make choices to conserve nature on behalf of us all (tigers, forests, climates, and humanity, etc., inclusive).

Seen in this way, the prioritization argument is turned on its head. If people are essential, then isn’t the biggest bang for the buck also where the people are? If one wants to conserve elephants and other wildlife, indeed we should do everything we can to save the remaining “wild” places of the world. If one also wants to conserve the human relationship to nature, cities are the highest priorities. Conveniently, the human footprint continuum is our guide either way, simply by changing the legend on the map.

interpreting the human footprint
Interpreting the human footprint. Image courtesy of Eric Sanderson.

Through my obsessions over the last decade and a half (The Mannahatta Project, Terra Nova, Visionmaker, Welikia, SFB4), my approach to conservation has come to focus on cities. Cities are not hearts of darkness where conservation is hard and pointless, as I once supposed; cities are shining lights that can illuminate the human relationship to nature if we help them to do so. Cities are where decisions are made and money earned and culture created. Cities are where the conservation movement arose and where it still has its strongest support, as evidenced by my own organization, founded over 120 years ago as the New York Zoological Society and still going strong with the same mission it has always had: to speak to urban people about wildlife and to save wildlife out in the world. Urban conservation gets you more minds for your buck and more hearts for your dollar.

I became an urban nature conservationist because I eventually realized that it is self-defeating for conservation to say that only nature far away and remote from view is valuable. Doing so limits our audience to the few people that live in the wildest places, who are often poor and powerless, or to the few people fortunate enough to have an experience of the extraordinary nature of the African savanna or the Patagonian coast or the Russian Far East. When we say that only wild places matter, we limit our audience to the people that already believe. Having limited our audience, we limit the resources and the support available for conservation. Having limited the resources, we then require prioritization. Prioritization of only the wild places for conservation becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy for ever-diminishing influence in the world in a time when the need for conservation, and the love conservation action expresses, is greater than ever.

For conservation to sweep society and to save the world against the enormous pressures created by the natural resource demands of more than 7 billion human beings, we have to say that nature everywhere matters and that every action in the human enterprise matters to nature. Each and every place has a role to play in the web of life, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. If we believe that people need nature to live fully realized lives, then it is immoral to say that city people—which describes most people in a world where more than half the population is urbanized—don’t deserve nature close by. That’s why we created zoos and botanical gardens, but they are not enough on their own. We can’t say, “Nature over there is cool,” but “Nature outside your door is terrible.” Conservation must encompass nature everywhere, and that includes the nature of cities. Urban nature is our best chance to build the strongest constituency of people to care for the Earth as a whole. That woodlot in the park, that community garden up the road, that green roof on top of the building across the way, provide direct benefits to people that see them every day because they facilitate a connection to the world and build empathy for wildlife and wildness, both near and far.

I am an urban nature conservationist because I love nature everywhere and I need you to love it, too.

Eric Sanderson
New York City

On The Nature of Cities

Seven Things You Need to Know about Ecocities

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When I see titles like this, I always wince. Half-baked, hastily-gleaned, Internet-trolled info-news parading as something useful; it’s everywhere, and it’s only ever there as time-wasting click-bait. It all lives in the land of hyphenated-nowhere that delivers most of what we now think we know about the world. But I won’t let that stop me. Ecocities are important.

There are ecocity definitions that have both vision & practical purpose, which have been debated & tested for over three decades—let’s use them.
Delving into this exercise in trying to pin down definitions, not only was I confronted with intermingled and mangled definitions of eco-sus-bio-smart-fab cities, but I was suddenly struck by the thought that I was navigating a sea of “alternative facts”. Not wanting to help spread the darkness of these times of optional truth any further, I nearly gave up on the spot! Still, it has to be okay to have definitions shaped by opinion, provided that there is some rational, defensible basis for them; the danger is in adopting a word just because you like it (and maybe in rejecting it because you don’t). Read the following in conjunction with the review of Can a City Be Sustainable?

  1. Defining an ecocity—what is it?

There are, and have been, many interpretations of the ecocity concept [see illustrations]. At the time I first started talking about ecocities, it was usual to hear the term dismissed as an oxymoron. I suspect that the number of people who think they know what “sustainable” means greatly outnumbers those who are familiar with the “ecological” variant of city ideas, and I thought it was high time I tried to clarify some of the basics. The Wikipedia entry on “eco-cities” provides a rather rambling mish-mash of what comprises an ecocity, but although there is probably nothing in it that is actually “wrong”, it lacks any sense of visionary purpose. For that, it’s hard to go past Richard Register’s definition in “Ecocity Berkeley” (the first book in English to have “ecocity” in its title), in which he writes, “An ecocity is an ecologically healthy city”. Those seven words set out a powerful and challenging agenda, begging as many questions as it purports to answer. With the brevity and pertinence of a koan, Richard’s next four words speak volumes more: “No such city exists.” (Register 1987 p. 3)

Richard Register has provided the best one-liner definitions of an ecocity, complemented with “postcard” images of what they might look like—in this case San Francisco is depicted after its transformation into an ecocity. Image: Richard Register

An ecocity is about ecological health. It is conceived in aspirational terms because we don’t yet know even half of what we need to know to make the concept real. Although we don’t know enough about how the world works, the assertion of the ecocity is an article of faith that once the idea becomes strong enough to set development and political agendas, provided it is understood amongst the wider community and people can engage with it and live the idea, the system of knowledge we call culture can begin to create ecocities. As Register says, “the concept must be firmly established and broadly understood and supported”. It’s not only about creating “the ‘sustainable’ city that coexists peacefully with nature”, it’s about “a new creative adventure accessible to everyone” and “nothing less than a new mode of existence and creative fulfillment on this planet” (p.5). In this view, an ecocity is about very much more than solar powered trams, energy-efficient buildings, and fewer cars (even if they’re electric).

Thirty years on from the publication of Ecocity Berkeley, it is not always easy to sustain the optimism and hope that the task of promulgating the ecocity meme demands, for these are, as Richard insists, “dark times” (Register 2017, personal communication).

  1. International ecocity conferences have been running for almost three decades
Al Gore’s 1992 fax message to the Second International Ecocity Conference organisers.

There have been many “ecocity” and ecocity-related conferences in the past several years, but there is only one Ecocity Conference Series. Renamed Ecocity Summits in recent years, this is a conference series that started under the helm of Richard Register in Berkeley, California, in 1990.

The conferences have always been about bringing together diverse voices with a passion for issues and ideas that are essential to making ecological cities and taking the ecocity vision to the streets. The early conferences, in particular, were characterised by a degree of eclecticism that was suited to the creation of the kind of multi-facetted and fascinating places that early ecocity protagonists imagined ecocities would be. The first conference included a dazzling range of speakers and thinkers (not all American) that included David Brower, original founder of Friends of the Earth, and Ed Mitchell, the sixth man to walk on the moon. There have been 11 conferences in the series to date, hosted on six continents with the deliberate aim of moving north to south, developed to developing country, seeking a wide, culturally inclusive platform to share and disseminate ecocity theory and practice.

Al Gore was invited (under the auspices of Richard Register) to be lead speaker at the Second International Ecocity Conference in 1992 in Adelaide, Australia (see photocopied fax). He was unable to attend at the time but now, 25 years later, he is the confirmed principal at the forthcoming Summit in Melbourne, Australia.

The International Ecocity Summit/Conference Series
• 2015 Abu Dhabi, UAE
• 2013 Nantes, France
• 2011 Montreal, Canada
• 2009 Istanbul, Turkey
• 2008 San Francisco, USA
• 2006 Bangalore, India
• 2002 Shenzhen, China
• 2000 Curitiba, Brazil
• 1996 Yoff, Senegal
• 1992 Adelaide, Australia
• 1990 Berkeley, USA

  1. A smart city might not be an ecocity

A smart city is all about using technology to capture, interpret, and employ the data generated by urban systems to make those systems, and thus the city, more efficient. Is an ecocity a smart city? It can be, but, in the sense that “smart city” protagonists use the term, it certainly doesn’t need to be, unless you accept the definition broadened to include sentient, carbon-based, bi-pedal life forms as integral to the operating system.

Smart city agendas invariably refer to improving the quality of life of people, but rarely mention the need to maintain the quality of life for other denizens of the planet.

In summary, an ecocity does not have to be a smart city, but a smart city can aspire to becoming an ecocity.

  1. Biophilic and ecological cities are not necessarily the same

As the leading advocate of “biophilic cities”, Tim Beatley might argue otherwise, but, whereas an ecological city must acknowledge and fit with nature, it doesn’t necessarily follow that it operates so that the citizens have a sense of biophilia—although it is most likely that it would, and it is hard to imagine creating a city “in balance with nature” if nature wasn’t celebrated for its own worth. Likewise, a biophilic city may be ravishingly attractive but, in theory, it could be supported by fossil fuels and produce streams of toxic waste (i.e., be a conventional, current-day city with biophilic overlays—see my last TNOC blog for a brief discourse on what is “authentic” in biophilic experience).

  1. Sustainable cities and ecological cities are not the same

You’re probably beginning to get the theme here. Twenty-five years ago at EcoCity 2, I prompted some real distress on the part of some very strong advocates of “sustainable cities” by insisting on there being a difference between what they were talking about and what I understood by the idea of an ecocity. Hair-splitting infests all professional and academic endeavours, so it may not be surprising that, with sufficient effort, one can argue a chasm of difference between two very similar ideas. My argument rested on my fear that “business as usual” was quite able to assimilate the incremental improvements that were being advocated to move “towards sustainability”, and thence appropriate the tag of “sustainable” without there being any qualitative shift towards anything like an ecocity. I’m inclined to rest my case on the 25 years of history that have failed to deliver anything remotely like a real ecocity, but there have been some significant improvements in urban systems performance around the world and urban experiments such as Masdar in the UAE that have to be welcomed.

Masdar Ecocity in the UAE. A rare on-the-ground example of ecocity ideas in action—but notice the obvious automobile-dependency. Photo: Paul Downton
  1. Ecopolis isn’t a brand, it’s a theoretical position

Ecopolis appears to be just another word for ecocity, but it harbours some profound, albeit subtle, differences. Simply put, the concept of ecopolis (that I favour and have promoted publicly since 1989) is broadly shared by Russian, Chinese, Italian, and other European researchers and protagonists and refers to a “city plus its region”. Thus, an ecopolis is not just bricks-and-mortar, steel, glass, and concrete, but includes its essential hinterland. Its ideal model would be that of urban systems embedded in their bioregion in an interdependent relationship.

From “eco”, to do with ecology and “polis”, a self-governing city, I take ecopolis to mean city plus region (like Magnaghi and Wang) but that clearly isn’t the definition adopted by Vincent Callenbaut who would have well-heeled “climate refugees” living on self-contained, hi-tech ocean-roaming Lilypads each claiming to be an “ecopolis”. Register prefers ecocity to ecopolis, arguing that as a word it is more readily understood (and is easier to render in the plural). To include the region, he favours “ecotropolis”. But we’re all trying to say pretty much the same thing.

The various terms in use can be confusing—is a book about sustainable cities also a book about ecocities, even if the word ecocity is barely acknowledged? The most important thing is to be a little bit tedious and, in any discourse on the subject, begin by making plain what definition in terms you are using.

  1. Ecocities die

All cities change, grow, shrink, live, and, eventually, will die. To quote myself:

“Although the science of cybernetics and systems theory allows that cities might be considered organisms, it may be more correct to say that a city is not an organism, but it is alive. The ‘city as organism’ is a useful and powerful metaphor, but ‘city as ecosystem’ is not a metaphor. It is an entirely appropriate and scientifically defensible description. A city is a massive constructed device that integrates living and non-living components into a total living system that is a physiological extension of our species. It only lives when it is occupied, and it can die. Dead cities are the subjects of study by archaeologists, who can discern a great deal about their living state from the condition and disposition of their carcasses and bones, whilst an analysis of the land around them tells much about the way they lived and the impacts from their reach into the hinterlands.” p.357

Cities outlast empires, even those to which they are central and essential. The Roman Empire lasted about 1,500 years, but the city of Rome has been continuously inhabited for longer than the empire that carries its name. Argos, in Greece, has probably been continuously inhabited as “at least a substantial village” for the past 7,000 years, and Damascus in Syria and Beirut in the Lebanon have existed for over 5,000 years.

All living things die. If a city is to be regarded in any sense as a living system, then it too will have a lifespan. It may reproduce and continue the essence of its existence even if virtually all trace of its original form is lost. Jericho, for instance, can be dated in several “layers”, but the building up of the layers that archaeologists study doesn’t happen as a set of palimpsests. Everything that went before provides an armature, or the DNA, if you will, on which the new is constructed.

Paolo Soleri’s “Arcologies” were the first detailed propositions for a new kind of city that has greatly informed the development of the ecocity idea, particularly in its insistence on compact built form and exclusion of motor vehicles. With distinct physical boundaries, arcologies were designed to have (at least notionally) a minimal impact on wild nature. Image: Soleri Archives

Taking sides?

Ecological, biophilic, sustainable—we’re all basically on the same side, and that is important—but some of us remain deeply frustrated by the continual slide towards global ecological collapse and feel compelled to be a little more insistent about the need for much more rapid change. Some extreme discomfort is integral to that proposition. Better to speed that up lest the extreme discomfort get bottled up and explode dangerously—and too late to stop the disaster of global ecological collapse on a +6 degree Celsius planet.

“Ecocity” is an aspirational label. But in the modern world, that has more than one interpretation. For the “true believers” in the idea of making cities that are both measurably and poetically in balance with nature, it encapsulates an enormous amount of meaning and, for them, merely stating the idea of an ecocity implies an agenda for society, culture, economics, and government with a vision and intention for action that stretches indefinitely into the future. For the less committed, it is simply a cynical branding exercise.

Why does any of this matter? Well, if two people are talking about what they think is the same thing and it isn’t—or if they talk about the same things as if they were different, but they’re the same—you have a recipe for confusion and misunderstanding. Terrific if you’re out to scam people, but of no value to any serious efforts to build human habitat for an ecologically healthy future.

To summarise, if there are ecocity definitions that have both vision and practical purpose, which have been debated and tested for over three decades—let’s use them and be critically cautious of anything less. Whilst recognising that a smart, biophilic, or sustainable city may be an ecocity, even an ecopolis, it is clear that there are distinctions and, for clarity at least, they should be acknowledged. After all, cities may boom and bust through lifecycles that transcend empires and politics but—in one form or another—the nature of cities lives on.

Paul Downton
Melbourne

On The Nature of Cities

Sewage Eating Floating Islands: Operationalizing “Urban Ecosystem Justice”

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The problems facing urban waterways are genuinely wicked and often expensive. But there are some simple, affordable, and decentralized techniques that can result in mutual and reciprocal benefit to both people and their waterways. 
While the urban sustainability movement has had many successes over the past decades, the benefits have been disproportionately befitted affluent residents. This is partly on account of the fact that sustainability discourse over recent years has placed a stronger emphasis on the “environmental” and “economic” aspects of sustainability, largely ignoring or underemphasizing sustainability’s social dimension.

Albany, NY, Summer 2018. The news cameras closely followed the group of youth as they carried the floating island down to the banks of the Hudson River near the edge of the heavily industrialized Port of Albany. Resembling a mass of plastic tubing intertwined with swamp plants, the island was placed in the water and dragged out with kayaks and canoes to be strategically placed near a massive sewage discharge pipe. Already in the river was a solar panel-equipped barrel-raft, tied to several other smaller floating islands. Once all the pieces were coupled together, makeshift anchors created from concrete blocks were dropped on either side, holding the island in a southward-facing orientation. Now fully powered, a solar powered pump hummed away, blowing beautiful tiny bubbles into the roots of the plants from the murky depths below. The artful-yet-functional techno-ecological hybrid assemblage known as the “artificial floating island” was now complete. As the crowd of onlookers applauded and cheered, I could feel the sense of satisfaction and pride that the youth took in their accomplishment.

Launching the Island. Credit: albanyweblog.com

With hope, this creation would help to degrade sewage and storm water pollutants that impaired the health of the river. At minimum, it was a participatory project that fostered a sense of care, love, and responsibility between local youth and the well-being of the river. By shining a light on persistent infrastructural problems such as combined sewage overflows, I sought to illustrate the connections between urban ecosystem health and concerns of social justice, access, and equity, weaving in broader conversations about issues of exclusion and alienation in the urban ecosystem. This one small floating island was an encapsulation of the much larger idea of “urban ecosystem justice”.

On the Shores of the Hudson. Credit: albanyweblog.com

Urban ecosystem justice

Cities and societies are not sustainable unless there is justice.  Urban Ecosystem Justice (Kellogg, 2018) is a framework that views cities as complex adaptive socio-ecological systems and looks at how questions of equity, access, fairness, race and class apply to the biophysical dimensions of urban ecosystems (soil, water, waste, air, biodiversity). By doing so, it makes explicit and moves social sustainability to the forefront of sustainability discourse, while simultaneously challenging ecological alienation by making the urban ecosystem a legitimate, and relevant, topic of study. Both of these issues of social sustainability and ecological alienation are deserving of closer analysis:

Social sustainability

While the urban sustainability movement has had many successes over the past decades, the benefits have been disproportionately befitted affluent residents. This is partly on account of the fact that sustainability discourse over recent years has placed a stronger emphasis on the “environmental” and “economic” aspects of sustainability, largely ignoring or underemphasizing sustainability’s social dimension. This trend has produced a form of “techno-managerial sustainability” that is attractive to business owners, policy makers, and the ruling classes as it promotes a “green” agenda that is at once friendly to capital and conducive to crafting the illusion of community consensus. By relegating the social component, inconvenient questions regarding equity, access, fairness, race and class are glossed over, and fundamental structural socio-economic inequalities are never addressed. As such, the status-quo remains unchallenged and environmental initiatives privilege only affluent communities. Little to no attempt is made to ensure that there is equitable distribution of environmental harms and goods, and in cases when environmental amenities are provided to low-income communities, it often results in the unintentional (or intentional?) consequence of their displacement/cultural alienation (i.e. gentrification). The most extreme form of this manifests in the phenomenon of “urban ecological securitization” (Hodson, 2009), where premium environmental services are provided to the wealthy and the poor are displaced to the urban periphery where they are subject to the brunt of ecological risk, exposure, and vulnerability.

Ecological alienation

Ecological alienation, or ecological rift, is a present-day manifestation of the nature/society dualism professed through modernist ideals and philosophy. Through it, urban residents are profoundly separated from and ignorant of the natural processes and systems that make life on earth possible (i.e. food production, water, composting/decomposition, energy, atmospheric/climatic processes, non-human life). The separation of town and country has relegated these processes and systems to the urban periphery or hinterlands, making them invisible and inaccessible to urban residents. In instances where “remnant” ecologies remain in cities, they are commonly made inaccessible through enclosure, poisoned, degraded, or otherwise de-valued. Where environmental education does exist in cities, it teaches about the environment and nature as external to the city, with urban environments being considered unworthy of study. Likewise, definitions of “the environment” seldom are extended to include social and human processes. The combined influence of these conditions produces in both children and adults what is referred to as “ecophobia” (Sobel, 1996), or fear of ecological systems and processes. When a citizenry has no sense of inter-relation, love, concern, or responsibility for ecological systems, they cannot be expected to act in their defense.

Urban ecosystem justice importantly situates itself within a citizen-center, grassroots context. In this regard, it focuses on exploring and creating mutually reciprocal symbioses between ordinary citizens and urban ecologies from the ground up, an angle typically not explored from top-down planning and policy perspectives. By applying a DIY ethic to the “ecology of cities” paradigm developed in the discipline of urban ecology, humans are seen as central and integral to urban environmental processes. In this regard, urban ecosystem justice can be thought of a “science of cities for the people”. Urban water issues are good starting place for seeing how an urban ecosystem justice response may be operationalized.

Water in cities

Water is essential for life: for drinking, irrigation, fishing, washing, transportation, trade, and industry. It’s no wonder that most cities are built on the edge of a river, lake, or ocean, providing the lifeblood to urban activity. Over time, however, on account of the growth of cities, industrialism, and auto infrastructure, waterways have become increasingly abused and neglected, treated like open sewers to carry away all manner of urban waste products. Correspondingly, the health of urban waterways has suffered, causing them to become unsuitable for either swimming or fishing.

Take New York’s aforementioned Hudson River as an example. Once a thriving tidal estuary with abundant aquatic life that sustained people over thousands of years, in Albany there are now advisories against eating most fish species out of the river, a consequence of PCBs (Poly Chlorinated Biphenyls) leaching from industrial sites and building up in the food chain. To make matters worse, the construction of Interstate Highway 787 in the mid-twentieth century has all but cut off resident’s access to the riverside, a tragic decision made to facilitate suburban commuting at the expense of people’s connection to the river. The inaccessibility and poisoning of waterways has had a disproportionate impact on lower-income urban residents, who frequently rely on fish caught from them for sustenance and survival.

The health of urban waterways is further impaired by polluted storm water runoff. On account of the tremendous amount of impervious cover (asphalt, concrete, and rubber and tar roofs) in cities, very little rainwater is absorbed into soils. The majority of it rushes off streets roofs and flows rapidly into storm drains, carrying a toxic mixture of gas spills, fertilizers, pesticides, and dog droppings. In older cities, storm drain pipes are often combined with sewers. During heavy rain events, these will spill over into local waterways, resulting in what’s known as a CSO (Combined Sewage Overflow). This noxious mixture of storm water runoff and sewage contributes to significant water quality issues in urban water ways including eutrophication (excess of nutrients) and the spread of disease.

The problem of storm water runoff and sewage overflows can seem enormous and daunting. Small actions such as building floating islands can give people the feeling that they have the ability to make an impact, even if it is just a first step.

Warning Sign. Photo: Adam Kaszas

Return to the island

Such was the impetus for the design and creation of the Artificial Floating Island, or AFI (Yeh, 2015).   The AFI was a project of the Radix Ecological Sustainability Center, an urban environmental education non-profit based in the South End of Albany. It was carried out in conjunction with Radix’s “Ecojustice Summer” program, a five-week summer youth employment immersion that combines community gardening with sustainability justice education and outdoor adventure. The AFI’s construction was made possible through a $5,000 award from the Albany Water Board, who opted to fund an environmental benefit project in lieu of paying fines to the Department of Environmental Conservation for failing to report a sewage discharge the previous summer. While Radix had built many AFIs previously, it had always been done on a shoestring budget. Consisting of bundles of recycled plastic bottles, they had been jokingly referred to as “floating trash islands”. Now with some financial backing, we could construct the Cadillac of floating islands complete with a component of active aeration.

Here’s how it worked: “islands” kept afloat by rolls of irrigation tubing would support native wetland plants affixed by zip-ties. While floating in a contaminated water body, the plant roots would grow down into the water column and be colonized by beneficial bacteria. A solar panel mounted on a floating dock powered an air pump that would oxygenate the water and support the microbial community. Sewage and other pollutants flowing through the roots of the plants would be consumed by bacteria while the plants themselves would uptake nutrients from the water, transforming them into a harvestable biomass. Inspired by “natural” floating islands that help to purify lakes and ponds, its design is simple, elegant, and effective. AFI technology had advanced considerably, with a substantial body of published studies proving their effectiveness.

The islands, built cooperatively by the Ecojustice youth, were “incubated” in stock tank ponds at Radix for several weeks before being deployed. This not only gave the chance for both plants and their attached microbes to mature, but also allowed to youth to develop an intimate and daily familiarity with the system, seeing it grow and develop over time. Not only did the island function as a tangible model of participatory, problem-based, and experiential learning, it also spurred interest in the history and ecology of the river itself, an effective means for challenging ecological alienation among the youth who for many, despite having grown up in Albany, had never actually stood on the banks of the Hudson, let alone gone out into it on a boat.

Close-up of Island Roots. Photo: Scott Kellogg
Incubating at Radix. Photo: Adam Kaszas
A baby island. Photo: Scott Kellogg

Conclusion   

The problems facing urban waterways are genuinely wicked, some of which can only be solved through multi-million dollar infrastructural upgrades performed by municipalities. How then, is it possible for the average urban resident to have any impact on this problem? The good news is that there are a number of simple, affordable, and decentralized techniques that can be carried out that will result in mutual and reciprocal benefit to both people and the health of their waterways.

In addition to floating islands, these include rainwater collection, de-paving, and rain gardens. While the impact that any of these might have by themselves is small, collectively and synergistically they can produce significant results. It is critical to point out that these decentralized approaches must be done in coordination with broader political action aimed at “turning off the tap” of storm water and sewage pollution—residents cannot bear the burden of “mopping up the mess”. More importantly, citizens taking any kind of initiative towards improving their relationships with local waterways has profound symbolic and educational value. Just thinking of impaired waters as anything other than hopelessly polluted and deserving of care creates a powerful counter narrative to the idea of urban waters as being dead, toxic, and beyond salvation—an essential first step towards building urban ecosystem justice.

Scott Kellogg
Albany

On The Nature of Cities

Citations

Hodson, Mike, and Simon Marvin. “‘Urban ecological security’: a new urban paradigm?.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 33.1 (2009): 193-215.

Kellogg, Scott.  “Urban Ecosystem Justice: The Field Guide to a Socio-Ecological Systems Science of Cities for the People”. Ph.D. Dissertation.  Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, 2018. ProQuest.

Sobel MEd, David. Beyond ecophobia: Reclaiming the heart in nature education. Orion Society, 1996.

Yeh, Naichia, Pulin Yeh, and Yuan-Hsiou Chang. “Artificial floating islands for environmental improvement.” Renewable and Sustainable Energy Reviews 47 (2015): 616-622.

 

Shade: The Introduction to SPROUT Eco-Poetry Journal Issue 3

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Twelve poems and three meditations on the idea of shade. It is our aim with SPROUT to use poetry, and the space that poetry holds, to advance discussions about our cities’ futures. SPROUT is intended to be a space of convergence—a space where disciplines meet and where transdisciplinary conversations about the eco-urban through poetry take place.  

For SPROUT’s third issue, the editors were inspired by The Nature of Cities’ (TNOC) recent art exhibition, Shade, and invited contributors to draw on the exhibition’s virtual installation as a conceptual springboard to contemplate the theme of shade through a poetic lens. We asked poets to reflect on the role shade plays in the built environment, particularly focusing on shade equity—i.e., how shade can make more inclusive spaces in the city, or, conversely, how the lack thereof can create inhospitable, hostile spaces. We were interested in soliciting work that considered shade from ecological, architectural, and environmental justice points of view.

See the Shade issue here.

In our first completely open call, we encouraged contributors to visit the virtual exhibit of TNOC’s Shade and wander through the installation of featured artists’ umbrellas (manifesting different interpretations of shade). Curated by community-based arts organisation, Arroyo Arts, the exhibition welcomed emerging and established artists to use repurposed umbrellas as their canvas to explore the themes of shade, heat, nature, and climate change. One of the prompts provided to guide visual artists for the Shade exhibit—which we, too, found helpful—read as follows:

In a warming world, shade equity is an issue that disproportionately affects low-income and working-class communities, people of color, and communities in developing nations who are more likely to work outdoors, rely on public transportation, and live in denser neighborhoods with a lack of trees and shade. As the climate changes and heat waves become longer, more intense, and more frequent, what was once thought primarily as an aesthetic amenity is increasingly recognized as a way of protecting the public health and well-being of marginalized communities. Urban heat causes more deaths than all other weather-related causes combined in an average year, and yet providing shade can be simple and effective and can be done in many creative ways including tree planting, bus stop sheds, and awnings, to name a few.

Our issue’s treatment of shade reveals poems that chart the course of light and dark (in other words, the movement of shade), through the course of the day. They play with the idea of how shade shifts and maps itself over urban (and some less urban) spaces. The issue begins with Jean Janicke’s poem inviting us to take action, asking us to put down what we’re doing and “Hurry” in order to not miss the sun lining up through the tree canopy in a transient moment where light communicates through the morse code of shade. Movement and the turning of the earth as light and dark alternate is then carried through to Adrienne Stevenson’s poem, “Degrees of Light”, which sustains the ambivalence of both time standing still, with the sun at its noon-day height, and then its corresponding advancement into the shaded violet of night.

The heat of the day with its absence of shade appeared to interest a number of contributors and this is picked up further in Sue Woodward’s “standard bearer (dawn at eselfontein)”. The poem follows man and dog, walking from one farm to the next in the morning sun, as the shade spins around the axis of the man’s vertical form. He is a flagpole, casting a giant shadow over his dog, which (ignoring for a moment the immediate relief it must provide to his dog) haunts the page with anthropocentric significance: what shadow do we, as humans, cast over the natural world through our activities? Like the blistering sun the farmer faces, Heather Wishik’s diptych faces the topic of shade equity head on. In “Two Neighborhoods – 1960s Pittsburgh”, Wishik presents two urban portraits: one with shaded affluence juxtaposed against that of the workers’ treeless sidewalks that “burned children’s bare feet”.

Mary Elizabeth Birnbaum’s “Burn” seems to present a timely message on this front (with its description of “seeded flame rooted rage”)—especially when forest fires and their attendant smoke and haze currently enshroud the northeastern seaboard of North America. Assuming a more transhistorical point of view, Gregory Haber’s “The South Bronx Sea” contemplates the impact of settler colonial urban planning with the Bronx’s lack of shade as a result of deforestation and industry: both “habitat and haven”, which had previously been “gifted” by “soft pine and hard hornbeam”, are now “sun-beat hardscapes” of “extirpated shade”. Not all is lost though, as “rebellious rebirth” of the forests start to “plumb concrete cracks”, seeing shade finally start to return to the city. Is this a way in which to begin remediating both nature and city of the harm engendered by mercantilist imperialism? What does this mean for its people?

This question seems to be taken up by the next two poems: Sihle Ntule’s “The Sunset Clause” and Erica Bartholomae’s “Heading Home”—both South African poets contemplating shade from a geopolitical perspective. These poems function dialogically, initiating conversation around the shade cast by the old dispensation of apartheid; both wondering whether the dawning of a new age is possible when the legacy of inequity runs so deep. Ntule’s poem throws shade, figuratively, by raising the spectre of South Africa’s fraught negotiated settlement in its transition to multiparty democracy (the “sunset clause” presenting a temporary power-sharing arrangement to end the political deadlock), whilst Bartholomae’s poem reflects how—through the conceit of shade inequity—very little has substantively changed in the country. The editors mulled over the choice of wording in the final lines of the poem: “Wondering how far she had to walk and if this country will ever / change” [our emphasis]. We found the use of the demonstrative pronoun (“this”) over the possible possessive determiner (“our”) interesting, and wondered what this could mean for the collective responsibility needed to overcome environmental racism. We invite our readers to allow themselves to be drawn into the world of this poem, and to sit with this discomfort.

In Anna Rowntree’s, “In the Shade of Some Newly Planted Thing”, a considered reflection on newness runs through the poem—“I didn’t think to bring a blanket; /I am new to this too”; “little walk to the park, the sort of thing new mothers do”—and with it, a sharp focus emerges on its opposite; the opposite here points to what is missing, what is absent, and it extends beyond the line, “But there are no trees here, / No ancestral oak with an inheritance of shade”. In the place of time, age, and growth (all of them absent in the missing inheritance of shade), the new offers up an “invented kind of place / Contrived for the likes of you and me”. By contrast, Deborah Leipziger’s “Tell me, what are you most afraid of?”, growth (growing older: “Let me count my rings”) and age (the active process of aging we are all involved in: “At last count, I am two hundred years old”) are central to the offering of shade as both “protection” and “cover”.

In “Three Acts in November Rain Play”, by Tricia Knoll, we experience the ordinary-ness of a day, through the eyes of someone who has “nowhere safe to go, no one expecting me”. Safety and shade seem somehow linked here, and yet, ambiguity remains—nothing is ever made clear, leaving the reader slightly unsettled. By contrast, the issue ends with a short poem, by Mary Salome, that offers us insight into the “quiet offering of shade”. It was a purposeful choice to close with this poem, reflecting how through optimism, collective action, and a renewed sense of responsibility and love (for community, habitat, ourselves and each other) we hope to work towards greener and more inclusive urban spaces despite the adversities we face in a world increasingly ravaged by the effects of environmental racism and climate change.

It is our aim with SPROUT to use poetry, and the space that poetry holds, to advance discussions about our cities’ futures. Being a creative project of The Nature of Cities, from its inception, SPROUT is intended to be a space of convergence—a space where disciplines meet and where transdisciplinary conversations about the eco-urban through poetry take place. We view the medium of poetry, its form(s) and function(s), as providing a unique vantage point from which to initiate and allow these kinds of conversations to materialize and unfold. In the Meditations segment of each issue of the journal, we invite city practitioners (i.e., architects, academics, ecologists, civil servants, scientists, other artists) to consider and reflect on the works in the current issue, translating the volume into the register of their own meaning-making of the city.

In this issue, we offer you the opportunity to engage with meditations on shade, framed by the work contained within the issue. Edith and Jolly de Guzman (curators of TNOC’s Shade exhibition), reflect on how amenities like shade are “defining a new era of climate injustice”, while Stéphane Verlet-Bottéro, considers how poetry and the “poetic act opens interstices, margins, twilight zones”, as a means to come to terms with the current state of the world. Finally, Paul Currie reflects on the “balancing act” of his work, describing it as being “on a tightrope between joy and despair”. We are delighted that his meditation echoes the hopeful note we aimed to strike and end on; and, with that in mind, we leave the final words of this editorial to him: “joy is a more powerful motivator for myself and so, every day in these vignettes of life I am seeking, yes, the gaps, but also the nuggets of possibility”.

Kirby Manià and Dimitra Xidous, Executive Editors
Vancouver and Dublin

Sprout cover image by Hannah Harm.

On The Nature of Cities

Dimitra Xidous

About the Writer:
Dimitra Xidous

Dimitra Xidous is a Research Fellow in TrinityHaus, a research centre in Trinity College Dublin’s School of Engineering that focuses on co-creation and the intersection between the built environment, health, wellbeing inclusion, climate action and sustainability. She is an Executive Editor of SPROUT, an eco-urban poetry journal, run in partnership with The Nature of Cities.

Shaped by Urban History—Reflections on Bangkok

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It takes distance to gain a sense of perspective, and so I find myself sitting in a small market town in the north of England looking halfway across the world at my time living in one of the world’s great emerging megacities, Bangkok.

New investment and land speculation in Bangkok could reshape urban futures…or exacerbate inequalities and relocate risk. So far it is the latter.

From this market town there is a sense of history that goes back over a thousand years, with the architectural and cultural artefacts laid out in the physical structure of the town, and the historical product of massive social upheaval and political struggle evident in the common land that surrounds the town, and the many alms houses that provided early forms of social housing. As enduring as this history is, much of the evidence of the past is missing. During the last 20 or more years, the dockside area has closed and is now rusting, and the manufacturing industry has all but disappeared.

Scenes from Bangkok. Photo: Richard Friend
Photo: Richard Friend

Yet this point of perspective provides a sense of clarity on two enduring tensions: how much we are shaped by our urban history, and how much we continue to find the possibility of radical, transformative change.

The story of Bangkok illustrates a strange contradiction, revealing both the ways in which cities can grow and reshape themselves in dramatic fashion, but also the ways in which cities can become locked-in to a degree of path dependency, whereby alternative trajectories for the future appear constrained by actions of the past and the politics of the present.

Bangkok is a relatively new city, a mere 200 or so years old. But it is a city that has grown in geographical area and population, and in the global cultural imagination, from the Venice of the East to a form that is increasingly land-based, stretching higher into the sky, lit up through the night. This process of change is visible on an almost daily basis.

Photo: Richard Friend
Photo: Richard Friend

Having lived in different parts of the Thailand as well as Laos and Cambodia, I moved back to Bangkok in 2008 just as the impacts of the global financial crisis hit deep. My time in Bangkok was a period in which this relatively modern city went through a fresh round of expansion and intensification, revealing long-standing fault lines of potential conflict, and creating new ones. Arriving in the summer with petrol prices at an all-time high, the notorious Bangkok gridlock seemed to have eased dramatically. People were no longer using their cars, and many who still did were converting petrol engines to liquid gas.

But shortly, the quiet of the crisis was replaced by a new wave of frantic activity. This was especially evident in my own neighbourhood, which was once a relatively distant part of the city, defined by the canal system that joined the main river of the Chao Praya and the low lying floodplain land around it. It was only three or four years ago that the last of the fruit orchards, fish ponds, traditional houses, and small farms disappeared here. Admittedly, they had been hanging on by a thread, but they provided a window into a former time. They were a connection to the wider agricultural landscape around Bangkok. There are still some families that continue to live in much the same way as they have for generations, with houses along the waterways, using small boats to punt themselves and their children across the bank to reach the main urban transport infrastructure. But the waterways were now targeted for a fresh round of land speculation and investment, with high value condominiums and housing estates scheduled to take over the canal banks.

For some reason, it took me some time to appreciate what was happening in my own neighbourhood, but soon it became a regular occurrence to walk down a familiar street, only to find that much of it had disappeared overnight, ready for a new round of construction. The impermanence of the urban landscape—the way in which it could be brought down, reshaped, and reconstructed (sometimes through several rounds) within an astonishingly brief period—was, and is, quite staggering.

Bangkok has witnessed a continued growth in land speculation and investment, drawing capital from around the world but also, significantly, from within the country too. Land speculation has been a persistent theme in the economics of Thailand for many years, and citizens have widely used the phrase “rich in land”, often for those who benefited from the increased market value of what had previously been low-value land. In this way, we have seen farmers sell up to land speculation across the country. This has not always brought the benefits that were expected and there is an enduring motif in popular culture of the rural person who sold their land for quick returns, only to blow the proceeds within a short time and find themselves landless, working as hired labour, worse off than when they started.

Much of Thailand does not have the kinds of land rights that would allow for any opportunity to benefit from the emerging land markets. And so, while investment in land and property involves many people, the costs are often quite clear. Stumbling on an old residential area near the main market that had, disappeared overnight (as if purposefully doing so under cover of darkness), I stopped to talk to the few people that had remained. Initially, they were suspicious, assuming that I was somehow connected to the company that had bought the land to build a condominium. Their story is all too familiar. Despite having lived there for around 90 years, the families had no legal rights. The purchase of the land came as an enormous surprise. There seems to have been no effort to address their rights or their concerns. They told me that the offer of compensation was 3000 Baht (USD$ 86) per household—take it or leave it. Not only were they losing their homes, their connection to place, and their community, but the compensation would not cover any of the costs required to move. And as they said, where else is there left in Bangkok that is affordable and near to work?

Photo: Richard Friend
Photo: Richard Friend

Two factors seem to drive the patterns of speculation, and subsequent conversion and construction that follow. Evidently, part of these trends is an apparent attempt to break the path dependence of Bangkok’s transport. The imperative to improve public transport and break the deadlock of traffic gridlock has led to continued investment in the skytrain system. My neighbourhood benefited from such infrastructure. Once considered remote, it is now only a few stops from the glitzy parts of town. Indeed, the glitz has moved out along these routes, and the new urban ideal of the condominium within an overhead walkway stroll’s distance to the skytrain and associated shopping malls has become a physical reality. My neighbourhood is now an area with some of the fastest rising land and property prices—a new investment frontier in the capital.

The sky train demonstrates how investment can reshape traffic. It provides a fast service for getting across the vast area of the city. It also is an alternative to the noise and pollution of the ground level traffic, with air-conditioned carriages and televisions for advertisements. But it is a transport service, and lifestyle, that comes at a cost that is beyond the means of most working families. There is a clear class divide between those who use the service and the rest of the city, that is as strong as the physical separation of the sky train from the ground.

The other factors that have contributed to this reshaping of city transport are much more clearly to do with the way that investment operates in a fast-growing Asian city. Following the maxim of buy low, sell high, money has flowed in such a way as to target cheap land for speculation. Cheap in this context can mean different things—land where ownership is unclear, or where tenancy rights are weak. The relocation of long-established communities is testament to this trend.

An additional feature of the current round of speculation and, indeed, of the history of much of Bangkok and the surrounding provinces, is that much of the land that is targeted is somehow marginal because it is flood prone. Some of the greatest investment in Bangkok and the Chao Praya basin has been on the floodplains, wetlands, and rice fields that flood annually by their nature, and that for a time were protected in state land use plans and zoning. These were easily overturned as capital sought new investment opportunities and high returns; the financial investment, in turn, bought political returns. And so, even the famous King Cobra Swamp, a low-lying wetland on the edge of the city, was targeted for the new international airport. Despite public warnings of the risks this type of land conversion posed to the city of Bangkok, even from the much-revered King, the investments moved forward.

Photo: Richard Friend
Photo: Richard Friend

The implications of these investments were revealed in 2011 with the great floods. Many of the industrial parks and housing estates that had been built in the floodways around Bangkok were under water. The impacts cascaded through production chains across the world. At the same time, the pressure to protect the inner city of Bangkok and the international airport led to desperate measures: trying to divert water and halting the flow while maintaining flood levels in some areas. Inevitably, this leads to conflict between those flooded and those spared.

While the new round of investment and speculation in Bangkok illustrates the potential for reshaping urban futures, the most dominant themes that emerge from current trends are of exacerbating inequalities and relocating risk. With limited public dialogue on urban futures, there seems less opportunity for a transformative future that might be more just and more ecologically viable.

Sometimes, reaffirming the basics can have enormous influence. One of my Thai colleagues used to tell me that rights of access to information and participation, and redress and remedy—the Access Rights of Principle 10 from the Rio Summit—would be the foundation for real progress in environmental and social justice. Sitting back in England, I find it’s easy to take these rights for granted. Of course, in Europe, people have come from prolonged, intense political struggle. Their rights have been claimed, rather than granted. From the vast open space of common grazing land that surrounds this market town, to the ability for citizens to organise and petition against local development plans, the landscape here is very different. It does not necessarily mean that outcomes are better, but certainly the odds seem better stacked.

Richard Friend
Bangkok

On The Nature of Cities

Shifting the Paradigm: Art and Ecology Unite!

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Artists bring into focus the complexity of our current situation and, in the complexity, there is beauty and potential in uncovering new pathways forward.
The world’s ecosystems are rapidly changing, and urban natural areas are often the first to exhibit these changes. The urban heat island effect and increased air, water, and soil pollution are some of the impacts of the increasing human imprint that affect urban natural areas disproportionately. Symptoms of these impacts are expressed ecologically through the rearranging of biotic communities, soundscapes that emphasize the industrial, and the migration of vertebrates and hydrology being contained and controlled. These issues are complex, and we need new ideas and creative solutions to begin to address them.

Can collaborations between artists and ecologists inspire new ways forward?

Photo of Host Analog by Buster Simpson. Photo: Stephen Davis

To explore this idea, I collaborated with artist Linda Wysong. Together we designed a bike ride field trip as part of the Ecological Society of America’s annual conference in August this year. The bike ride starts at the conference center with Linda and me as guides for the visiting ecologists. Artist Peg Butler helps us interpret our first stop: “Host Analog” by Buster Simpson. Simpson created a “process piece” by taking an old growth log from an ancient forest, brought it to the city and let it be. Sprinklers were installed, but weeding was forbidden. Twenty years ago it was a bare spliced log, and now it is a mini wild forest surrounded by a brick plaza next to a metro stop. Buster, in effect, brought the wild into the city, forcing us to contend with natural processes, changing aesthetics, and re-connecting ancient forests to the city.

We weave down a bike path along the Willamette River, with views of the central city, stopping near the Hawthorne bridge in one of the heaviest used sections of the river. It is also an ecological restoration site. The program I work for tried to establish a native forest in soils that were a composite of rock and concrete fill, with more rock placed on top. What does ecological restoration mean in the middle of the city, and who is the restoration for? People reclaimed this spot with the help of trail and boat dock improvements, but the mix of native plants continues to struggle, as do the salmon that migrate in the river below.

Linda Wysong’s “Shifting Assets” with Linda in center. Photo: Stephen Davis

Our next stop is at Oaks Bottom, a natural area that has been transformed by both Linda’s public art pieces and the forest restoration work that I have been a part of. In this riparian forest, we explore where art and ecology overlap by opening our senses and noticing our surroundings. We walk silently in the forest for ten minutes. Then Linda describes her sculpture “Shifting Assets”, formed from a glacial erratic stone mined from the river. The basalt stone was sliced and layered with translucent acrylic that changes with the sun and the season. Linda’s sculpture creates a meeting spot, a discovery and a conversation with the river. The ecological work transformed the bramble thickets to a young riparian forest, adding structure and shade with the intention of improving wildlife habitat and water quality. Although different in expression, both of our labors speak to place making for humans and non-humans alike.

Our bike ride continues to a local gallery, Indivisible, run by Christine Toth, where we eat tacos and discuss art and ecology. Linda curated the art show featuring Peg Butler, Bruce Conkle, Egg Dahl, Ardis DeFreece, Adam Kuby, Vanessa Renwick, Buster Simpson, and herself. We are joined by Vanessa, Ardis, Peg, Bruce, and Emily Bosanquet, founder of the Art + Science Initiative at Pacific Northwest College of Art (PNCA) to discuss where our disciplines overlap, and how we can better work together. One ecologist suggests there wasn’t always a division between art and science. Leonardo Da Vinci sketched and painted, continually updating and improving his observation skills, which improved his art and scientific ventures. Another ecologist found it to be true as well: by sketching a plant, he learned more about its structures and its ecological functions. Artists are often masters at observation and take the time to interpret what they see and feel. Scientists often do the same, but use data collection and analysis to aid in their interpretations. Also mentioned was that artists tend to be poor note takers and scientists poor communicators. By working together, artists and ecologists can remediate their weaknesses. Collaboration could also lead to breakthroughs in sustainability science, new methods to translate and document ecology, and provide a platform for a deeper connection between people and the land. Thinking about all the possibilities, we all agreed that these conversations need to continue and advance into more tangible partnerships.

Lunch at Indivisible Gallery. Photo: Stephen Davis

Art and ecological restoration

I am fortunate to manage a natural area that is dotted with carved stones by Fernanda D’Agostino. While Linda’s work highlights the site’s industrial and environmental history, Fernanda highlights the unseen: the plankton, diatoms, and invertebrates. D’Agostino’s most recent work, Generativity, is an immersive experience, forcing viewers to be inside natural systems, or to acknowledge that they are already inside natural systems. Her art serves as a conduit for interpretation, discovery, and connection to place.

Portland Ecologists Unite!, a local igniter of ecological conversations of which I am founder and a steering committee member, curated six artists to be a part of a panel discussion titled “How art is necessary in ecological restoration”. This discussion took place inside an ecological restoration conference on the opening night and served as inspiration for the rest of the proceedings. One artist on the panel, Ka’ila Farrell-Smith, is a contemporary Klamath/Modoc indigenous artist. She utilizes painting and sculptural art forms to explore the space between indigenous and western worlds. A major goal of Ka’ila’s work is to acknowledge indigenous land, and to perpetuate narratives that embrace the indigenous paradigm of inter-generational community. Indigenous voices are crucial in the dialogue of how to create sustainable and just landscapes. Ka’ila gave attendees a gift of shedding light on the current and historical injustices that have occurred on the land, and inspired many people through her words and her art.

Carved stone by Fernanda D’Agostino near the Columbia Blvd. Wastewater Treatment Plant, Portland OR. Photo: Toby Query

Collaborations between artists and ecologists

Ka’ila is also the co-director of Signal Fire Arts, an NGO that brings artists into wild places, educating them about public lands and creating space for collaboration and art making. Signal Fire knows the value of artists in society, and that they are essential in the struggle to protect our planet. They also have created the Tinderbox residency which embeds artists in environmental non-profits. Those artists then create work that informs, promotes and translates the non-profits work into something tangible, thought-provoking, and creative, such as Holcombe Waller’s collaboration with Columbia Riverkeeper. PNCA has created an Art and Ecology Minor for students “who want to reimagine what art and design can do in the world” and creates student residencies in public agencies. These organizations are merging arts and ecology and creating transdisciplinary dialogue and advocates for a greener tomorrow.

“MNI WICONI Banner” (Water is Life in Lakota) by Ka’ila Farrell-Smith. Mixed-media painting on canvas with hand-twined red cordage. Approx. 72″ x 116″, 2016. Image references Klamath basket design and stenciled texts from Standing Rock Oceti Sakowin camp.

These examples are excellent models, but I would like them to become more commonplace, with artist-in-residence programs in NGOs, scientific conferences, and within governmental agencies. This would benefit the larger society by igniting new conversations and triggering the formation of new partnerships that could prepare organizations to better adapt to current and future situations. It’s a tough sell, using public money to hire artists, but it’s worth it! We are already using public dollars for public art works, why not have artists work from inside public agencies? Merle Laderman Ukeles spent nearly 40 years as an artist-in-residence at the New York Department of Sanitation. She researched the complex garbage disposal system and created art and performances. One performance took over a year, in which she shook hands with each of the 8,500 sanitation workers. In-effect she broke down barriers between districts and disciplines in the department, and was a conduit in revealing the maintenance work that thousands of workers do each day to keep New York City clean.

What can ecologists gain from artists?

Many ecologists have been trained to look for linear associations; e.g., this animal causes the reduction in this plant. But ecology, at its best, is a systems science. Ecologists seek to know how all parts are interrelated, how those connections function with each other, and how the interactions change with different influences. In our current world of accelerating change ecologists need creativity (and artists!) to help discover important components of the socio-ecological system. Ecologists are brain heavy and eye heavy, learning what’s relevant through observation, notation, and reading. We rarely use our ears, our nose, our hands, or our whole body to assess the ecosystem and our effects on it. Creek College is an experimental school that works to empower all senses to creatively connect and explore the natural world. I attended a few Creek College classes, and they were all compelling, in that they changed my perspective on how to see and sense the landscape. Classes included a soundscape exploration with Lisa Schonberg, an indigenous plant medicine class with Clay River, and a movement class led by Hannah Krafcik and Emily Jones. Creek College has created workshops that are exploring exactly what I’m trying to articulate: that transdisciplinary dialogue and information sharing can create a more connected and inspired human community. This inevitably leads to new ideas, new energy, and potential to transform the future.

Adam Kuby is an artist and landscape architect who seeks to add niches and ecological value to the built environment. He has proposed a Peregrine falcon nest cliff built into the face of a downtown building and to convert a rock jetty into a series of tide pools. These are outcomes that most ecologists would embrace, but only an artist could envision and elaborate on the idea. In collaboration, artists and ecologists, along with decision makers can produce inspiring and eco-friendly infrastructure.

There are calls to change the way sustainability science and ecology is practiced in the city. Grove et al. (2016) argue to form project teams in which scientists and decision makers work collaboratively. This approach is great but will have better outcomes if artists are equal players within these project teams. This happens when all parties are paid equally, where there is a horizontal power structure, and where there is space for the artist, scientist, and decision maker to explore ideas without the need for preconceived outcomes. It’s in the exploration that creative ideas can be formed and elaborated. Ideas coupled with science and policy can identify leverage points for change.

Now more than ever we need to embrace artists. Artists have helped change my perspective on how I practice ecology. What I once thought I knew through my studies as an ecologist, I now actually experience. I now notice layers of the soundscape, see multiple values in different plants, and acknowledge layered cultural meanings of wild spaces. Artists bring into focus the complexity of our current situation, and in the complexity, there is beauty and potential in uncovering new pathways forward.

Toby Query
Portland

On The Nature of Cities

Citation:
Grove, J. M., D. L. Childers, M. Galvin, S. Hines, T. Muñoz-Erickson, and E. S. Svendsen. 2016. Linking science and decision making to promote an ecology for the city: practices and opportunities. Ecosystem Health and Sustainability 2(9):e01239. 10.1002/ehs2.1239

Shortcomings of the Paris Accord: We Need to Combat Air Pollution at Multiple Scales

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As world leaders gathered recently in New York to sign the momentous Paris accord to curb future carbon emissions, the air in Indian cities such as Delhi continued to scale alarming heights of befoulment, and Chinese cities such as Beijing keep struggling to curtail the roiling murk in their own skies. While this agreement deserves celebrating, we also need to be clear about what it will not do, and not just on the climate issue itself. The Paris accord does very little to address these cities’ aerial plights, part of what has made air pollution the single biggest cause of death and disease in our world today.

It is precisely by tying the deadly skies over their cities to the imperative of reducing carbon emissions that leaders and activists outside the West stand a chance of accomplishing what they promised in Paris.

A widespread hope prevails that curbs on carbon emissions will also fix the dirty air in these nations’ metropolises. But our past in the United States suggests otherwise. The way that the U.S. and other long-industrialized nations better tamed our own smog problems has conditioned us to tackling one enormous environmental problem while ignoring the other.

After a stinging haze began swirling across the Los Angeles basin in the mid-1940s, a political furor arose, and scientists and regulators set about trying to understand and contain the problem. At first they looked for solid particles and the sulfur oxides often associated with these, much like what now troubles Beijing and Dehli skies. Similar to these recent afflictions, Los Angeles’ smog pooled only across the basin, especially when trapped by an overlying layer of cooler air. It stung eyes, obscured buildings, and stirred far-reaching concerns about Angelenos’ health. It drove so many residents to local clinics or emergency rooms that in the 1950s, local doctors recognized a pervasive “smog disease” and became convinced it was triggering lung cancers.

The earliest emergency measures did significantly curb the overall amount of carbon being ignited across the basin. Sternest of these, and accompanying a new smog alert system starting in 1955, a highest “health hazard” level set for sulfur dioxide and other recognized pollutants triggered far-reaching shutdowns of industry, traffic, and businesses. Like the measure recently declared in Beijing, however, it was imposed only rarely, and for a very short time.

delhi-air
The smog over Delhi. Photo: Jean-Etienne Minh-Duy Poirrier / Creative Commons

Most of the other ways in which Los Angeles and other American cities tamed this sort of air pollution, by contrast, actually enabled more carbon to be burnt. They aimed, after all, only at alleviating local or regional accumulations of contaminants, and especially those that threatened humans’ health. California, then the entire U.S, adopted a similar strategy: enclosing those fires that blazed in factories or power plants or cars, or else filtering out the least healthy effluents. Catalytic converters, for instance, “solved” only one part of the environmental problems posed by cars, what went out the tailpipe. They didn’t address either how much or what kind of fuel was being burned.

Successful as this earlier wave of environmental regulation has been with what thereby became known as conventional pollutants, it has remained all too effectively disengaged from the burgeoning torrent of fossil fuels Americans have continued to kindle. Even as average ozone levels are now 40 percent lower than in the 1970s, Los Angeles has twice as many cars. A few measures, like the advent of mass transit and of hybrid vehicles, have kept Americans’ carbon emissions from rising as much as they might have. But overall, the pollution control ushered in by the Clean Air Act actually enabled the United States to become the world’s biggest emitter of carbon over the late twentieth-century and the single greatest contributor to global climate change.

We Americans also have a hard time remembering that half a century ago in our country, “conventional” pollution provided a tremendous spur for mobilizing citizens. Its localized, palpable, and downright pathological presence in and around American cities furnished the single most powerful rationale for a mass environmental movement.

Among the fruits of this mass environmental movement’s crowning legacy—the Clean Air Act—are the Obama administration’s new rules targeting carbon emissions. Yet their imperceptible, non-toxic character long made it very hard to rouse a comparable movement on the climate’s behalf in a nation such as the United States, at least until the effects of climate change started hitting home.

Now, those of us cheering the new climate pact in nations whose cities seem less afflicted need to understand that the push to curb the carbon emissions in countries such as China or India cannot, and should not, be the same as in America. Politically speaking, it is precisely by tying the deadly skies over their cities to the imperative of reducing carbon emissions that leaders and activists outside the West stand a chance of actually accomplishing or going beyond what they promised in Paris.

The immediate health dangers from smog offer developing world leaders strong enticements to prioritize solutions concocted by the West for that problem alone, from re-sited coal plants to scrubbers to natural gas. Yet already, in an authoritarian China prodded by citizen unrest and the media to act, we’ve seen efforts that combat conventional pollution and carbon emissions at once, such as a downscaling of plans for coal-fired power plants. India, with the world’s worst polluted cities, has much further to go with monitoring and other control basics for smog, but it has announced an ambitious effort to ramp up solar power production. And at least on an emergency basis, Delhi itself has tried measures like halving its car drivers that may also shrink its carbon emissions. If there is to be any hope of solving the twin climate and pollution crises, leaders, activists and policymakers need to promote and sustain policies that keep both goals in mind, not just one or the other.

To support them, “capacity building” promised by the new pact for developing nations should prioritize shifts in these countries’ fuel mixes that actually do target the dirty air afflicting cities like Beijing and Delhi. And this assistance should not be limited to the problem as we in the global North tend to define it: reducing the volume of fossil fuels being burnt. Instead, throughout the global South, this aid should also support all the monitoring, expertise, technology, and enforcement that reduces people’s exposures to the most dangerous by-products of fossil-fueled fires—protections most climate-related policy and activism in North America and Europe now take for granted.

This pollution is killing and sickening millions right now, not just in a future of rising sea levels and worsening droughts or storms. And with such cities set to receive the greatest share of global population growth in coming decades, this problem threatens to get worse before it gets better.

Christopher Sellers
Stony Brook

On The Nature of Cities