“A Child of the Oasis” by Ari Honavar, read by Nora Achrati A mother and daughter meet an undocumented refugee on their annual ride to the father’s Remembrance Wall.
“Not Icarus” by Michael Harris Cohen, read by Dori Legg A grandmother defies social law by killing birds to try to save her granddaughter from disease.
The stories are read, and then authors Ari and Michael are joined by social scientist Laura Shillington, a researcher and practitioner whose work in Canada and Central America often concerns children and families.
Nora Achrati is a voice actress based in Washington, DC.
Dori Legg is an actress currently living in New York City.
“Stories of the Nature of Cities 1/2 Hour” is a monthly series of readings from TNOC’s collection of very short fiction about future cities. Each episode is 30 minutes and features two readings and then a conversation between the authors and an urban practitioner.
Michael Harris Cohen has stories in The Dark, F(r)iction, Catapult’s Tiny Crimes, and Conjunctions. He’s received a Fulbright grant and fellowships from The Djerassi Foundation, Art OMI, and Jentel. His first book, The Eyes, was published by Mixer Publishing. He teaches writing and literature at the American University in Bulgaria.
Laura Shillington is faculty in the Department of Geoscience and the Social Science Methods Programme at John Abbott College (Montréal). She is also a Research Associate at the Loyola Sustainability Research Centre, Concordia University (Montréal).
Stormwater is a topic of great interest, especially now that the plight of water has been heightened by environmental pollution, dwindling resources, and growing frequency of severe storm events. What was once considered to be a nuisance or of little consequence has become the focus of city leaders around the world, triggering a call to action to support the better management of the critical, life giving natural resource: water. Artful Rainwater Design: Creative Ways to Manage Stormwater is a timely book that provides insight into the strategies, implementation methods, design parameters, and amenities that creative stormwater design can yield.
The discussion of stormwater management has evolved over the past twenties years and with the emergence of Artful Rainwater Design (ARD), a rebranded, specialty focus of stormwater infrastructure, suggests that not only can we achieve improved utilitarian benefits from this form of engineering, but when integrated as a feature design element of open space, can provide an added amenity with a multitude of benefits to the community. To this point, the book looks at these two overarching themes of rainwater design—amenity and utility—as a means to isolate and reflect on the virtues of ARD within both pragmatic and social realms. Separating these two realms thereby allows the audience, whom the authors describe as “rainwater management designers”, to understand the information and become inspired by these implementable solutions, which are illustrated and explained through the collection of built project references.
Before diving into particular projects, the authors are careful to define the word ‘amenity’ as well as how it can be understood in context of ARD. For the sake of the book, they note that the definition has two “inherent limitations” based on 1) that attractiveness or value is based on human appreciation (as opposed to “wildlife”) and 2) the measure of attractiveness is based on our understanding of mainstream United States of America’s tastes in landscape beauty. This comment reveals that the target audience is not “rainwater management designers” generally, but those designers specifically practicing in the United States.
In this way, the book provokes the question–what are the aesthetic choices and values placed on working in the certain context of the United States vs. other places throughout the world? How do cultural values directly or indirectly identify a ‘sense of water’ through choices of design expression (form, material, texture, color, etc.)? In the case of ‘green infrastructure’, the added layer of plant material, as a designed ecology or part of a larger environmental restoration effort, has the opportunity to portray the intent of ARD and to suggest its belonging to a particular biome (riparian, coastal, wetland, dry wash, etc.) While the book provides a ‘toolkit’ of ideas to achieve amenity and utility driven goals, the challenge relies on the designer to recognize the importance of choosing the appropriate design solution and plant material(s) that are compatible with the frequency and volume of stormwater that the system is designed to manage. Additionally, the designer will need to make an aesthetic decision based on the client/owner’s cultural acceptance of ‘landscape’, and within that, the sense of beauty found within landscape which are designed to be ‘natural’ vs. ‘built’. While amenity is framed in a particular way related to ARDs, the more significant value is triggering one’s awareness that the ARD is intended to improve the management of stormwater and potentially create a reference for the user to engage with.
The book, which has the look and feel of a textbook (in a helpful reference sense), is divided into four parts—Part 1) History and Background, Part 2) Achieving Amenity, Part 3) Achieving Utility, and Part 4) Case Studies. The projects described in Artful Rainwater Design are repeatedly referred to throughout the various parts of the book, which serves the authors’ purpose: to reveal the multi-beneficial nature of ARD as well as to express how goals and objectives can be met through various stormwater management techniques. Midway through the book, the authors present a means to identify and cross correlate the goals, objectives, and techniques through a diagram (Table 3.1 The complex web of ARD utility goals, objectives, and techniques on page 103) which becomes the basis for explaining the assortment of techniques found in Part Three. I found this diagram to be particularly intriguing; it has the potential to serve as a key organizational feature for the book, suggesting a sense of decision making based on values from both amenities and utilities that the book offers.
Part 1: The History of Stormwater Management and Background for Artful Rainwater Design is an important beginning for readers to place stormwater management into a historical context. The authors trace the original aim of stormwater management, which was driven by basic engineering aims (drain water as efficiently as possible; protect from flooding) and narrate how the practice is moving towards a more holistic and less infrastructure-dependent practice. Motivated by early practices of “defensive planning”, stormwater management was formerly considered a means of protection against nature, delineating a defensive boundary to protect from flooding and, as a result, creating a hermetic seal around development. Echols and Pennypacker point to the change in attitude towards stormwater management that was triggered by the environmental movement of the 1960s, and that reached new heights with the release of Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring (1962) and Ian McHarg’s Design with Nature (1969), both of which cast a greater awareness that water quality and environmental pollution were interconnected. The authors explain that this awareness by the science community and federal oversight by the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), which led to the Clean Water Act in 1972, represented the initial steps to more widespread acknowledgement of and the development of a regulatory framework for non-point pollution. Non-point pollution would become the operative lens through which ARD approaches would unfold—finding a means to “green” more urbanized areas and to capture and treat the “first flush” (or first ½ inch to 1 ½ inches of rainfall) of pollutants before they made their way into the tributary system. With better environmental analysis and understanding of non-point pollution, ‘stormwater management’ came to include quality in addition to (flood) control, necessitating the rethinking of conventional stormwater management systems.
Towards the end of Part 1, the authors indirectly define Artful Rainwater Design (ARD) as a strategy that conceives of “…sustainable stormwater management that is not only visually appealing but also informative about the way it manages rain.” This strategy became a movement in the 1990s as the cities of Portland and Seattle sought to make their stormwater infrastructural systems more adept at achieving higher water quality for the sake of threatened environmental species, as well as to allow people to better understand and appreciate how water is handled in urban and suburban areas. While the word ‘artful’ may be subjective, the term “Artful Rainwater Design” provides a non-technical means of packaging the virtues of this new form of infrastructure, which can bring such amenities as community and social benefits. The term encapsulates the multi-beneficial aspects that Artful Rainwater Design can bring and the ideas it promotes, which readers can explore in their own work.
Amenity, expressed through Artful Rainwater Design. Image: Echols
Within Part 2:Achieving Amenity with Artful Rainwater Design, the authors discuss many so-called “amenity” goals found within the practice of landscape design. For the purposes of the book, the goals are specific to the ARD projects featured therein, including: Education, Recreation, Safety, Public Relations (PR), and Aesthetic Richness. Based on these goals, the authors gleaned specific objectives and associated them with the various techniques deployed in the ARD designs. For each goal, the authors provide a table breaking down the various objectives and coupling them with various design techniques, yielding a helpful quick reference for the reader. This design palette of techniques is subsequently translated through the case study projects, which illuminate the possible variation in creating amenities that transcend traditional realms of site design and move into realms of architecture, art, and street design.
Utility, diagrammatically portraying Artful Rainwater Design. Image: Echols and Maurer
Part 3:Achieving Utility with Artful Rainwater Design, begins with an overview of utility and how to distinguish stormwater management from stormwater treatment. Treatment is “a subset of management that addresses water quality.” I appreciated the author’s note that “..the utility strategies used in ARD are ones that promote stormwater management that clearly celebrates rain.” This is fundamental to their objective of creating awareness about water as a resource on which we depend; such awareness is greatly needed within our communities, particularly in our more urbanized neighborhoods. I would urge that ARD utility strategies are a celebration of water ; they promote and instill a sense of stewardship and a means of direct/indirect learning about how to support a healthier environment.
Part 4: Case Studies of Artful Rainwater Design, the appendix section, provides a helpful profile for each project included in the book. These profiles comprise: the background story (basis for the project, owner/client discussion, funding), both amenity and utility goals are identified as easily readable graphic icons, an in-depth description of both amenity and utility attributes of the project, concluding notes, and the sources for each case study. Information on the project site’s related climate data as well as the construction costs would be greatly appreciated addition for the book’s next edition. As a Southern California native,living with multi-year periods of prolonged drought, I would have found it interesting and beneficial for the authors to have included information on each project’s climate—particularly rainfall—and implementation costs. It is without question that water is everyone’s concern. However, for areas that see very little rainfall whatsoever, it is even more important to illuminate to the public and to convince landowners that every drop of water that lands on a site area needs to be accounted for. Any storm water management design should allow for the value of that water to be maximized.
This book achieves its goal—to explain and express the opportunities that are afforded by Artful Rainwater Design. As a landscape architect and urban designer, I hope that the authors return to this topic and take a deeper look at questions that arise in the (professional) industry, including performance metrics, cost-benefit analyses, and challenges placed on these systems over time. As many cities are faced with rising costs for maintenance and capital expenditures, providing both direct and indirect cost benefits (or means of describing these benefits in terms of their monetary value) to the policy makers along with a description of anticipated costs over the life of a project would provide the incentive to include these exciting advancements in stormwater infrastructure early on, enabling more creative design expressions while securing a healthier environment.
Overall, this book is a worthwhile read and a useful reference for “rainwater management designers”, including professional (and student) landscape architects, engineers, and architects. I am also hopeful that, given the book’s open-ended title, it will find its way into the hands of policy makers, city managers, and community builders at large here in the U.S.A. and abroad, providing more creative means to achieve a healthier, visually rich, water-responsive landscape.
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
show/hide list of writers
Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Pippin Anderson, Cape TownWe need to have an excellent plot, believable or at least striking characters, conflict (ok, no shortage of that in science), and (perhaps most relevant) resolution that gives hope, direction, and instruction.
Skylar R. Bayer, AnchorageDespite science’s emphasis on analytical thinking, storytelling remains compelling, memorable, and easy to understand and relate to when personal or engaging characters are involved.
Nic Bennett, AustinThere is already a lot of amazing fanfiction about science. People are literally writing themselves into science stories. Recognition by powerful institutions of these science story remixes would increase belonging in these spaces. Fanfiction about science, by people who don’t usually see themselves in science, has the potential to disrupt usual knowledge and power relations.
David Bunn, VancouverA truly social-ecological form of science will be able to combine the insights of data and of stories. As climate change forces species and populations to seek out new habitats, urbanizing populations on the edge of conservation zones, whether in Kenya, Brazil, or Nepal will increasingly seek out occult explanations for ecological phenomena.
Lindsay Campbell, New YorkI am humbled by what I have learned from curators and artists about how to convey ideas, emotion, and complexity in a way that grabs and holds the audience.
Marcus Collier, DublinThe ideal situation would be to bring the potency and alluring qualities of traditional storytelling together with the conveying of our scientific findings.
Sarah Ema Friedland, New YorkReality is much more interesting than oversimplified, packaged, and commodified stories. The stories we tell about reality, including and especially scientific reality, cannot be contained by formulaic storytelling. Instead, nuance and difference should inform the way we tell stories.
Bram Gunther, New YorkLike any narrative that is built around the unfamiliar, communicating our story of rewilding suburban yards, campuses, commercial, and institutional spaces, is challenging.
Madhu Katti, RaleighScience continues to hold the power to help humanity shape a brighter future. But scientists need to relearn the key elements of stories and tell good stories. Stories that don’t erase personalities and cultures, stories that evoke emotion in the listeners and draw them deeper.
Tim Lüschen, BerlinNew collaborators are essential. We should form partnerships that have not existed before, creating a novel effect for the audience. Why not collaborate with more-than-human beings? Let them take center stage in ways and media that have yet to be explored.
Paul Mahony, ManchesterSmall stories have real potential for carrying messages. Because they’re normal. Just like us.
Bethann Garramon Merkle, Laramie Despite science’s emphasis on analytical thinking, storytelling remains compelling, memorable, and easy to understand and relate to when personal or engaging characters are involved.
Claudia Misteli, BarcelonaNo matter what discipline or field of knowledge you belong to, have you never seen yourselves trying to explain complex ideas, and in the end, you realize that everything you have said sounds incomprehensible or unclear to others? We want people to understand us and to feel that we have the ability to transfer knowledge.
Steward Pickett, PoughkeepsieWhat keeps coming to mind are powerful moments of noticing. Perhaps that is because I believe science to be, at its heart, a particularly deep and careful way of noticing the world―sometimes even what is hidden behind the surface of the world.
Alice Reil, MunichIf many of us would share our personal stories and emotional connections to our natural surroundings with our neighbours, would we all be more motivated to protect them even more? I’m now visualising little printed stories scattered across communities, which enable neighbours or passers-by to read how a particular tree or green space is meaningful to fellow citizens.
Daniela Rizzi, FreiburgDespite its potential, storytelling is not widely utilized in scientific communication. However, science should not just be about cold facts and figures; it has the power to change lives, protect our environment, and shape our future. That sounds like a good story.
Kirsten Schwarz, Los AngelesFor me, the most compelling science stories are the ones that share the humanity of the work, the humanity of those doing the work, the humanity of those impacted by the work (for good or bad), the aspects that connect us, the emotions.
Priya Shukla, Davis Despite science’s emphasis on analytical thinking, storytelling remains compelling, memorable, and easy to understand and relate to when personal or engaging characters are involved.
Ania Upstill, New YorkScientific writing often seems to assume that for something to be taken seriously, it must be dry and fact-based. The more seriously written something is, the more true it is. But what if that wasn’t the only way to go about it?
Evelyn Valdez-Ward, Kingston Despite science’s emphasis on analytical thinking, storytelling remains compelling, memorable, and easy to understand and relate to when personal or engaging characters are involved.
Stéphane Verlet-Bottéro, ParisMark Fisher famously wrote that it’s easier to imagine the end of capitalism than what comes after it. I wish that more scientific literature embraced speculation and affabulation as methods to talk about the worlds that we want; help us imagine a diversity of (past, present, and future) non-extractive worlds.
Ibrahim Wallee, AccraThe people’s voice matters in validating development outcomes, be it positive or negative. Telling their story is essential and even more crucial in building trust.
Tommy Cheemou Yang, New YorkStorytelling asks us to see that change does not come from the expert but from the mundane acts that cascade into large movements creating change.
David loves urban spaces and nature. He loves creativity and collaboration. He loves theatre and music. In his life and work he has practiced in all of these as, in various moments, a scientist, a climate change researcher, a land steward, an ecological practitioner, composer, a playwright, a musician, an actor, and a theatre director.
What if we explored a rich storytelling approach to knowledge from science and practice? Human-scale stories. Stories with emotional resonance. Dare I say it? Even entertaining stories. Stories that connect to people who perhaps are not “experts” in whatever field, but nevertheless have a real stake in the decisions and outcomes.
There are five key elements to just about every story: plot, setting, characters, point of view, and conflict (that is, a tension that presents itself). We typically use all of these when we recount a story or event to our family and friends, at least subconsciously. (“Hey mom, I went to the corner store for milk and ran into a weird scientist planting a red maple tree. Turns out he is my Uncle Bob. I didn’t know I had an uncle. What’s up with that?”) Beyond these five elements, there are many different ways to tell a story, in various formats or styles. Mystery. Surprise. Comedy. Tragedy. Graphic. Theatre. Fiction. Direct address. Song. Folk tale. There are, as we all know, many kinds of “story”.
But we don’t use such techniques in science. Why not? Work in science and practice contains much important and interesting information for a general and policy-making public that is larger and wider than traditional scientific modes of delivery reach (e.g., journals, scholarly books, reports, case studies). Much of it lies fallow, only available to small groups of “experts”. Journalism has been one route to wider audiences, but it is limited. Science has lost its knack for communicating with the public just when we need it most.
What if we explored a rich storytelling approach to knowledge from science and practice? Human-scale stories. Stories with emotional resonance. Dare I say it? Even entertaining stories. Stories that connect to people who perhaps are not “experts” in whatever field, but nevertheless have a real stake in the decisions and outcomes, and so deserve to have access to the knowledge that supports (or does not) decision making.
Examples of storytelling approaches to science exist, but they are rare compared to the total volume of output in science. Could we take something from this approach to communicate science and practice to a wider audience?
At TNOC we have been very interested in fiction-based or art-centered storytelling about issues based in science and practice. Our recent NBS Comics project (“nature to save the world!”) is an example, and in a previous roundtable we explored visual storytelling as an evocative approach to environmental and social justice conversations. Entertaining and human-scale stories can be satisfying sources of basic knowledge and inspiration. For readers interested in more, they can also be doors through which people can pass into realms of more technical knowledge. This is the approach we take in our art exhibits as well, so that they become art[+science+practice] exhibits.
Examples of storytelling approaches to science exist, but they are rare compared to the total volume of output in science. Could we take something from this approach to communicate science and practice to a wider audience?
So, we asked a group of scientists, practitioners, and artists this: If you were to approach some aspect of a work of science or practice — perhaps your own work — as a story, what would you do? What form would you use? Would you seek out new collaborators? How would you tell the story of your work?
What could we achieve with such a novel, more “popular” approach to science communication?
It is as if we have come to believe that for a science story to be true it must sober and direct, humorless and impersonal; complicated and technical. Such an approach underestimates the general public. What if, as Ania Upstill asks in this roundtable, we stretched our imaginations beyond what we think a story of science should be, to what such a story could be?
Pippin Anderson, a lecturer at the University of Cape Town, is an African urban ecologist who enjoys the untidiness of cities where society and nature must thrive together.
FULL BIO
We need to have an excellent plot, believable or at least striking characters, conflict (ok, no shortage of that in science), and (perhaps most relevant) resolution that gives hope, direction, and instruction.
I agree stories bring in magic that is missing in science reporting
I was a young graduate student and attending my first conference (it was the annual meeting of the South African Association of Botanists, I think). The last presentation in the session had been by a professor who was well known to me from my own undergraduate days, and it was just one of those presentations that “pops”. This professor had been an excellent lecturer, and a firm favourite with every class, which I had always put down to his colossal intellect. I was in the bathrooms just after the presentation and overheard some women talking outside my stall: “Eish, that Prof Bond, he always tells a lekker* story. I could listen to him all day.”
I was dumbstruck. That was his trick — he was a storyteller! It had never occurred to me but the magic he was weaving was stories. He was managing to take fire ecology, evolutionary theory, or reproductive ecology, and weave in a protagonist, a challenge, disappointment, and resolution, all in a manner that was so cunning and skilled that we never even noticed. This was the first time it occurred to me that good science is even better when packaged in a format that draws the reader effortlessly along.
I think we do tell stories
Later, while still a graduate student (it seemed to go on for years), I got a job with University of Cape Town’s Writing Centre. After serving time at the front of house, I moved to focus on postgraduate writing. I was introduced to the “Once upon a time …” exercise, used to guide postgraduate writers in preparing their papers or thesis chapters. Here it was Professors Arlene Archer and Lucia Thesen (perhaps the fairy godmothers of my own story) who reminded me that science is best presented as a story. They made me aware of the relationship we have with our readers and the responsibility of fulfilling promises and expectations in the often-opaque writer-reader contract. They introduced me to this exercise to use with postgraduate students and it is one I have pulled out every single year since then (see the image).
But are we really fulfilling the story element? Are we enthralling our readers, making them come back for more, and getting our final point to a wider audience?
The ‘Once upon a time …’ exercise.
But we tell them badly
The “Once upon a time …” exercise is a good one and a useful reminder of the expectation of scientific writing. But we are falling short in our story-telling abilities (responsibilities?). While we are told that a good story has plot, characters, conflict, and resolution, evidently there must be more than this to really draw in one’s audience. We need to have an excellent plot, believable or at least striking characters, conflict (ok, no shortage of that in science), and (perhaps most relevant) resolution that gives hope, direction, and instruction.
Indeed, in science writing, we are often told not to provide resolution, but to keep an open-end to allow for a natural point of departure for the next paper. We foster a soap-opera culture, where sometimes it feels the story will never end.
Good stories are well written. Heaven knows we are all familiar with a poorly told story. Of course, the apprenticeship lies in reading good stories. Humbling ourselves in acknowledging that just the science is not enough. And perhaps, finding a sidekick, a true storyteller, to assist us in our quest in turning our science into a good story. Or perhaps (better still) to actively assume the role of a subordinate character in our own stories and guide the hero, the storyteller, in the quest of turning our science into gripping and compelling stories.
Just as we assign roles to our characters, so too must we assign storyteller and story-listener roles
And of course, relevant to any good story, is who gets to tell it. Who has license to tell this story? We all know that every telling of a story will differ. Sometimes ever so slightly and sometimes by vast leaps of faith. It is important to ensure that there are lots of stories and lots of voices and that we watch out for whose story is loudest and be sure to hold our heads at just the right angle to hear the quiet stories. The stories whispered to us from the corner of the room. From across the crowd. Every good story is matched by true listening. If you can’t get the story, there is as much glory in being a true listener.
Skylar Bayer is a marine ecologist and science communicator. Currently a marine habitat resource specialist in the NOAA Fisheries Alaska Regional Office, she received her PhD from the University of Maine’s School of Marine Sciences for research on the sex lives of scallops and is a producer for the Story Collider.
Skylar R. Bayer, Evelyn Valdez-Ward, Priya Shukla, and Bethann Garramon Merkle
Despite science’s emphasis on analytical thinking, storytelling remains compelling, memorable, and easy to understand and relate to when personal or engaging characters are involved.
Sharing Science Through Shared Values, Goals, and Stories
Effective science communication relies on understanding the values of the people we aim to engage with. By identifying shared values, we can communicate effectively using storytelling to achieve our science communication goals. Acknowledging our own goals, informed by our values, helps us recognize the importance of understanding others’ values as well.
A conceptual flow chart of how to start the process of reflecting on values that inform your goals and how both interact with stories to share science. (Figure from Merkle, Bethann Garramon; Valdez-Ward, Evelyn; Shukla, Priya; and Bayer, Skylar R. (2021) “Sharing Science Through Shared Values, Goals, and Stories: An Evidence-Based Approach to Making Science Matter,” Human-Wildlife Interactions: Vol. 15: Iss. 3, Article 27. DOI: https://doi.org/10.26077/9wss-av78.)
Respecting each other’s values is crucial because a mismatch of values can lead to information being disregarded, misinterpreted, or poorly received. This is particularly significant in ethical science communication, where our goals include co-produced science and ensuring that study results are understood and applied by those who can benefit from them.
To communicate effectively, it is essential to build relationships and recognize the value of diverse perspectives and knowledge. Science has a long history of extracting information and tangible resources from people, especially historically marginalized communities. To communicate effectively, it is critical to take a step back and build relationships that recognize everyone has valuable perspectives and knowledge. Thus, as communicators, we cannot simply enter communities and expect our information to be readily received or their knowledge to be readily shared with us. Engaging in activities such as round table discussions, consensus processes, and community events facilitates knowledge-sharing from multiple viewpoints. These interactions should prioritize listening, respecting, and valuing others’ perspectives to establish mutual trust.
As relationships develop and we understand the values of the people we engage with, we can reflect on our own values and seek out areas of overlap. This process requires revisiting our communication goals, which may evolve as we connect with different topics and address people’s concerns and priorities. This approach, known as “backwards design,” starts with shared goals and values and guides the development and implementation of effective communication strategies.
Storytelling is a very powerful tool to achieve many different communication goals. Despite science’s emphasis on analytical thinking, storytelling remains compelling, memorable, and easy to understand and relate to when personal or engaging characters are involved. Importantly, stories also embody shared values, making them an effective means of conveying key messages and reinforcing connections.
Crafting a resonant story begins by considering the goals derived from shared values. Sharing a personal story that holds significance to the communicator can foster a connection with those listening or engaging to the story. Identifying the main characters and describing the conflict and climax of the story further engage them. Exploring the consequences of the conflict reinforces the stakes of the story.
Once the story framework is outlined, drafting and practicing the story with others is necessary. Candidly describing emotions, internal thoughts, and the setting allows listeners to fully immerse themselves in the narrative. Testing the story with others, seeking their feedback, and noting their reactions helps refine the story for maximum impact. Iterative drafting and practicing stages are necessary for this process.
Ultimately, science communication can be significantly enhanced by leveraging the power of storytelling and understanding shared values. By employing a thoughtful approach and aligning goals with the intended audience, science communicators can foster engagement and create meaningful connections that drive positive change.
For a more comprehensive understanding of the tools, worksheets, and detailed steps involved in this framework, we invite readers to explore our published, peer-reviewed, open-access paper titled “Sharing science through shared values, goals, and stories: an evidence-based approach to making science matter”. The paper provides additional resources, examples, and step-by-step guidance to aid in applying this approach effectively.
Dra. Evelyn Valdez-Ward (ella/she) is a Mexican Ford Foundation Predoctoral and Switzer Foundation Fellow. Her research focuses on marginalized scientists' use of science communication and policy for social justice. She co-founded the ReclaimingSTEM Institute, addressing the need for inclusive science communication spaces.
Priya is a PhD candidate in Ecology at UC Davis and Science Engagement Specialist with the California Ocean Science Trust. Her research explores the effects of climate change on shellfish aquaculture in California and she is an active science communicator who is deeply invested in improving the accessibility of marine science.
Bethann Garramon Merkle, MFA, is a Professor of Practice at the University of Wyoming, where she is the founding director of the UW Science Communication Initiative. She also co-founded the Ecological Society of America's Communication & Engagement Section.
Nic Bennett (they/them) researches power, ideology, and belonging in science communication at The University of Texas as a doctoral candidate of the Stan Richards School of Advertising and Public Relations. They engage arts- and science-based research and practice to critique, disrupt, and reimagine science communication spaces. Alongside scientists, artists, activists, and community members, they hope to expand the circle of human concern in science communication and STEM.
There is already a lot of amazing fanfiction about science. People are literally writing themselves into science stories. Recognition by powerful institutions of these science story remixes would increase belonging in these spaces. Fanfiction about science, by people who don’t usually see themselves in science, has the potential to disrupt usual knowledge and power relations.
A Fanfiction of Belonging, for Science
Can thinking like a fanfiction writer help science be a place of belonging?
Fanfiction is stories based on previously existing works. It’s anything that you make to celebrate a piece of culture you love. And it’s not just making your favorite Star Trek characters kiss (although that is awesome), it is a powerful form of participatory culture.
The popular imagination usually pins fanfiction as “lowbrow”, but “classics” like the Aeneid, Romeo and Juliet, and Lord of the Flies are all examples of fanfiction. We must also think critically about what we call “lowbrow”. This elitism is usually lobbed at marginalized groups to portray their culturally relevant creative expressions as “less than”.
Is science a fandom? And, if so, does it have fanfiction?
In this short post, I want to argue that thinking about science’s fanfictions is a useful way to think about how to transform science’s culture into one of belonging.
Using this lens, we might notice that most mainstream science communication kind of looks the same: journalistic, cheerlead-y, and very white. Narratives of scientific certainty have been historically (and currently) used as a tool for othering (e.g., IQ tests, scientificracism, race-based medicine). A fanfiction of science reimagines that.
Fanfiction, as an act of science storytelling, might disrupt this. When queer audiences don’t see themselves in a franchise they love, they write themselves in. Fanfiction about science, by people who don’t usually see themselves in science, has the potential to disrupt usual knowledge and power relations.
Thereisalreadyalotofamazingfanfictionaboutscience. People are literally writing themselves into science stories. Recognition by powerful institutions of these science story remixes would increase belonging in these spaces. If fandom is an expression of the collective self, how can our narratives of science serve as imaginal and transformational tools?
Opening up and considering science as culture, as more like a fandom than an elite institution, could widen the circle of human concern. We must push hard on the boundaries of what we include as science storytelling. Fandom allows for both individual expression and communal belonging, and a radically re-imagined science fandom has immense generative power. Let’s write ourselves in.
David Bunn is an interdisciplinary South African scientist and public intellectual. He joined UBC very recently from a position as a senior research scientist in the Natural Resource Ecology Lab at Colorado State University. Before that, he was a senior professor and head of school at South Africa’s largest university, and served in the second generation of South Africa’s post-apartheid government, helping to frame new national policies for arts and tourism funding and the archiving of indigenous knowledge.
A truly social-ecological form of science will be able to combine the insights of data and of stories. As climate change forces species and populations to seek out new habitats, urbanizing populations on the edge of conservation zones, whether in Kenya, Brazil, or Nepal will increasingly seek out occult explanations for ecological phenomena..
These Data, This Life: Ecological Science and Evidence of Stories
Science would like to use stories to better communicate with broader audiences. Unfortunately, with some singular exceptions, scientists are seldom very good at storytelling. Typically, when stories are deployed, they are frequently only illustrative and seldom advanced as a form of evidence. The world of stories, to put it another way, rarely impinges on the domain of data.
The problem is exemplified in my most recent research. I am currently directing a NASA-funded project looking at changes in land cover and animal habitat over 30 years in and around South Africa’s iconic Kruger National Park. We make extensive use of remotely sensed vegetation data, from the workhorse Landsat satellite to NASA’s new GEDI LiDar instrument. Significantly, we also have to take into account the rapidly urbanizing borders of Kruger National Park: over 2 million people live within 30 kilometers of Kruger’s western fence, with 40% unemployment. We are attempting to understand both social and ecological edge effects in this system; increasingly, this has led us to the evidence of stories.
So, bear with me. I’ll tell you a brief story.
Charlie Nkuna
In an early precursor to our current project, I was leading a study on human-animal conflict on the Kruger National Park boundaries. Our data were derived from camera trap analyses of lion occupancy, but we also did a series of oral history interviews. One main informant was Charlie Nkuna, an African field ranger who had lived and worked in Kruger Park for 50 years. He told me this story:
One day in 1973, the family discovered that their eldest daughter Senana had disappeared. (This was not in itself unusual: many kids her age would become bored with life in the conservation zone and run away to relatives in the neighboring urban areas to the west.) The next evening, there was a lion attack on a cattle enclosure, but the herders managed to defend themselves and the lion was wounded. Villagers asked Charlie, as the senior field ranger, to track the lion down. Following a blood spoor through the dewy grass the next morning, he came upon a sight no parent should ever have to confront: the head of his missing daughter, who had been silently dragged away and eaten some days before. Charlie and his family had lived in the Kruger Park for decades. They had walked everywhere unarmed and never had any problems with lions before. I asked him why he thought this sudden horror had occurred. His answer changed the way I understand the role of evidence in social-ecological systems thinking.
“The lion . . .,” he began, and then paused. “The lion,” he continued, looking closely at me, “was sent.”
In my scientific work, it is not so much stories that are important; rather, it is what is technically termed narration. In the act of telling, and in the pause, Charlie was judging his audience and switching to another form of explanation: the language of the occult. He knew of my interest in shifting carnivore habitat and range. However, he also clearly felt the need, in that moment, to turn the focus to the complex social dimensions of these changes. For that, he needed a different kind of language that referenced the uncanny, and that required a different kind of trust from his audience, one that he assessed briefly in the pause in his narration.
In the 1970s, Charlie recalled, a war in Mozambique produced a flood of refugees and increasing poaching from the growing urban population to the west. He himself had been very effective in arresting poachers. So, in one sense, the lions were changing their behaviour in response to increasing human encroachment. Yet perhaps, he suggested, these were not really lions at all but sorcerers from neighboring villages who had changed themselves into lions to enact revenge on him for his past policing successes. Newly urban attitudes to wealth accumulation and the waning of customary authority in the bordering towns produced a form of social rupture from which this malevolent carnivore emerged.
Stories about uncanny animals out of place should be considered as data. Narratives about lions moving out of Kruger, or leopards in the northern suburbs of Mumbai, are evidence of the way many urbanizing populations explain ecological phenomena like edge effects or fragmentation. In the manner of their telling, however, they also speak eloquently about shifting consumptive patterns in emerging secondary cities. A truly social-ecological form of science will be able to combine the insights of data and of stories. As climate change forces species and populations to seek out new habitats, urbanizing populations on the edge of conservation zones, whether in Kenya, Brazil, or Nepal will increasingly seek out occult explanations for ecological phenomena.
As scientists, we have time-honoured ways of collecting data about species and climate change: we can catalogue edge effects in fragmented forests that bring benefits to certain guilds and disaster to others, for instance, or the phenological shifts for which migrating caribou herds are now unprepared. Ideally, though, when considering these phenomena from the perspective of social and ecological explanation combined, the object of analysis itself will become something different. When communities speak about the declining salmon population and increasingly negative encounters with grizzly bears, they are speaking about a ten-thousand-year history of human-mediated systems in which other beings are ancestors and kin. Stories about these beings also reveal changes in commodity culture, gender dynamics, property relations, and the migration of local youth to regional cities.
These stories have great potential, and they hold the key to more convivial forms of local conservation management. In the manner of their telling, they are all scientifically insightful tales.
Lindsay K. Campbell is a research social scientist with the USDA Forest Service. Her current research explores the dynamics of urban politics, stewardship, and sustainability policymaking.
I am humbled by what I have learned from curators and artists about how to convey ideas, emotion, and complexity in a way that grabs and holds the audience.
To tell a better story about care, I work with artists and curators.
I experienced this firsthand when we were trying to communicate the importance of our Stewardship Mapping and Assessment Project (STEW-MAP) to civic groups across New York City. As researchers, we were showing up at workshops and public events with our typical 1-sheet and trying to recruit people to participate in our social science survey. But we weren’t capturing the heart and soul of why stewardship matters. And people were passing our table by.
So, we worked with the artist Carmen Bouyer, who developed a stewardship storytelling exercise. With a series of open-ended prompts, a print map, and a deck of cards of stewardship actions, we suddenly had a meaningful and easy way to interact with stewards. We asked them to share a place and way in which they helped take care of the local environment and to mark it on a map. While conceptually Carmen was asking the same questions we were, she did it in a way that was tactile, playful, and accessible. It didn’t take a 20-minute survey to get on her stewardship map, just a few moments of writing or speaking. If you were stumped for ideas or embarrassed that you didn’t think you made a contribution, you could flip through the card deck for ideas or inspiration.
We took our stewardship storytelling “on the road” with everyone from seasoned urban forestry professionals to local youth. We elicited heartfelt stories of environmental caretaking―large and small. Community clean-ups, tree planting, starting new educational NGOs, water quality testing, composting… as people added their stories to the map in real-time, they could watch the accumulation of these practices and feel a part of the community that we observe so vibrantly in our research, but that can be hard to see as a collective force.
Working with Can Sucuoglu, we incorporated stewardship storytelling as a digital map in our exhibit Who Takes Care of New York? at the Queens Museum and later as an online exhibit at The Nature of Cities. Our goal with each of these stewardship storytelling efforts is to make care and connection to place more visible and valued.
In addition to being inspired by the stewards themselves, I take my inspiration from visionaries like artist Mierle Laderman Ukeles whose Manifesto for Maintenance Art makes clear the importance of caretaking to the functioning of our world. Overall, I am humbled by what I have learned from curators and artists about how to convey ideas, emotion, and complexity in a way that grabs and holds the audience. These are often afterthoughts in science; we are not taught to be effective communicators.
Marcus is a sustainability scientist and his research covers a wide range of human-environment interconnectivity, environmental risk and resilience, transdisciplinary methodologies and novel ecosystems.
The ideal situation would be to bring the potency and alluring qualities of traditional storytelling together with the conveying of our scientific findings. We have seen some examples, but it is still a huge area yet to be discovered, and it offers good storytellers a lifeline as well as an opportunity to expand their range and to become more central in the era of social media.
Myths and Legends | Facts and Figures
In Ireland, storytelling has had a very long tradition and also a strong social currency. For centuries, it has been the main mechanism for imparting information, though it often included an augmentation of facts for entertainment purposes. I have recently been reading stories of Irish Myths and Legends to my 8-year-old grandson. They, like such stories from many other cultures, often contain dramatic amorous convolutions, monsters and magic, and a smattering of war and decapitation―something for everybody! It is not so different from many Hollywood sci-fi fanaticise blockbusters. Interestingly, my grandson prefers to have the stories read to him over watching screen adaptations of them. He claims that he likes to “see” the action in his mind, and we often discuss some of the issues that arise from the story in question―ethical, social, and so on. However, he often stops me to fact-check something about the landscape or location, and to ask if this animal or that bird is still common. In other words, in his mind, these stories are a mixture of social and ecological facts as well as fantasy (for more on this have a look at Liam Heneghans’ excellent Beasts at Bedtime). So, it is clear to me how valuable a story is, however real or imaginary, for imparting factual knowledge. In fact, I was also amazed how I still remember the stories, having heard them read to me at the same age, I venture to suggest that everyone reading this also remembers such stories. Storytelling still has this potency as well as a currency.
Though I am an academic who originally worked in the NGO sector and before that in the Arts sector, I feel that communication of scientific or project findings is still as perplexing and as frustrating as ever. One of the main issues is the precise level at which findings should be pitched. We want to pitch just once and not spend our precious time creating several narratives for diverse communities of interest―planners, policymakers, managers, the public, diverse ages, ethnicities, abilities, and so on. Luckily, science has changed radically in recent decades. It is no longer purely science for curiosity, rather we are in the era of engaged science in a time of crises. This means that we highly value citizen participation and co-creation in identifying pathways for dealing with multi-faceted issues such as biodiversity loss, climate crisis, resilience, and becoming more nature positive. Citizen science has the potential to change scientific investigation in the same way that citizen journalism has changed the media (for good as well as ill), and citizen science may be able to deliver the co-benefits of science better. These benefits include communicating to wider society by making scientific findings relevant as well as acceptable. The citizen-centric approach in science is also tailor-made for a new era of dramatic storytelling to enable more engagement and participation in science. We still have that childhood curiosity to fact-check fairy tales and legends.
The ideal situation would be to bring the potency and alluring qualities of traditional storytelling together with the conveying of our scientific findings. In recent years, we have seen some examples, but it is still a huge area yet to be discovered, and it offers good storytellers a lifeline as well as an opportunity to expand their range and to become more central in the era of social media and distraction.
Why stop at storytelling? All the arts have equal opportunities here―music, dance, design, and so on. If you create the right story, you can engage with a much wider audience and if my own experience is to count, people will remember the facts for a lot longer. This is how we will enable the kinds of behaviour change that will help us be more sustainable and more resilient, but as we say in Gaelic: sin scéaleile (that’s another story)!
Sarah Ema Friedland is an NYC based film and media artist and educator. She is currently working on a feature documentary titled Lyd, which she is co-directing with Rami Younis, and which was selected to pitch at the DocCorner Market at the Cannes Film Festival and Days of Cinema in Ramallah. Friedland is a member of the Meerkat Media Collective and the Director of the MDOCS Storyteller’s Institute at Skidmore College where she is also a Teaching Professor in the MDOCS Program.
Reality is much more interesting than oversimplified, packaged, and commodified stories. The stories we tell about reality, including and especially scientific reality, cannot be contained by formulaic storytelling. Instead, nuance and difference should inform the way we tell stories.
As someone who makes and teaches non-fiction filmmaking and runs a residency for non-fiction storytellers, storytelling makes up the joys and frustrations of my daily grind. I love a good story, I love being taken on a journey and hearing/seeing/reading powerful descriptions of places and people. However, I am also annoyingly aware of the ways constructed stories can trap and oversimplify reality.
As a film student, I learned that good storytelling follows a three-act structure –– beginning middle, and end –– with rising action, stakes, conflict, and resolution. Joseph Cambell’s “Hero’s Journey” was dragged out so often as evidence that this is the way that stories have always been told and therefore the bestand only way to tell stories, that even the scholar of mythology himself would have rolled over in his grave at the ways his life’s work has been oversimplified to package and commodify storytelling. Reality is much more interesting than the Hero’s Journey and the stories we tell about reality, including and especially scientific reality, cannot be contained by formulaic storytelling. Instead, nuance and difference should inform the way we tell stories.
The science fiction/ fantasy writer Ursula K. Le Guin offers another way of shaping stories in her influential essay “The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction.” She bases her preferred shape for a story, the carrier bag, on what anthropologists have cited as the first tool: not a weapon, but a bag, used to gather, keep and hold dear items of both necessity and joy. Narratively, this bag is a bottomless vessel for the valuing of experiences, ways of being, and conceptions of time.
Scientific Anthropologist Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing applies Le Guin’s theories to science, “Science in the broadest sense of the term refers to knowledge that we can collect, collate and put in our carrier bag. And this broad sense of knowledge creation involves all the kinds of observation and noticing that we could do. For our times, facing the climate crisis, the extinction crisis, all of those other environmental catastrophes that surround us, we’re going to need a lot of kinds of science.”
And we are also going to need lots of different kinds of storytelling that reflect science and scientists with rigor and complication. Science and non-fiction storytelling center observation and allow us to see differences, but the most dominant forms of storytelling tend to act as a strainer of those observations, sifting out the hard-to-swallow, but juicy lumps of life and leaving behind a homogenized liquid that can be easily digested.
What is the danger in this? If we allow singular conceptions of what storytelling should be to sausage-factory-afy science and make uncomplicated heroes out of scientists, then we may jeopardize the work itself. If conflict is accentuated for a story’s sake, the importance of careful and slow investigation may be minimized for fear of it being perceived as boring storytelling. Human heroes may be prioritized, leaving behind teams of people who collaborate, and further sidelining the non-human lifeforms that should be at the center of scientific inquiry. And the importance of failure might be shoved aside in order to reach a nicely tied-up resolution.
Fascism is resurgent, the climate is in crisis and economic exploitation is reaching new heights. To organize for a more equitable and livable planet, we need to envision it in all its complexity and in all its forms. If we do not make space in science and other all disciplines for storytelling that centers the collective in addition to the individual, collaboration and compromise in addition to conflict, and journeys that do not only march forward in time toward a neatly tied-up resolution, facing these stakes will be a lonely, rigid, divisive and devastating journey indeed.
Bram Gunther, former Chief of Forestry, Horticulture, and Natural Resources for NYC Parks, is Co-founder of the Natural Areas Conservancy and sits on their board. A Fellow at The Nature of Cities, and a business partner at Plan it Wild, he just finished a novel about life in the age of climate change in NYC 2050.
Like any narrative that is built around the unfamiliar, communicating our story of rewilding suburban yards, campuses, commercial, and institutional spaces, is challenging.
At Plan it Wild, a sustainable landscaping company based in Westchester County, NY and Fairfield County, CT, we are disrupting the landscaping industry, elevating its value from merely the indiscriminate “mow and blow” to be “synonymous with ecological restoration”— a phrase coined by leading ecologist Doug Tallamy, who also is a Plan it Wild science board member.
Like any narrative that is built around the unfamiliar, communicating our story of rewilding suburban yards, campuses, commercial, and institutional spaces, is challenging. People are confused by the somewhat foreign concepts of adding biodiversity, native plants, new habitats and natural growth to their backyards, fields, and patches. Consequently, our dilemma is to compellingly retell the story of landscaping in these ways:
Style. Yards look different after a patch of lawn is turned into native habitat. They look wilder and less overtly ornamental. Rather than paint this atypical picture, a better approach could be to talk about the transformation from lawn to forest and meadow as the new normal in that mirror’s a region’s ecosystems and habitats.
The lawn is obsolete. Not all of it. Open flat space is necessary for recreation, but a high percentage of can go native. We need to tell this story without preaching or condescension ― as if there is no choice but to do this ― but rather by its benefits; for instance, public health and helping to reduce the effects of climate changes are parts of the answer.
The yard as bigger than just what we see. How can one yard, one campus be meaningful in a huge global movement? The appropriate depiction is to talk about the yard as an essential piece of the whole. Our partners at the Aspetuck Land Trust have called their overarching land conservation campaign the “Green Corridor” and have framed it so that every yard counts towards creating the corridor. It’s a good way to talk about rewilding the suburbs ― as a form of interconnectivity.
Science. Although broad data on environmental benefits can be helpful in getting people to shift their lawn perspectives, it’s too abstract. A better story would include descriptive and easy to understand examples and metaphors. Plan it Wild is creating a biodiversity tool to measure the impact of rewilding in urban and suburban spaces so we can talk about the science through specific imagery and data points for an individual yard or patch of land.
Cost. Although there are many obvious benefits of restoring nature in your backyard ― it is a moral and community-minded thing to do; it can result in more family activities, like gardening and rewilding together; it improves the beauty of your home ― rewilding is a complicated project. And when we tell potential clients how much rewilding will cost, they often suffer sticker shock, because regular lawn maintenance is so cheap. To overcome this reluctance, we need to craft a better story that portrays the real value at any price of natural habitats and the cleaner air and water that comes with restoration. And we must tell them that our goal is to create year-round green jobs for land stewards instead of one-off day labor for undocumented and unprotected workers.
Plan it Wild launched a campaign called “Less Lawn, More Life” to get people into their yards to observe their nature through the iNaturalist app. Through this program, we hope attitudes will change, and rewilding will become more commonplace and familiar. This citizen-science effort will also feed data into our biodiversity measurement tool, which in turn will yield us simple language and numbers to show the benefits, values, costs and necessity of bringing back nature.
To make our story better, we’d find a short clear emotional but logical way to tell the story that includes all the pieces above. What do you think?
Madhusudan is an evolutionary ecologist who discovered birds as an undergrad after growing up a nature-oblivious urban kid near Bombay, went chasing after vanishing wildernesses in the Himalaya and Western Ghats as a graduate student, and returned to study cities grown up as a reconciliation ecologist.
Science continues to hold the power to help humanity shape a brighter future. But scientists need to relearn the key elements of stories and tell good stories. Stories that don’t erase personalities and cultures, stories that evoke emotion in the listeners and draw them deeper.
Saving the Story of Science
Once upon a time there was no division between science and fiction. Human beings loved to tell stories about things they had seen, experienced, discovered, imagined, or invented while going about the world. Stories helped form and nurture bonds of friendship, family, and community, share the joys and perchance ease the pain of loss that is inevitable for anyone living in an indifferent universe. These stories carried information about how people thought things worked in the world, and shaped how they were expected to carry themselves in society. Some of this information was factual, backed by evidence should a listener challenge the storyteller and seek to verify the information, while some was imaginary, intended to fill gaps in understanding and to help the listener make sense of the world. Or to escape the troubles of the world altogether for a brief moment. And sometimes the stories were false, intended to mislead listeners in order to strengthen the storyteller’s power and influence. In either case, these stories also had the power to change reality by influencing the mind and actions of the listener.
As our understanding of the natural world deepened and our social systems grew more complicated, the nature of our stories also changed and became more complex. Over time some people who paid close attention to stories and storytelling realized that there are repeated patterns and rhythms to how we tell stories, and eventually some of them (let’s call them humanities professors) discovered, as our good host David reminds us, that every good story has five key elements: plot, setting, characters, point of view, and conflict. Regardless of the storytellers intention to convey factual or imaginary information, to tell truths or lies, to help build community or to break it, all good stories tend to be built around these five elements. The best of such stories exerted great emotional power on the human mind and were able to change the way people saw and interacted with the world and with each other.
Meanwhile, some other people who called themselves natural philosophers (ancestors of scholars we now call scientists) became obsessed with the facts conveyed through stories, and focused their minds on finding ways to gathering evidence to verify the facts and thence to assemble the facts into new stories about how the universe really worked. In their obsession with facts and evidence, and the desire to see the world as it truly is outside of human consciousness, natural philosophers sought ways to remove the biases resulting from the limitations of human senses as well as emotional states and cultural preferences. The resulting new kind of storytelling they came to call science, which focused on conveying factual information, sought to limit human bias, and eschewed emotion which can cloud our perception and judgment of reality. Of the five essential elements of good stories, scientists came to be trained to suppress two in particular: character and point of view.
The scientific tradition of storytelling refined this emotionless impersonal form and developed it into a tool of great power in not just conveying evidence-based factual information but also in discovering the laws of nature and in developing tools to manipulate nature for the benefit of humans. Science had thus refined the power of stories to shape our very reality, taking humanity all the way to splitting the atom and changing the global climate, to devastating effect. Scientists, harnessing the power of the scientific method of story-making and storytelling, helped etch humanity’s signature into the very rocks layering the earth, marking a distinct human-dominated geological epoch, now labeled the Anthropocene.
The story of science became abstracted from the stories of the varied individual human beings who did the work of discovering facts and gathering evidence and verifying the stories. The distinct characters of individual scientists were erased to create, in the public imagination, the mythical “scientist” with unruly hair wearing a lab coat and carrying test tubes bubbling with steaming liquids. This scientist came to be imagined mostly as a man, and mostly a white one at that. Similarly the scientific story also flattened diverse points of view into an objective “view from nowhere”, with even the writing style forced to remove the central protagonists, persons doing the science.
As powerful as science was, its new tradition of storytelling ended up confusing people who were not scientists, and therefore could not find any emotional connection with the “nobody” telling the story from no particular point of view. It didn’t help that these stories also contained a lot of big words made up by scientists to convey information more precisely. To no one’s surprise but the scientists, the general public began to lose track of all the new factual information, preferring instead the better told fictional stories with characters and points of view they could see in themselves. The growing division between the factual stories of science and the stories that shaped the popular imagination also left scientists at the mercy of rulers and traders, politicians and businessmen who were able to co-opt the science for their own power and profit.
Frustrated by how the natural world was being degraded by those pursuing immediate profits and amassing power in society, some scientists attempted to convey their knowledge directly to the public and to warn them of the dangers of reckless use of science. But they had forgotten how to tell good stories, and instead of engaging the imagination of their readers and listeners, they came across as shrill Cassandras, purveyors of a doom and gloom only they could see coming when the world still looked sunny to uninformed eyes. People already confused by the language and grammar and peculiar rhythms of the scientific story became even more suspicious of the scientists telling them, in turn falling prey to the power-hungry politicians and businessmen manipulating them with imaginary tales of glory.
And this is how the world came to be in its present predicament, poised on what scientists believe to be the edge of a sharp precipice, staring into an unknown abyss and a murky future. Science continues to hold the power to help humanity peer into the murk and shape the future to be a brighter one. But for that to happen, scientists need to relearn the key elements of stories and learn how to tell good stories. Stories that don’t erase the personalities and cultures and identities of the protagonists (and antagonists), stories that don’t hide specific and distinct points of view but instead uses those to evoke emotion in the listeners and to draw them in deeper so they are also able to learn the facts and learn to apply the lessons from these stories to shape better futures.
Relearning the art of storytelling requires scientists to first unlearn the constraints of the formal science story drilled into them through years of schooling. It requires paying attention to the details not just of the phenomena they study, but also the identities and cultural backgrounds and histories of fellow scientists. This should also help open the eyes of the dominant white scientists to the work of people whose contributions have hitherto gone unrecognized, and to the injustices their science may be perpetuating in the wider world. Learning to tell good stories also means listening deeply to other stories of facts and imagination outside the realm of science. Of course, most scientists may not be able to become good storytellers, but their stories can still be shared by others as long as the scientists are willing to share.
As this very gathering of minds at this virtual round table shows, there are many who love to tell stories and are committed to shaping humanity’s collective imagination towards creating a more hopeful brighter future. After all, hope, when it spurs positive actions, is the best antidote to the doom and gloom stories that continue to flow from science. As the saying goes: it will all be alright in the end, and if it isn’t alright, it isn’t the end.
Tim Lüschen is working at the intersection of deep participation and sustainability transformations. His interests lie in different ways of knowing, human-nature connection, facilitation, systemic constellations and new combinations of art and sustainability.
New collaborators are essential. We should form partnerships that have not existed before, creating a novel effect for the audience. Why not collaborate with more-than-human beings? Let them take center stage in ways and media that have yet to be explored.
One essential aspect of my work is the story of the relationship between humans and the more-than-human world. It involves highlighting our unawareness of our connection and being-as-nature, as we tend to focus so much on our separation and division, creating an illusion that we can completely dominate and control “nature”.
How can we bring more awareness and foster discussion on this topic? How can we perceive ourselves and the rest of the world as nature-culture? What kinds of stories can we tell? Hopeful stories? Warning stories? And what medium should we use? Paper, a stage, the internet, a forest, film, a podium, tape, or a crossroads? How can we effectively convey a compelling story based on scientific and philosophical ideas?
In my view, new collaborators are essential. We should form partnerships that have not existed before, creating a novel effect for the audience. Why not collaborate with more-than-human beings? Let them take center stage in ways and media that have yet to be explored. For instance, in the French documentary film “Le Chêne”, an oak tree and its inhabitants serve as the main characters over the course of a year, without any narration. It is a good example of how to incorporate the latest scientific knowledge about different living organisms, while at the same time allowing them to reveal themselves by simply BEING themselves.
Another novel approach to communication would be to focus on conflict. By illustrating the conflict of perceiving the more-than-human world as alive and autonomous entities, as their own subjects, we can address a long-standing suppression. Numerous conflicts, both conscious and unconscious, arise within ourselves when we broach this topic. Therefore, it is crucial not to depict this conflict as stagnant, but as fluid and open, with possibilities leading in various directions and opening up new vistas.
Consider the Greta and the Fridays for Future movement as an example. After seemingly being stuck for a prolonged period in the discussions about the climate crisis, with no progress being made, the silenced future generations suddenly demanded a voice in this process―naming the concrete conflict present, and the injustices included in it. With this, a shift occurred, and a new normal emerged.
However, this conflict involves many other voices that have been silenced. What if other suppressed voices begin to demand attention and lay their fingers on the other wounds that we were ignoring before? The voices of plants, animals, and the broader earth? Let them express their points of view—their sufferings, joys, and experiences.
Such storytelling has the power to stir people, connecting new brain functions and reactivating old ones. The animalistic spirit, inherent in all of us, could howl once again, and with that comes conflict. Conflict arises with those who benefit from suppressing this perpetually-present perception of the world. Conflict arises from past traumas and difficulties associated with this perception. Conflict arises regarding new decisions and how to make them.
Once again, it would be helpful to view the more-than-human beings as collaborators rather than enemies. Portray them as real, well-defined personalities, just as detailed as any main actor in a compelling story and encompassing a vast array of different characters―a world of difference within sameness, just as in our human world. Such storytelling has the potential to be more alive and resonant, connecting with the entirety of the human being, rather than solely engaging the left part of our brain. It has the capacity to evoke something within people that has not been stirred before. Let’s open up the box.
Paul is General Manager of Oppla, the EU Repository of Nature-based Solutions (based in the Netherlands), and Creative Director of Countryscape: part design agency, part environmental consultancy, based in the UK and Estonia. He has over 20 years’ experience in communications and knowledge exchange within the public and private sectors.
Small stories have real potential for carrying messages. Because they’re normal. Just like us.
Stories are how we understand the places in which we live, work, and play. I mean, really understand and connect to them. As people.
And as people, it’s not always the biggest and most exciting stories that grab and hold our attention. Sometimes, perhaps even most of the time, it’s the smaller, more personal, and private stories that resonate with us the most. Because we can relate to them in the context of our own lives; and because we all enjoy glimpses of other people’s lives, even the things that others might consider mundane. Everyday life is, after all, something that we all share and experience every day.
The power of ‘small stories’ is an approach that myself and colleagues have used successfully in the tourism industry. We developed what’s become knowns as the Sense of Place Toolkit method whereby we encouraged small, often rural businesses to tell their own stories through their marketing. To make a USP of their authenticity and relatability. To express their love of the landscape in how they communicate with customers. We piloted the idea with a small community in Lancashire, UK, and it proved highly successful (we came second in an international award to the Grand Canyon! A story in itself…). And it made me realise that small stories have real potential for carrying messages. Because they’re normal. Just like us.
What am I getting at here? Well, sometimes those of us working to “save the world from imminent environmental catastrophe” have a habit of hyperbole. Of telling the biggest stories we possibly can. Of going into battle ― and it is sometimes a battle ― with the baddest, burliest headlines that we can muster. It’s what we see in the news, right? It’s what turns people’s heads and gets their attention. It’s why Hollywood movies fill theatres. But are those big stories really what makes people stop and think? Perhaps they are too big. Too fantastic. Too remote and unrelatable to our everyday lives. Who among us are the Hollywood action heroes capable of responding? (ok, maybe you…).
So, I think we need to be telling more small stories in the environmental space too. In fact, only yesterday while the news media was ablaze with imagery of Rhodes on fire during a heatwave, I had a conversation with my dad about why his vegetable garden is looking out of season, and I think, just maybe, he nudged a little closer to accepting that the world might be changing after all. Not because Rhodes is on fire, but because his beans aren’t what they should be this year.
TL/DR: Sweat the small stuff. Put it to work. Because sometimes when your message isn’t getting through, you need to dial it down and not up.
Social communicator, journalist and social designer, interested in how design, communication and social innovation can shape and reshape a more resilient and sustainable future. A strong believer that empathy, creativity, cooperation and the force of landscape opens up infinite opportunities to build better societies, more connected to nature and people.
No matter what discipline or field of knowledge you belong to, have you never seen yourselves trying to explain complex ideas, and in the end, you realize that everything you have said sounds incomprehensible or unclear to others? We want people to understand us and to feel that we have the ability to transfer knowledge.
Let’s get metaphorical when it comes to science or practice
Our brain and how we process our experiences are deeply linked to storytelling and how we understand the world.
For example, if we read an article about what metamorphosis is applied in the life cycle of a butterfly, yes, we are informed, and we have an idea of what it is; we retain it but without much more significance than keeping the information.
Maria Sibylla Merian – Der Raupen wunderbare Verwandlung (The caterpillar and its marvelous transformation)
However, if someone later tells us the “story” of how a caterpillar made a silk egg in the garden, and how a child visited it every morning to witness its transformation and even describes the scents of the roses in the garden and the singing of the birds. Doesn’t that change everything? What happened to you when you read or heard this story?
Without having been in that garden, you have smelled the scent of the flowers, imagined the chirping of the birds, and witnessed in your imagination how that multicolored butterfly took its first flight. You may even have projected a familiar landscape or even the place where you grew up.
What has just happened in our brains? More brain areas have been activated, and more powerful connections have been made. The areas of language comprehension and processing have been involved, as well as the sense of smell, sight, taste, and even motor areas if you have even seen yourself walking through that garden.
Yes, storytelling is a powerful tool to tell better stories and make issues (even complex ones) understandable to various audiences. It is indeed a resource that democratizes knowledge.
Storytelling + metaphor + science = a great story!
No matter what discipline or field of knowledge you belong to, have you never seen yourselves trying to explain complex ideas, and in the end, you realize that everything you have said sounds incomprehensible or unclear to others? Indeed you have explained it technically, based on data and scientific arguments. And, of course, there is nothing wrong with it. But we want something else. We want people to understand us and to feel that we have the ability to transfer knowledge.
Let’s go back to the example of the butterfly. In this story, we are trying to explain the biological evolution process in the life of this winged insect. We have previously used storytelling, but what if we add to this the metaphor resource?
Let’s imagine we are in a science class with a group of children. We create a model where a garden is represented. Each of the participating children will represent one of the stages of the butterfly (egg, larva, pupa, and adult). Another child will represent the predators, for instance, a lizard, another the flowers, and another the river, or even a stone, so the whole class will recreate the ecosystem that makes the life of this winged insect possible.
The metaphors of the butterfly ecosystem act like a shortcut, embedding insight as a deep understanding rather than a rational cognition. Children will feel they understand, even if they can’t describe it directly. This is an example in a classroom with children, but it works just as well with people of any age.
Why is this relevant in science communication?
We want people to understand what we are trying to say. Realizing that the way something is told directly impacts the result of someone else’s understanding, we should make the best use of this knowledge if we want to achieve the insight of others.
As scientists, practitioners, and people interested in fostering better cities for nature and people, it is our capability and, thus, a duty of mission to ensure that our ideas are effortlessly understood.
When we use the term nature base solutions, for example, to people not related to the term, we could instead use a metaphor framed in storytelling, not necessarily through speech but through theater, video games, co-creation sessions, poetry, and even comics (a beautiful example are the comics (Nature To Save the World). At some other TNOC round table, I was invited to talk about landscape initiatives, and I participated in sharing how the Latin American Landscape Initiative (LALI) operates. I created a metaphor of how LALI acts precisely like a living cell: “A landscape initiative is like living cells. Cells have all the equipment necessary to carry out the functions of life. A cell can move, grow, transform, adapt to environmental changes, and even replicate itself. A cell has life in itself, but cells have much more power when they group themselves to form something else, something bigger and more complex.” Nowadays, LALI is often introduced to the world with this metaphor; for people utterly unrelated to landscape. Why? Because we want the concept of landscape initiative to expand and reach new audiences. In this way, we transfer knowledge, but at the same time, we open the door to receiving other insights different from the usual ones.
The means are infinite; the tools are the same: storytelling and metaphors.
What next idea or concept do you want to share, and how can you transform it into a metaphor?
Steward Pickett is a Distinguished Senior Scientist at the Cary Institute of Ecosystem Studies in Millbrook, New York. His research focuses on the ecological structure of urban areas and the temporal dynamics of vegetation.
What keeps coming to mind are powerful moments of noticing. Perhaps that is because I believe science to be, at its heart, a particularly deep and careful way of noticing the world―sometimes even what is hidden behind the surface of the world.
Future Poets: Please Pay Attention
I am convinced that scientists need to tell better stories. But I have struggled to settle my mind on an example for this roundtable on something from my own work that invites a story. Instead, what keeps coming to mind are powerful moments of noticing. Perhaps that is because I believe science to be, at its heart, a particularly deep and careful way of noticing the world―sometimes even what is hidden behind the surface of the world.
Recently, I read an interview of the poet Abram Van Engen by Tish Harrison Warren in the New York Times (16 July, 2023). Here’s a line from Van Engen that connects my feeling of science as deep noticing with attention in poetry:
“I think of poetry as the art of attention. It’s the ability to pay attention to the world and produce for the world the name of something that must be known.”
The triad sounds loudly: attention; urgent knowledge; producing. This chord could be a part of some great symphony of science as well as a harmonious representation of poetry.
I am perhaps cheating in thinking about poetry here, rather than a true narrative story. Of course, some poetry―epics come to mind―are as much stories as anything else. But how many (and indeed how) do poems engage all the five elements of story that the prompt lists? Depending on the poem in question, one or more of the elements may exist. But without trying to analyze what narrative elements might exist in it, here’s the piece of my writing, undated but more than a decade old, that kept coming to mind as something outside the usual formulation of science that still somehow emerged from understanding within science:
Spring: To a Poet of the Future
Spring came this year
with a violence
worthy of Stravinsky’s rites.
Liner notes once said
winter was replaced so suddenly
in the Russian taiga
that the music was hardly surprising.
Here, the green rose hard
from the insistently moistened ground.
Rain cold and constant
fed a fierce flowering:
Spent petals piled in deep drifts;
Pollen dusting any surface
dark enough to show it
and tinting windshields
yellow.
Is this the deconstructed spring?
Rain, temperature, and length of day
reassembled in some new way
ordered by a change in climate?
A new rhythm
overlapping beats
unexpected fierceness.
Future poets,
please pay attention.
Let us know.
Are centuries of metaphors
of soft temperate springs
just so many discarded petals
piled up like debris
no longer decipherable as flowers?
Well, there you have it. Something to say about science, in a way that is not science. Maybe the start of a story rather than a story.
Another quote from the Van Engen interview: “Poetry is much more about undergoing something rather than understanding something.”
How do we turn things from science―understanding―into things like stories and poems that help people undergo something in their relationship to the worlds of nature in cities or elsewhere?
Alice Reil (she/her) is an urban geographer who strives to bring more biodiverse, urban nature into public spaces. She led the biodiversity and nature-based solutions team at ICLEI Europe, a global city network, and now works at the City of Munich’s green space planning department.
If many of us would share our personal stories and emotional connections to our natural surroundings with our neighbours, would we all be more motivated to protect them even more? I’m now visualising little printed stories scattered across communities, which enable neighbours or passers-by to read how a particular tree or green space is meaningful to fellow citizens.
I just started a new job in which I am tasked with coordinating the local implementation of urban nature interventions through a European Union-funded project. This project aims to generate more scientific evidence as well as practical experience around inclusive and just access to ecological spaces for all in cities. At the same time, these interventions should help reduce pollution and promote biodiversity. On the one hand, this new role puts me at the receiving end of someone else’s―the project authors’―vision and narrative. On the other hand, it is my responsibility to create and adapt the reasoning for and activities of the project for local audiences. In other words, it is about the story I want to tell.
Over the past weeks, I have been asking myself: How can I translate 200+ pages of project description into a tangible narrative for myself, but also for those that we as the city department want to reach? How can we detach ourselves from keywords and turn our vision and activities into a story, which mobilises citizens to renature their neighbourhoods together with us?
I do not have the answer, I just have ideas. And I also recognise my limitations, as my education and work experience has always been tied to the written word. I would certainly seek collaborators from visual, art, or play-based backgrounds as well as “living experts” from those that we are trying to reach through the project, i.e., kids and youth as well as elderly citizens. I also recognise, that not all of these are homogenous groups, yet we would try to reach and tailor our interventions to their needs as much as possible.
For neighbours and (aspiring) history buffs it might be interesting to connect nature interventions with local history, both that of the neighbourhood as well as personal connections to the community. I take some inspiration from the Melbourne Urban Forest project, which mapped all city trees, and gave them an email address―and the trees promptly not only received maintenance requests but also love letters and personal anecdotes. The City of Glasgow, together with regional partners, was recently inspired by this Australian approach. The team created “Every Tree Tells A Story” and provides educational material and social media channels for Glaswegians to share their love of trees. If many of us would share our personal stories and emotional connections to our natural surroundings with our neighbours, would we all be more motivated to protect them even more? I’m now visualising little printed stories scattered across communities, which enable neighbours or passers-by to read how a particular tree or green space is meaningful to fellow citizens.
Urban nature helps create and design public spaces. Often enough, though, art and untamed, wild nature are neglected, yet very organic elements in creating aesthetic, welcoming spaces. There is a growing number of cities that have street art walks. (If you’re ever in Ghent, Belgium, make sure to take a stroll of the open-air gallery of its many murals!) How could we combine nature and urban art in our public spaces and for sure thrill youth, kids, and art-loving residents? I have experienced art walks and always found them especially memorable such as the Rehberger Way in the southwest of Germany. I also know of artists who use natural materials to make sculptures of varying sizes. Yet this “ecological art” is often set in or against the backdrop of landscapes and I haven’t yet seen good examples that really weave art and nature together in an (often confined) urban setting and that tell stories linked to the importance of biodiversity for instance. Whilst I continue my search, there is a growing body of comics showcasing the state of nature as well as current challenges and how we are or could be solving them. You might have already come across the nature-based solutions comics curated by The Nature of Cities itself together with the EU-funded project NetworkNature.
Whilst these are just ideas, we certainly need different approaches to enthuse all about nature―or at least about the need to protect and promote nature. Just recently I came across the term “plant blindness”, which describes the inability to see or notice the plants in one’s own environment. In turn, this makes it very difficult for humankind to realise the importance plants and the natural environment in general play for us and our planet. On a recent trip to the local art exhibition “Flower Power” on the role of flowers in art and culture, I saw Tracey Bush’s work called “Nine Wild Plants”: she uses collages of famous brands to depict local plant species. She wants to raise awareness that the average Western citizen knows many more brand names than they know local plants.
Perhaps we should take a break from our (project) work occasionally and go on a good, old (or GPS-supported geocaching) treasure hunt of plants and other living things and use the funny and surprising anecdotes of those plants and our experience along the way to reconsider how we approach our work. Next onto the groundwork in neighbourhoods and cities, we should strive to design projects which create scientific evidence, but also inspire everyday action―or at least awareness and create space for playful, artistic interventions. For this, we need to engage with fellow artists and work with funding bodies to allow for better, more convincing, and fun stories of and with nature.
Architect/urban planner (Faculty of Architecture & Urbanism of the University of Sao Paulo). Holds a doctoral degree in landscape architecture and planning (Technical University of Munich). Senior expert on Nature-based Solutions and Biodiversity at ICLEI Europe (ICLEI Europe).
Despite its potential, storytelling is not widely utilized in scientific communication. However, science should not just be about cold facts and figures; it has the power to change lives, protect our environment, and shape our future. That sounds like a good story.
Imagine reading a scientific paper filled with jargon, complex terminology, and dense data charts. It can feel like deciphering a secret code! Scientific communication, as we know it, tends to be quite formal and even a bit rigid, focusing on presenting information objectively and relying on data-driven analysis. While this approach is essential within scientific circles, it often fails to captivate a wider audience or pique their interest in highly relevant societal topics. To truly engage a broader audience, we need to go beyond the dry and detached approach. We must find ways to connect with people on a personal level, appealing to their interests, emotions, and experiences. It’s about telling stories that make relevant data relatable and accessible.
Storytelling offers a powerful avenue to connect with people on an emotional and narrative level. It is a timeless art that has been used for centuries to captivate audiences and convey meaningful messages. When we hear a compelling story, we become invested in the characters, their experiences, and the journey they undertake. It evokes emotions, sparks our imagination, and leaves a lasting impact. Despite its potential, storytelling is not widely utilized in scientific communication. However, science should not just be about cold facts and figures; it has the power to change lives, protect our environment, and shape our future. So, it is extremely important to consider a storytelling approach in science communication to bridge the gap between experts and the general public. Stories also allow complex ideas and information to be conveyed in a relatable and accessible manner. By incorporating elements such as plot, setting, characters, point of view, and conflict, scientific information can be presented in a more engaging and memorable way. Scientific works can become captivating stories that grab the listener’s attention and take them on a thrilling journey.
Even if you think you can’t do storytelling, it’s just about starting. Anyone can become a storyteller. I wasn’t one, but I became one. Today, when I talk about nature-based solutions to a wider public, I instinctively try to identify the key elements that can make it a relatable and compelling topic. A personal connection to the subject matter also adds a layer of depth, as people can recognize passion immediately, and it resonates with them. Maybe this is the reason why I have gained a substantial number of followers on a professional social media platform. My posts breathe my genuine enthusiasm for nature-based solutions, capturing the hearts and minds of my audience. I share my journey, narrate the challenges I encountered, the obstacles I overcame, and the lessons I learned along the way. It’s like painting a vivid picture of the discoveries I made, unveiling the hidden secrets and unravelling the mysteries that lie beneath the surface. By infusing my story with this personal touch, I create a narrative that not only showcases expertise and achievements but also breathes personal interest and commitment. It humanises my work, making it relatable and inspiring to others who share my passion.
By adopting a storytelling approach to science communication, we can potentially achieve greater accessibility, engagement, and understanding among a wider audience. By making science feel relevant and impactful, we can capture the attention of even the most sceptical listener. This approach has the potential to unlock the valuable knowledge and insights from scientific work that often remain confined to specialised publications and limited audiences.
To approach my own investigative work as a story, I would need to identify the key elements that make it compelling. Picture this: instead of drowning readers in technical jargon, I would use language that everyone can understand. I would weave together narratives, visual aids, and real-life examples that ignite curiosity and spark imagination. It might also involve seeking out new collaborators from different disciplines or backgrounds to bring diverse perspectives and expertise.
So, let’s break free from the constraints of traditional scientific communication. Let’s embrace storytelling, engage our audience’s emotions, and make science an exciting and accessible adventure. Together, we can unravel the wonders of the natural world and inspire a lifelong curiosity about the mysteries that science seeks to uncover.
Kirsten Schwarz is an urban ecologist working at the interface of environment, equity, and health. Her research focuses on environmental hazards and amenities in cities and how their distribution impacts minoritized communities. Her work on lead contaminated soils documents how biogeophysical and social variables relate to the spatial patterning of soil lead.
Kirsten Schwarz
For me, the most compelling science stories are the ones that share the humanity of the work, the humanity of those doing the work, the humanity of those impacted by the work (for good or bad), the aspects that connect us, the emotions.
A More Compassionate Science Can Bring Us Better Storytelling
The person that taught me the most about science and the importance of storytelling wasn’t a scientist, but a human that dedicated his life to compassion, David Henry Breaux. He stood on a street corner in Davis, CA asking people that passed by to reflect on the concept of compassion and share their personal definition. At the time of his murder, he had been doing that work for almost 14 years. Many came to David to extract information, to find answers. But David didn’t provide answers, he listened, deeply and empathetically. And he demonstrated with that deep listening you likely already held the answers if you were still enough to hear them. And, through that deep listening, he also showed us that we have a lot in common with one another if we’re willing to slow down, reflect, be vulnerable, and share our stories.
At the time I met David, I was a postdoc at UC Davis. As I reflected on my thoughts on compassion, I realized that in my experience of science, compassion was not valued in a meaningful way. It wasn’t centered in the process of doing science, it wasn’t considered in the process of sharing science, and it wasn’t a requirement for advancing one’s career. David helped me see that if I was going to continue with a career in academia, I was going to have to center compassion not only in my life, but also in my science.
Stories help us do just that. We need stories to share our science because stories connect us. Science may help us better understand our world, but stories help us empathize, they connect us to our world. We need stories to make our science more compassionate, inclusive, and impactful. We need stories so we can more easily connect our science, and the people doing science, to the human experience.
For me, the most compelling science stories are the ones that share the humanity of the work, the humanity of those doing the work, the humanity of those impacted by the work (for good or bad), the aspects that connect us, the emotions. Science is sometimes described as a systematic approach to answering a question. That’s often not a very exciting story. But in practice, science is a messy wandering adventure that often leads to more questions than answers, the entire process guided by perfectly flawed humans. It’s the parts we don’t often share that make great stories.
Stories are also our legacy. Thousands of people have a story of David. His story didn’t end when his life ended. His work continues, more important and needed than ever. I’ve thought a lot about my definition of compassion since David was taken from us. I think it’s creating the conditions in your life to see more clearly, to slow down, to reconnect to the stillness and compassion in your heart. It’s an active practice, it won’t always be perfect, but it will always be there. And it’s part of everything, including science. Centering compassion in our science makes sharing our stories a natural extension of the work that we do, central to our mission as scientists. And as humans.
Ania Upstill (they/them) is a queer and non-binary performer, director, theatre maker, teaching artist and clown. A graduate of the Dell’Arte International School of Physical Theatre (Professional Training Program), Ania’s recent work celebrates LGBTQIA+ artists with a focus on gender diversity.
Scientific writing often seems to assume that for something to be taken seriously, it must be dry and fact-based. The more seriously written something is, the more true it is. But what if that wasn’t the only way to go about it?
As an Applied Theater maker, in addition to the five key elements of stories pointed to above, I’m also interested in what form a story takes. Is it told live to an audience? Is it told via printed media? Is it told as an audio story or a podcast? Is it a play, or a song? Is it, perhaps, told by puppets?
I am intensely interested in this question. Despite the “Theater” in the name, in Applied Theater we don’t assume that a traditional theatrical performance is the best way to tell a story. Instead, we utilise a variety of frameworks to engage participants, from Theater of the Oppressed―where audiences step into roles to attempt to change outcomes―to Theater-in-Education pieces that use artifacts to engage young audiences, and many more. In my work as a theater maker, I have also utilised a variety of forms, from circus to music, in order to best fit the content of the story that I’m telling. For something highly emotional, music is a powerful tool. For something that requires a sense of magic or awe, circus is incredible. For something that needs to invoke a sense of curiosity, there’s nothing quite like clowning.
With stories, I believe that humans want to be moved and entertained. This might be especially true for theater, but I think that it’s true for all stories. Scientific writing often seems to assume that for something to be taken seriously, it must be dry and fact-based. The more seriously written something is, the more true it is. But what if that wasn’t the only way to go about it? As children, we learn lots of incredibly valuable information from picture books or from puppet shows about, say, the importance of brushing our teeth. I’m curious about how different forms of storytelling can be used to reach new, different audiences. What if scientific knowledge came through a poem? Or a song (like in the They Might Be Giants album Here Comes Science)? Reading Rainbow was popular for decades, and is still enjoyed by audiences. Part of the show’s success, I believe, is that instead of simply recording a child’s storybook, it used a compelling host who provided a contextual frame for each story. It’s also telling that they stopped producing new episodes in response to the many new types of media that were becoming available. If one of the most successful children’s shows was responding to the times, shouldn’t we?
I would love to see more writers exploring using different forms to tell their stories, especially around science. Facts deserve to be delivered in a compelling and interesting way so that they can really be heard. I’m interested in what could happen if we stretched our imaginations beyond what we think a story should be, to what a story can be. One of our powerful tools is form, and I challenge us all to consider which of our many exciting storytelling mediums best suit the stories we’re trying to tell.
Stéphane Verlet Bottéro (b. 1987) is an artist working at the intersection of social practice, installation, education, writing, gardening, and cooking. He is interested in the entanglements of community, materiality, body, and place. Based on site-specific research and durational interventions, his practice seeks to open spaces to unlearn and unsettle ways of inhabiting the world.
Mark Fisher famously wrote that it’s easier to imagine the end of capitalism than what comes after it. I wish that more scientific literature embraced speculation and affabulation as methods to talk about the worlds that we want; help us imagine a diversity of (past, present, and future) non-extractive worlds.
Having had an education in both (ecological) science and (visual) arts, I am interested in how in spite of generating knowledge by different means, they both operate as storytelling practices. An author that has changed my understanding of science as a practice of creating world-making stories, is Donna Haraway. For me, anyone interested in what tales can science tell should read her book Staying with the Trouble, in which she develops the ideas of SF as a method.
The acronym SF is polysemic: string figures, science fact, science fiction, speculative fabulation, speculative feminism. SF extends beyond the traditional genre of science fiction literature and delves into the realms of science as fact but also as fantasy and fable. Speculative thinking and writing are playful tools to challenge dominant paradigms, envision alternative paths for coexistence and flourishing, and imagine different futures.
The feminist ethics of SF are particularly useful to think about whether science-fact/fiction can be told using terms that recognize individuals, communities, and their environment’s relations of interdependence and mutual care, rather than using terms that reinforce dominant individualistic and exploitative models that often characterize technology and society. It reinvigorates what Deleuze said about the virtual―that it has the ability to change the real.
Key to this ethical and methodological framework is Haraway’s notion of response-ability. It acknowledges that we are not isolated individuals but part of complex webs of relationships and ecosystems, which implies that our choices and actions require a mode of attention that values such interconnectedness. This has important consequences in terms of how the way science is narrated may influence engendering other futures.
Equally, the books of Octavia Butler have had a huge influence on me, in particular through her ability to draw from science and technology in order to invent worlds in which oppressive divides between constructed categories (natural/cultural, masculine/feminine, …) are no longer relevant. I wish that more scientific literature embraced speculation and affabulation as methods to talk about the worlds that we want. Mark Fisher famously wrote that it’s easier to imagine the end of capitalism than what comes after it. I believe that more storytelling would help us imagine a diversity of (past, present, and future) non-extractive worlds.
Ibrahim Wallee; is a development communicator, peacebuilding specialist, and environmental activist. He is the Executive Director of Center for Sustainable Livelihood and Development (CENSLiD), based in Accra, Ghana. He is a Co-Curator for Africa and Middle East Regions for The Nature of Cities Festivals.
The people’s voice matters in validating development outcomes, be it positive or negative. Telling their story is essential and even more crucial in building trust.
In today’s contemporary world, the emergence of participatory communication, a bottom-up dialogic communication model in the development field, introduced in the 1950s by the Brazilian adult educator Paulo Freire has evolved into the preferred communication model. This communication medium is deployed in pursuing development as social change, giving voice to the people, and empowering communities sociocultural and economically. As an influential proponent of the participatory communication theory and practice, Freire’s focus on dialogical communication, emphasizing participatory, and collective processes in research, problem identification, decision-making, implementation, and evaluation of change, is instructive (Mefalopulos & Tufte, 2009). His critique of extension works (1973) and a book on liberating pedagogy (1979) emphasize a close dialectic between collective action and reflections and work towards human empowerment (ibid: 3).
The participatory communication model engenders resonance with the plight of the vulnerable, acceptability, and a broader reach of new audiences within the development ecosystem. The model appeals to social context and cultural sensitivities and enriches development outcomes by promoting ownership and communal participation. For development practitioners to demonstrate value to beneficiary communities, this model remains an inclusive and effective tool that unpacks the complexities of development discourse to bridge the knowledge gap and elicit an understanding of the value proposition in its social and practical context.
It is worth recognizing that sociocultural context matters to development practice because human identity, socialization and cultural sensitivities, relative to language and value propositions, play an important role in gauging the effectiveness of development outcomes. Irrespective of the contentions and the problematization of the concept of development and its imperial leanings espoused by Arturo Escobar and Henry Veltmeyer, to mention a few. It is where participatory communication empowers people in its two-way dialogic medium of interactions. It allows society to establish substance and affirm a sense of ownership and value in the interaction of practitioners with beneficiary communities, leading to an appreciation of contributions to the growth of the knowledge economy and its relevance to social change and economic empowerment. The people’s voice matters in validating development outcomes, be it positive or negative. Telling their story is essential and even more crucial in building trust. Hence the need to recognize that people are voiceless not because they have nothing to say but because nobody cares to listen to them (Malikhao & Servaes, 2005: 91). This is why participation promotes listening, builds trust, and facilitates equitable exchange of ideas, knowledge, and experiences (ibid). Paulo Freire refers to this as “the right of all people to individually and collectively speak their word” (Freire, 1983: 76). He emphasizes that it is not the privilege of a few but the right of every man to do so. “No one can say a true word alone, nor say it for another prescriptively, robbing others of their word (voice)” (ibid). Freire’s postulation depicts not only the empowering but liberating nature of participatory communication and its receptive outlook towards diversity and multiplicity of views, including conflicts, to inspire efforts at addressing contemporary challenges of society.
The inclination to choose participatory communication in telling a story of development practice that reaches new audiences, far and wide, stems from the above enumerations of this dialogic communication model’s value and substance. Even more imperative is that the inherent conflicts associated with the concept of development as a practice are subjective. The diversity of thoughts and views on development discourse adds to the vortex of the complexity and challenges that require a multidisciplinary approach to proffering solutions to achieving and validating desired outcomes. It is where using collaborative channels of communication that bridge the gaps between the technical, innovative, and inspiring discourses reaches an extended audience within the public sphere. Every voice matters and deserves listening, reinforcing Freire’s insistence that dialogue is not false participation but an indispensable component of learning and knowing.
References:
Escobar, A. (1999). The Invention of Development. Current History, 98(631), 382-386.
Freire, P. (1993). Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: The Continuum International Publishing Group Inc.
Malikhao, P., & Servaes, J. (2005). Participatory communication: the new paradigm? Media and Global Change: Rethinking Communication for Development, 91-103.
Mefalopulos, P., & T. T. (2009, June). Participatory Communication; A Practical Guide. World Bank Working Paper No. 170, pp. 1-50.
Veltmeyer, H., & Parpart, J. (2018). The Development Project in Theory and Practice: a review of its shifting dynamics. ResearchGate, 1-52.
Tommy Cheemou Yang is an indigenous Hmong designer, researcher, and educator focused on insurgent urban and architectural transformations, utilizing inter-disciplinary methods such as fieldwork, oral/public history, and radical mapping. His current work challenges architectural and urban design epistemologies, cultivating conversations on identity, social action, resiliency, and insurgent placemaking.
Storytelling asks us to see that change does not come from the expert but from the mundane acts that cascade into large movements creating change.
Reviewing and connecting my work around this notion of “storytelling,” I am reminded of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s The danger of a single story. The longstanding rituals of stories carry wisdom and worlds that are non-linear and changing. It cascades as it weaves through communities and urges us to refute the linear and flat histories created by contemporary design and data-driven thinking. If we want to make deep and lasting changes around equity and environmental justice, we can no longer accept that the content of knowledge remains within the hands of the “expert.” Storytelling asks us to see that change does not come from the expert but from the mundane acts that cascade into large movements creating change.
Yet, it is remarkable how little attention is given to storytelling as a method of inquiry within the realms of design and the sciences. I argue for the establishment of storytelling central to our field of investigation, dissemination, and pedagogy. Inspired by Gunderson and Holling’s theory of Panarchy―the introduction of an ethnographic method to succession, scales, and belonging can frame how the life and stories from communities cascade into large urban transformations [Fig. 1].
Figure 1: Introduction of Storytelling
Among my work, I listen to HMoob remaking home in Wisconsin, spend days walking using film and photography to capture small practices of stewardship in New York Chinatowns, and visit how urban villagers of Chiang Mai are maneuvering the top-down planning of the city. This slice of my research utilizes multi-sited ethnography to thread stories across territories revealing how ordinary citizens use tactics of homemaking to deal with current large systemic issues.[1]
Within this process it soon became clear that I must make my work accessible to others beyond experts in order to initiate a multi-dimensional analysis, thus inspiring a path for research into the potential of oral storytelling, comics, and animations. For example, my work with HMoob stewards in Wisconsin was woven into an array of Hmong Radio Documentaries exploring the meaning of home, identity, and ethnic belonging beyond the domain of the house [Fig. 2].[2]
Figure 2: Hmong Radio Documentaries
Figure 3: Students Doing Field Work Chiang Mai
Accessibility in research led me to teach designers ethnographic methods that would expand the domain of communication nurturing non-conventional techniques to counter map, legitimize, protest, and make apparent frictions of the city. The following figure illustrates students’ field explorations in Chiang Mai, Thailand held with Brian McGrath in 2020 capturing the lived realities of village compounds [Fig. 3]. Using the multi-sited case studies, the same pedagogy cascaded into an array of designers learning to see and hear their environments in Pittsburgh where I am currently teaching at Carnegie Mellon University [Fig. 4].
Figure 4: Student Fieldwork and Mapping of Pittsburgh
From my perspective, research must be deciphered not just through jargon, graphs, and numbers, urging an innovative potential of the literal reading of our environments as narratives.[3] As Shannon Mattern reminded us, our contemporary world is planned and designed drawing upon layered histories, meanings, and symbolisms.[4] By recognizing these patterns, it builds empathetic approaches―a vital restoration to increasingly prevalent number-driven models in research.
To speak about that location from which work emerges I choose familiar politicised language, old codes, words like “struggle, marginality, resistance”. I choose these words knowing that they are no longer popular or “cool”―hold onto them and the political legacies they evoke and affirm, even as I work to change what they say, to give them renewed and different. – Choosing the Margins as a Space of Radical Openness, Bell Hooks 1989
Paying attention to the field not only as an object of analysis but a classroom where scholars and communities produce empirical comprehension advocate for embodied practices―linking effect, labor, histories, and resistances as forms of knowledge.[5] It puts differences at the heart of inquiry, a radical openness to accommodate and evolve with the things we see or hear in the field.[6]
[1] Marcus, George E. “Ethnography in/of the World System: The Emergence of Multi-Sited Ethnography.” Annual Review of Anthropology 24 (1995): 95–117. http://www.jstor.org/stable/2155931.
[2] The Field School was founded by Dr. Arijit Sen, using participatory action-research to explore how cities have changed over time and their local histories. http://thefieldschool.weebly.com/
[3] Barthes, Roland, and Lionel Duisit. “An Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narrative.” New Literary History 6, no. 2 (1975): 237–72. https://doi.org/10.2307/468419.
[4] Mattern, Shannon. A City Is Not a Computer: Other Urban Intelligences. Vol. 2. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2021.
[6] Hooks, Bell. “CHOOSING THE MARGIN AS A SPACE OF RADICAL OPENNESS.” Framework: The Journal of Cinema and Media, no. 36 (1989): 15–23. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44111660.
The premises on which we build our cities and construct civilisation, and the extent and means by which we include nature in our cities depends on what values we choose to adopt. Our capacity to engage with the processes of nurturing the nature of our cities depends on how we see our roles as members of society.
Consumer or citizen?
When teaching tertiary students in the subjects of ‘Urbanity and Landscape’ and ‘Urban Ecology’, I would often ask a class whether they thought of themselves as consumers. Everyone would raise a hand. When I asked who thought of themselves as citizens, out of a class of around sixty I’d be lucky to see half a dozen hands go up; this was in the second or third year of university amongst the best educated young people of an ‘advanced’ western democracy — all putative young professionals likely to be charged with the significant roles in the ongoing development of our built environment.
Pursuing the point, I would try to open up some discussion by asking what rights one has as a consumer or as a citizen. The answers pretty much boiled down to the right to return faulty goods or not to buy things you weren’t satisfied with (as a consumer) and the right to vote (as a citizen). Going a little further and asking about responsibilities, I generally drew blanks.
Straw polls these may have been, but this is worrying stuff because I think it flags clearly that something is amiss in the body politic.
I don’t have the data to prove it (who would fund such a study?), but I am certain that billions of people around the world now see themselves primarily as consumers rather than citizens. They understand ‘freedom of choice’ to be about choosing from products on offer, be they from car manufacturers, washing powder purveyors or political parties. The concept of active citizenship is tenuous, if it exists at all.
The consequences of this are far-reaching and disturbing and affect the nature of cities.
Consumption or conservation?
What product do you offer a consumer that gives them the choice to value nature for its own sake? There are a handful of well-intentioned products that, as part of their cover price, offer to save whales or plant trees or whatever, but most cash-strapped consumers buy on price, not a sentimental regard for nature. At the same time, the nature of the marketplace is predicated on the consumption of natural resources in a way that precludes systemic change towards a system that values the conservation of resources. Scarcity adds value to resources and enhances them as targets for exploitation.
It’s an approach that didn’t help the Dodo, and it isn’t doing any favours to African elephants or Asian tigers. Their increasing scarcity renders them ever more valuable and as their value rises the incentive to hunt them is increasing. In a similar way the ecology of the Canadian wilderness is despoiled because its intrinsic value counts for nothing against the dollar value of the resources buried within it. As oil becomes more scarce its value is rising and it is becoming more and more ‘economic’ to employ expensive and destructive means to release oil from tar sands. In each case, as the perceived monetary value of elephants, tigers and tar sand wilderness increases, their intrinsic value counts for nothing.
It’s a vicious circle against which the consumer system provides no defences. Its hapless targets are either given little value unless they can be exploited, or great value as they become exploited. The values assigned by the market system work in direct opposition to almost all aspects of intrinsic value.
Development, and collective benefit
Land itself is only valued as it is developed and becomes developable. Notwithstanding cultural undercurrents that have long struggled to see recognition of the intrinsic merits of ‘wilderness’ it remains clear that wild nature has no monetary value until it can be consumed. A piece of prairie, stand of forest, or basin of wetland is seen as worthless unless and until it can be turned into ‘real’ estate. Once human ingenuity introduces the tools and processes capable of manipulating the landscape into usable real estate its monetary value rises. As a rule, its value continues to rise as its capacity to support living systems is diminished. The most valuable real estate is in the most built-up areas of heavily developed urban systems.
The consumerist economic system adds value to land in the marketplace in inverse proportion to the ability of that land to sustain life. A – Undeveloped land B – Land division + road = $ C – Reticulated power + water = $$$ D – Building + wider road = $$$$$ E – More building + more road + more power… = $$$$$$$$$$$ Credit: Paul Downton
It’s one of the ironies of mass industrial society that its preferred economic framework is focussed on satisfying the consumptive desires of ‘the individual’. This is where the fundamental value base of the consumer and the citizen, of necessity, diverge. The idea of being a consumer is exclusive. It is explicitly not about the greater good, it is about satiating individual desire and pandering to individual whims and the dictates of fashion for perceived personal benefit.
Consumers compete. Conversely, the idea of being a citizen rests on concern for the collective. Citizens make cities.
In order for any individual to gain advantages from it, a city first requires the creation of collective benefits. City infrastructure is a shared resource that contains such thoroughly mixed contributions from so many people that their individual contributions cannot sensibly be identified. Before any individual can walk down the sidewalk or drive along the road there has to be collective effort and acceptance of shared costs to create the sidewalk or roadway. It would be nonsense for any one individual to try and walk along only that part of the pavement, or drive down only that part of the road they paid for.
Archaeologists study the ruins of cities to gain insight into how people organised their lives in much the same way that a pathologist studies a corpse. A city is a social construct and every element of it betrays some information about how its people lived. This great construction depends on coordinated and productive behaviour by the individuals who bring it into being and maintain it.
A living city is no more a collection of buildings, roads and sewers than a living person is a mere collection of limbs, organs, arteries and veins. It is something that transcends the tribe as much as it transcends the individual.
Exchanging the wealth of human experience
Cities are places of exchange. That is their essence, their fundamental purpose; but the exchanges they foster and facilitate extend far beyond buying and selling in the marketplace. Social and cultural exchanges can, and do, exist without being tied to financial transactions. The value of cities cannot — should not — be measured only in monetary currency.
Unless you believe that all we are good for is to buy and sell goods and services, then reducing all relationships to mercantile exchange is to diminish what it means to be human. At best, it’s like marrying for money — it more or less guarantees a relationship empty of love, life and meaning. At worst, it is de-humanising, reducing the wealth of human experience to simplistic, one-dimensional measures of worth.
And it dangerously diminishes our capacity to appreciate the value of nature.
The same mindset that reduces the value of nature to what it’s worth in monetary terms is the one that speaks of valuing ‘natural infrastructure’ on the same basis as power grids and gas pipelines. If they deliver services, they have value. If they don’t, they’re worthless. In the monetary system a forest may have value as a stand of timber that’s worth more wood-chipped and dead than alive. Valued as natural infrastructure, a forest might be viewed as a useful part of a catchment that provides water for a city with a dollar value that reflects how much the water supply is valued by the markets at any given time. The rub is that in a monetary system the value of the forest varies in relation to changes in human affairs, distorted through the cultural prisms of the mercantile class, all bearing no direct relation to what the forest does in its natural state as part of the skein of living systems.
Understanding the value of nature in, and of, cities requires acceptance of its intrinsic worth as part of our life support system. The nature of cities can be measured in dollars or Yen or RMB, but that does not capture its worth.
Commodification of nature does not capture its true value. Credit: Paul Downton
To say that a tree provides services which clean and oxygenate the air, absorb stormwater and provide shade that are altogether worth $xxx simply commodifies the tree and enables it to be listed in a set of financial accounts. But the merit of those accounts varies.
This is not to say that there is no merit in valuing ecosystem services in monetary terms, but the inherent danger in accepting commodification of the living world to any degree is that in an almost completely mercantile environment the commodified value becomes the only measure that is accepted in wider discourse. There is no actual equivalence between say, a thriving temperate rainforest (such as in Tasmania’s Tarkine region) and an open-cut mine, or between a Tennessee snail darter and a hydroelectric dam, and once the debate about their value is reduced to dollars, the argument about worth becomes subject to the vagaries and distortions of the marketplace and insidious assertions that ‘making a living’ is somehow more important than maintaining life.
Painting a picture
In any mercantile system ‘value’ varies. Perceived worth is negotiable. The coinage is based on fantasy — literally, on phantasms of the mind, albeit ones that a society chooses to share. The measures of worth derive, not from any absolute or grounded measures of things but from agreements to set a value on one or another aspect of human mental construction. Thus a 67 cm x 56 cm piece of canvas smeared with pigments and stretched across a timber frame may be valued at perhaps $80, or it may be valued at more than $80 million. Doing nothing but occupying space in a vault or hanging on a wall, over 20 years or more its value might rise from $80 million to nearly $150 million. Such has happened to the Portrait of Dr Gachet by Vincent Van Gogh (who never benefited personally from this perception of value and died in relative poverty).
Wheatfield with cypresses by Vincent Van Gogh 1889, said to be worth $91.5 million. Credit: Wikipedia Commons
This kind of perverse valuation can be seen again, all too clearly, when a two-dimensional representation of the complex, multivalent reality of nature using canvas and pigments possesses more dollar-value than the nature to which the artist was doing homage. One could buy many wheat fields with cypresses with the $91.5 million at which Van Gogh’s painting of that name is currently valued.
Dead as a Dodo. Painting of a Dodo head by Cornelius Saftleven 1638, believed to be one of the last illustrations made of a live Dodo. Credit: Wikipedia Commons
The nature of a city, in every sense, ultimately rests on the quality of its governance. That governance is informed by the values of its citizens and what they choose to prioritise. As consumers within the framework of the world financial system we choose to create socially agreed (if morally questionable) values for works of art that represent nature. Although our species is presently responsible for the biggest wave of mass-extinctions since the dinosaurs disappeared, as citizens and city-makers, we need to both identify and defend the full intrinsic value of nature within the framework of the city-making that represents our global civilisation.
The vagaries of the modern marketplace make it open to manipulation to a quite astonishing extent. The stock exchange crashes of recent and past history provide prodigious proof of that. What is worth a dollar today may be worth twice as much tomorrow — or not — but the value of nature is intrinsic. It is about living systems. Ultimately, it is about survival and if we allow the nature of our cities to be valued in terms of the marketplace rather than its integral necessity to our collective health and well-being, there is nothing to prevent it from going the way of the Dodo.
In cities throughout the United States, thousands of people are gearing up for another busy summer of growing vegetables in community gardens and caring for street trees planted along the sidewalk’s edge. Self-organized, volunteer-based, and focused on improving both communities and the environment, these “civic ecology” practices often pick up where municipal governments and larger non-profits leave off. Marianne Krasny and Keith Tidball, founders of the Civic Ecology Lab at Cornell University, have done important work summarizing and describing the different reasons why volunteers engage in these practices. They’ve also noted the wide range of benefits that likely result from activities like gardening and tree care; benefits that can accrue to individuals, neighborhoods, and, perhaps, even whole cities.
This blog post explores some issues around the political economy of civic ecology practices before moving on to consider three attitudes that may help make these practices more successful. I’ve chosen to focus on community gardens and street tree stewardship because they are the practices I know best, through both personal experience and academic research.
In both good times and bad, volunteers are essential to the tasks of creating and maintaining green spaces in North American cities. In a robust economy, city governments can afford to support volunteers with training programs, technical assistance, and warehouses full of tools and materials. During lean times, governments cut spending on these initiatives and volunteers find themselves managing an ever-widening portfolio of projects with little help from on high. In both circumstances, volunteers take on tasks that might once have been handled by municipal employees earning living wages and pensions. Some argue that shifting the burden of environmental maintenance on to volunteers in urban communities is an unjust abdication of government responsibility for the common good. Others make the case that volunteers derive benefits from doing the work that may outweigh the costs.
Good or bad, it seems that affluent neighborhoods can more easily afford to pick up the government slack, writing checks for private environmental maintenance services when public funds run dry. In cities, special Business Improvement Districts levy supplemental taxes to pay for things like street sweeping, plaza maintenance, tree care, and ornamental landscaping. Public parks have their own version of this scheme, with independent Conservancies and “Friends of…” organizations raising large sums from wealthy donors who benefit heavily from having a well-kempt park in their own back yard. This arrangement works nicely in pockets of the city with ample money to donate. It falls short in other neighborhoods with too few businesses to finance an Improvement District and even fewer deep-pocketed donors to bankroll the upkeep of a local park.
I don’t mean to denigrate the good work that both Business Improvement Districts and Parks Conservancies have done to make large patches of cities in the U.S. safer, more inviting, and more environmentally enlightened. Looking back over the past thirty years we see some of the most ambitious and extravagant versions of these strategies at work in New York City. Celebrated public spaces like Central Park, Times Square, and The High Line would look radically different without the private money that pays for their ongoing maintenance and improvement. Though there is plenty of nostalgia for that bygone gritty New York, it’s difficult to imagine anyone would elect to change a place like Bryant Park back into an open market for shady drug deals. I doubt anyone wishes Prospect Park Alliance would close up shop and leave its Olmstead-designed namesake to fall back into disrepair.
That said, not every neighborhood in New York City—or in any other city, for that matter—is able to pick itself up by its bootstraps with the leavening help of local cash. In many cases, parks far away from the center of town remain unkempt and underwhelming. Street trees die soon after they’re planted for lack of regular care. Community gardens struggle to find new members to take over the work of older generations. Neighborhoods that have overcome these odds have done so by pitching their own volunteer labor into ongoing maintenance and, at times, by organizing to demand more capital investments in parks, trees, and gardens from city hall. Those that can’t muster volunteers or political clout are often left to do without.
Clearly, I’m ambivalent.
In the best of all possible worlds, city dwellers would share equitably—if not equally—in both the benefits and the burdens of urban life. In reality, some neighborhoods pay for supplemental services while others are forced to turn to volunteers to fill in the gaps. For most readers of this blog, none of this is news. In New York City, the first modern community garden and the first organized street tree stewardship initiative were set up roughly forty years ago during a prolonged period of decline in municipal fortunes. We’ve all had time to learn to live with the contradictions inherent in the neo-liberal city. We may not like this arrangement, but most of us work within it anyway.
For many of us directly engaged in a civic ecology practice (I count myself as an erstwhile community gardener and sometime street tree steward), the issue isn’t whether or not to do the work. We just take for granted that it needs to get done. Rather, our burning question is how to do the work so that it actually has a positive impact on our communities and the local environment. We find no shortage of solid information out there on best practices in gardening, tree care, or any other kind of horticultural practice you can think of. We attend master gardener training programs and adult continuing education classes at botanic gardens; we scour our local libraries and log hours on cooperative extension websites from Land Grant colleges throughout the country. It is relatively easy to find places ready to teach us the skills and conceptual knowledge necessary for doing this work.
But what about the attitudes that make civic ecology practices in cities successful? Jane Vella, a leading figure in informal adult learning, likes to say, “Attitudes are caught, not taught.” You can describe an idea and demonstrate how to use a tool, but people develop their own outlook on an issue in their own time. What, then, are some attitudes we might hope to see develop in and around civic ecology practices that happen in cities?
I have my own personal perspective on the values that matter most in successfully caring for a community garden or a row of street trees. The following three themes keep popping up in my own practices. I should stress, however, that none of these thoughts or observations are based on sustained, empirical research. Take it or leave it, these are just opinions I’ve formed over years of working alongside other gardeners and tree stewards around New York City, talking and reflecting on our efforts together.
Take a cue from street art and embrace the city
In the United States, cities have long been seen as a necessary evil of a capitalist economy—denigrated, tolerated, and rarely celebrated. Writing at the turn of a century that gave the world its first industrial megacities, Thomas Jefferson had this to say: “I view great cities as pestilential to the morals, the health, and the liberties of man.” His was by no means the last word on the subject. A hundred years later, urban planners and political reformers set themselves to the task of making American cities a little less, well, urban, paving the way for high-rise housing projects and metastasizing suburban sprawl. The modern environmental movement has roots in this tradition, with an anti-urban streak that has only recently been brought into question by increasingly subtle ways of looking at the relationship between cities and nature (an exciting theme that runs through many of the essays written for The Nature of Cities blog).
I think community gardening and street tree stewardship practices are strengthened when they work past these longstanding biases and wholeheartedly embrace the contemporary city. Though we often use terms like “urban farming” and “urban forestry” to categorize these practices, we shouldn’t let our rural analogies run ahead of reality. Community gardens are like farms—but, then again, they’re really not. They have uniquely urban commitments that run far beyond the garden gate and into the heart of the neighborhood. A street graced with a dense tree canopy is like a forest in some ways, and the analogy has helped many people make an emotional connection to what otherwise may feel like a scattered jumble of individual trees. Yet street trees are just one of many ingredients in a subtle recipe for designing safe and vibrant sidewalks. Despite their rural corollaries, these practices are wholly urban, and they reach their greatest potential when they work with the city rather than against it. When we use trees and gardens to solve urban problems, we need to remember that the solutions to those problems will almost always involve betterurbanism—not lessurbanism.
To that end, I think both gardeners and farmers can draw inspiration from street art, a creative practice that takes artwork out of its native habitat and stitches it directly into the city.
Photo: Philip Silva
Street art takes a number of different forms, from wheat paste posters and stenciled spray paint to chalk murals and multi-media installations. Sometimes it is earnest and political. Sometimes it is ironic and playful. It often incorporates elements of the physical city, transforming urban infrastructure into canvas, medium, gallery, and artwork all at once. Street art is rough around the edges, comfortable in messy environments, and relaxed in its ephemerality. You don’t get lost in street art; it doesn’t try to transport you away from the city. Instead, it roots you even more firmly in the radical uniqueness of a particular urban place.
Photo: Philip Silva
When I hear community gardens described as “oases” of nature in the city, I can’t help but cringe a little. Some of the most resilient, interesting, and exciting gardens I’ve come across in New York are the ones that happily submit to their urban surroundings. At Espiritu Tierra garden in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, plastic bodega bags serve as scarecrows and two colorful murals tell the story of the neighborhood’s struggles and victories over the years. In the East Village neighborhood of Manhattan, residents fashion street tree guards out of old refrigerator shelves, air conditioner grills, and chicken wire, decorating their bricolage with a mosaic of broken ceramic and tile.
These do-it-yourself approaches to gardening and tree care may not look like something out of the L.L. Bean catalogue, but they get the job done. Though the results may not be beautiful in the conventional sense, they’re almost always meaningful. They have that scrappy quality you see in layers of decomposing street art, reincorporating bits and pieces of the city’s flotsam to create something that surprises the eye and captures the imagination.
Photo: Philip Silva
I believe the Guerilla Gardening movement, which got started in London and spread throughout the world in recent years, points us in an exciting direction. Quirky, resourceful, and even sometimes confrontational, Guerilla Gardening weaves a patchwork of greenery into unlikely places throughout the city. It doesn’t try to transport you to another place. Instead, it invites you to discover and, perhaps, create a new found love for the place you find yourself in right now.
What might happen if gardeners and tree stewards adopted these attitudes toward their work? How would their practices change? What would be the long-term result? My hope is that a street art approach to both practices would help make urban gardening and forestry more approachable and engaging for a greater diversity of people—especially those of us who deeply love city life.
If any readers have examples of these attitudes already in action, I eagerly welcome them to share their stories in the comments section below.
Brooklyn Bridge replica. Photo: Philip Silva
Tree sweater. Photo: Philip Silva
Take it slow and work for the long haul.
For anyone involved in an environmental management practice, it often feels as if time is running out. Temperatures are rising, glaciers are melting, forests are shrinking, and species are disappearing. Sometimes it seems as if the urgency with which we work to delay, pause, or reverse these trends is, in itself, unsustainable. At best, we burn ourselves out and force ourselves to take a break for a little while. At worst, we recapitulate the shortsightedness and callousness that got us into many of these messes in the first place. Though we find ourselves in a growing heap of environmental crises, we can’t let the pace of our responses overwhelm us.
“Garden,” my friend John likes to say, “is a noun and a verb.” John and I belonged to the same community garden in Brooklyn, and I was always inspired by the slow, thoughtful approach he took to the tempest-in-a-teapot politics that would occasionally stymie everyone’s efforts to work together. The more excited everyone grew in a debate over cutting down a tree or creating a new vegetable bed, the calmer and quieter John became. And then he’d remind us, in a low voice—garden is a noun and a verb. On any given day, the garden might look like a solid and predictable presence in the neighborhood. Yet it was always changing, sometimes slowly and imperceptibly and other times in quick and disruptive bursts.
Creating and caring for gardens, stewarding street trees, maintaining parks, restoring urban waterways—all of these practices are what Myles Horton might have called “long haul” work. They’re never really done, and any effort to rush toward a feeling of completion usually ends in frustration and failure. Instead, these ongoing practices ask for an attitude that combines patience and faith in processes that take their own time, no matter how long that time may be.
In recent years, some cities have sprinted to quickly plant millions of new trees on sidewalks and in public parks. Efforts to organize and mobilize volunteers to care for these trees have struggled to keep pace with the swift planting schedule and thousands of new trees have likely died for lack of adequate stewardship. I’ve heard some residents complain that “the city” foisted new trees on them without consultation. As a result, these citizens bear little responsibility for the long-term survival of these new additions to the urban forest.
Contrast this quick-hit urban forestry strategy to the efforts of the New Jersey Tree Foundation, where staff organizers work closely with residents of neighborhoods in cities like Newark and Camden to prioritize and design new tree planting projects. In order to get trees from the Foundation, neighbors must come together to select new planting sites, secure stewardship commitments from local residents, and host a block party on the day the trees are planted. Slowly and deliberately, the Foundation and its neighborhood partners build excitement and investment in the new trees. As a result, one Foundation staff person I’ve spoken to estimates that 95 percent of the trees they’ve planted have survived well past their first year near the curb. They may not plant thousands (or even hundreds) of trees at a time, but they’re working for the long haul. Time will tell which strategy has a more lasting impact as the years go by.
Facts all come with points of view
In recent years, environmentalists of all stripes have put a lot of effort into quantifying and monetizing the value of things like gardens and parks, street trees and greenways. The theory behind these efforts is straightforward. In a society that measures costs and benefits in monetary terms, anything that lacks a price tag is, effectively, counted as worthless. Drawing on the concept of ecosystem services, advocates have crafted rigorous methods for calculating the dollars and cents worth of benefits these things create in order to make their value literally count.
Take the case of urban forests. Trees soak up carbon dioxide. They trap storm water and prevent it from polluting urban waterways. They save electricity by shading buildings and reducing the need for air conditioning. You can assign a dollar value to each of these benefits and tally it all up like savings in your bank account.
Yet throughout history, people have made compelling cases for creating and taking care of urban greenery without relying on sophisticated accounting tools to boil it all down to money. I’ve spoken to a number of community gardeners who are reluctant to estimate the monetary value of their work because they feel some values just can’t be quantified. Farming Concrete, a citizen science initiative developed and tested in New York City, offers gardeners a rigorous toolkit for weighing, tracking, and estimating the market value of the vegetables they grow together each season. For some gardeners, seeing that dollar amount at the end of the summer is an epiphany. It shows that their work really does add up in a tangible way. Yet the people who created Farming Concrete never meant for that one metric to become the onlymeans by which we value community gardens.
What if a garden has a bad harvest one year? Does that mean we should value it less than in previous years? What about the intangible benefits that come out of community gardens? How do we calculate the value of a well-organized and politically engaged group of neighbors? How about the value of an informal public space that lets people come together without having to pay to get in? Even if we develop clever proxy measures to quantify these hard-to-grasp concepts, there’s a pervasive sense that the whole will always be greater than the sum of its parts. Tally up all the ways gardens or trees have an impact on the city and you’re still left with an incomplete balance sheet.
This “something special” that exists beyond the explanatory power of numbers is, I think, best captured in stories about the impacts of gardens and trees in cities. Policymakers may ask for “just the facts” about the costs and benefits of caring for a city’s living systems. But as David Byrne once cautioned in the lyrics of a popular song, “facts all come with points of view / facts don’t do what you want them to.” Sometimes numbers, presented all on their own, really can’t tell the whole truth.
Stories, on the other hand, needn’t be completely factual to be accurate. They don’t rely on an exhaustive account of every quantifiable benefit created by a garden, a park, or a tree to render a resonant argument about the value these things bring to the city. Stories can start from the assumption that these things are priceless, not worthless. Moreover, storytelling is a skill available to everyone. Gardeners and street tree stewards shouldn’t have to wait for a technical expert to measure the value of their work.
As part of the Five Borough Farm initiative sponsored by the Design Trust for Public Space, my colleague Liz Barry and I are developing a toolkit that helps New Yorkers tell accurate stories about all the good things happening in their gardens. Though the tools and methods we’re developing focus on collecting quantitative data, this is just a first step in the storytelling process. Instead of simply generating a spreadsheet of raw facts and figures, we hope gardeners will use the data to tell rich, complex, and compelling stories about the value of their work. Though the data they collect may never completely capture all of the good that comes out of gardens, the stories they go on to tell will more than make up the difference.
* * *
These three attitudes—embracing the city, going slow, and valuing stories—are by no means the only attitudes with the potential to strengthen civic ecology practices like community gardening and street tree stewardship. What other attitudes might we add to the list? What new or unexplored perspectives can we consider as we look to volunteers to make cities more environmentally resilient? I hope you’ll add your thoughts in the comments section below and kick-start a new conversation.
China’s rapid urbanization in the last 30 years has brought about many problems. The country is now facing a huge challenge to balance economic development with environmental conservation and social stability. Sustainable development is in the spotlight: how can we build a better city that can provide a better life for its citizens?
The ecocity seems to be one of the solutions. Since the concept of “Eco-Civilization” was advocated by China’s central government in 2007, local governments have responded actively to the appeal. By 2011, 90% of Chinese cities at the prefecture-level and above had proposed ambitious goals to build eco-cities (XIE and ZHOU, 2010). However, in China and throughout the world, the ecocity is still in its preliminary stage, without a mature theoretical basis and systematic exemplary practices. Local governments in China are encouraged to learn by exploring sustainable development models through ecocity construction.
Different people hold different opinions on the concept of an ecocity. By now, there has been no globally recognized definition for an ecocity. In China, a representative definition is: an Ecocity is a composite human settlement system combining balanced socio-economic development with healthy ecological objectives to achieve the harmonious coexistence of man and nature.
Ecocity features
Area
Characteristics
Philosophical base
• Ecological theory, system theory, sustainable development theory
• Ecological view of nature
• Scientific outlook on development
Development background
• The acceleration of global urbanization process since 1970s
• Human beings are facing the dual pressure of resource deficiency and environmental deterioration
• The rise of ecology research
Concept discrimination
• A composite human settlement system combining balanced socio-economical development with healthy ecological objective to achieve the harmonious coexistence of man and nature
Objectives
• To construct a new type of city features efficient economy, harmonious society, conservative resource utilization, progressive technology, innovative system and sustainable development
Main development areas
• City planning, eco-community, green building, green transportation, eco-infrastructure, energy use, water resource use, waste disposal, eco-industry, digital city, eco-ideology and behavior model, institutional support system.
Means of realization
• (In China) Led by the Government, top-down guidance
Development stage
• The concept of ecocity has been proposed for some 40 years. In the past 10 years, the research of ecocity theory and practice has gradually heated up. In China, the so called “ecocity boom” is around the corner. However, as there is no mature ecocity theory and practice now, everything is still in the exploration stage. Eco-city is more an advocate or idea than a reality. Until now, no city could label itself a globally recognized ecocity. Uncertainty exists in its future development.
There are generally two types of ecocity initiatives in China: new ecocity projects (e.g. Sino-Singapore Tianjin, Caofeidian, Beichuan, Chenggong, Yuelai etc.), and eco-remodeling of existing cities (e.g. Huainan, Tangshan, Shenzhen, Miyun, Anji, etc.). Many of these remodeling projects are implemented in resource-based cities that need urgent ecological renovation.
There are 118 resource-based cities in China with a total population of 154 million. Located in central Anhui Province some 980km from Beijing, Huainan is an industrial city and an important Chinese energy producer, with significant coal, electricity generation, and chemical industries. It is one of the largest coal producing areas in China. The estimated coal reserves are 44 billion tons, making up 19% of all the country’s total coal reserves. The city has a population of 2 million an area of 2121 km2. In the last 10 years, Huainan has been striving to develop into an environmentally friendly and resource conserving ecocity. Its development mode was hailed by the central government, and it was selected as one of the best practices for sustainable urban development in China.
Urban-Rural integrated planning
China has adopted a policy of urban-rural dual structure system since the founding of the Republic in 1949. The system is urban-biased in economic, social and infrastructure development. This has brought about many problems triggered by urban-rural separation and inequality. It creates a serious obstacle for sustainable urban-rural integrated development.
Huainan has taken the lead to change this situation through its “Urban-Rural Integration Plan 2011”. Upholding the idea of an integrated Huainan, the plan features comprehensive treatment of coal subsidence areas; promotes intensive and compact development of urban and rural land, maintains five balances of urban-rural planning, industrial development, infrastructure, public service, employment and social security. Altogether, the plan supports an urban-rural integrated development model of “industry promoting agriculture, city helping town, town helping village and city-town interacting with each other.” There is an ecocity indicator system tailor-made for Huainan, which sets targets and provides an assessment tool for each stage of development.
Long-time coal mining results in subsiding land, which in effect destroys the local environment. Main ecological restoration techniques of mining subsidence areas include improvement of soil, re-vegetation and application of soil micro-organisms (LIU and LU, 2009). According to Huainan’s “Eco-city Construction Plan 2005” the local government will by 2020 invest 10 billion RMBuan in ecological restoration, infrastructure and slum reconstruction. An important feature of the Eco-City Construction plan is that ecological renovation goes hand in hand with infrastructure improvement, human habitat environment upgrading and industrial transformation.
Huainan’s coal mines have been exploited for 500 years and mining subsidence areas exist in many places of the city. In 2007, the city launched an ecological restoration project of the Quanda region, 1,250,000m2 in area and with 250,000 inhabitants. The coal has long been exhausted there and the land was abandoned, leaving a wasteland of mining subsidence areas. In compliance with the topography of the region, the government divided it into four sub-areas for ecological restoration, and reconstructed them with different characteristics.
These four sub-areas include reservoirs, wetlands, residential areas and mountains. The wetland area centers around the Datong mining subsidence, where the environment is most seriously damaged and in need of urgent remediation (e.g. construction of wetland parks and public facilities, closure and relocation of heavily polluting enterprises, vegetation restoration and landscaping etc). In 2010, with the completion of the restoration project, the Quanda region was revitalized and became a new urban center for living, working, transportation and recreation.
Mining subsistence areas, before and after restoration.
Comprehensive utilization of resources
Coal-mine gas
Coal mines emit gas containing mainly coal mine methane (CMM). It poses the biggest risk to coal mine safety, and it is one of the major greenhouse gas emissions contributing to global warming. However, if the coalmine gas is comprehensively utilized, it can be converted into a source clean energy.
Huainan is the forerunner of comprehensive coal mine gas utilization in China. Its coalfield is rich in CMM resources and has large-scale CMM drainage. Huainan Mining Group is in charge of the effort to comprehensively utilize the drained CMM and ventilation air methane as green energy resources. The National Engineering Research Center for Coal Gas Control is established in the city. According to market conditions in the region, the most practical utilization option for CMM is use as household fuel, and secondarily for power generation. The household utilization project mainly uses CMM recovered from the seven permanent gas drainage systems (USEPA and CCMC, 2001). The Huainan mining area is divided into the Panji and Xinxie Blocks, and CMM in these two blocks is supplied to residents in Huainan City through the gas storage and distribution system and pipeline network, serving 100,000 households. In addition, the CMM is used to generate 47,646,000kwh of electricity each year. The CMM recovery method adopted in the Huainan mining area is underground gas drainage. The total CMM drainage was 49.4 Mm3 in 2000 and reached 416 Mm3 in 2010.
CMM Drainage of the Huainan Mining Area
Year
Methane drainage (Mm3)
1990
5.06
1995
5.00
1998
22.60
1999
37.60
2000
49.40
2002
100.00
2006
172.00
2010
416.00
Huainan CMM drainage Corp.
Household use of gas
Reading meters
Mine water utilization
During coal mine operations, a large amount of mine water is discharged. It not only causes environment pollution to surrounding mining areas, but also wastes a lot of precious natural resources. Comprehensive utilization of mine water is needed for the sustainable development of coalmines. Appropriate utilization of mine water enables us to achieve the multiple goals of economic, social and environmental benefits.
The mine water is classified into five categories according to qualities and characteristics. Different techniques are used to treat each category of water. After the treatment, the water is suitable for industrial and domestic use. In 2007, Huainan Mining Group processed 15.1 million m3 of mine water with a utilization rate of 61%, saving 12.8 million RMB a year.
Mine water utilization process in Huainan. (CHENG and HU, 2005)
Cultural and creative industries
Huainan is a coal-dependent city and its leading industries are coal mining, electric power generation and chemicals. To achieve a balanced industrial structure and sustainable development, the restructuring of its industry is necessary. Economic development plans were made and industrial parks were established to encourage economic developments and a diversified industrial structure.
Today, apart from coal mining, electricity and chemicals, more and more industries are represented in its economy, including pharmaceuticals, construction, textiles, machinery, electronics, light industry, high technology and cultural and creative industries.
Huainan has a long history. It was once the capital city of the state of Chu (one of the major powers in ancient China) during the Warring States period (475BC-221BC) and the city has kept its prosperity ever since. Now, Huainan has many historic sites, like Bagong Mountain where the famous Feishui Battle was fought in 383AD along with the ancient Chu state capital and the tombs of many historical figures. Since 2000, the local government has made plans to boost its tourist industry. Large investments have been made on tourist infrastructure upgrading and service improvement. Income from tourism has increased sharply since 2001.
Huainan’s tourist industry is associated with rich cultural activities. Known in China as the birthplace of Tofu, each year Huainan hosts the Chinese Bean-Curd Cultural Festival, which has been held for 19 years. Nowadays, eco-tourism and agri-tourism (agri-tourism includes a wide variety of agriculturally-based activities, such as picking fruit, buying produce direct from a farm, feeding animals and farm stay etc.) are very popular in the city. Moreover, one of Huainan’s industrial ambitions is to develop the animation industry. The local government has invested 6 billion RMB to build an animation industry park in the city. These rising “smokeless” industries have the potential to contribute to the ecological transformation of the industrial structure, and will help to deliver a more balanced form of economic development to Huainan.
Slum reconstruction
It is a general consensus that social equality is a prerequisite for ecocity development. Huainan’s local government has worked hard to help underprivileged citizens improve their living conditions. An important component of Huainan’s public welfare program involves slum reconstruction.
From 1950s onwards, many shanty towns have established alongside the coal mines to accommodate miners. In the planned economy period (1949-1978), the government focused on production rather than on consumption. Miners’ quality of life was neglected. They lived in slums with primitive conditions and a bad environment, posing a threat to local security and having a negative impact on urban development.
In 2003, under the leadership of the local government, Huainan Mining Group launched a campaign to progressively reconstruct slums in the city. The plan called for an investment of 13.9 billion RMB to build a total of 8.7 million m2 affordable housing in the following 10 years, altogether benefiting 250,000 people. In 2007, the 1st batch of residents moved in to the new housing with consummate infrastructure and social amenities. Slum reconstruction has revitalized the local community and is an important function of the city’s sustainable development.
Before and after reconstruction-a comparison of the slum and new resident community
Capacity building
Capacity building is one of the most important components of ecocity development. The stakeholders include city decision makers, companies, public service departments, public organizations, social associations, individual households and residents. Huainan focuses its efforts on the establishment of proper government management systems, information dissemination, along with education and training for residents.
Local laws and regulations were made to promote and guarantee ecocity development in Huainan. These laws include the “Regulation on Environment Protection of the Development and Construction Projects”, “Regulation on the Restoration of Coalmine Subsidence Areas” and “Management Ordinance of the Recycling of Renewable Resources.” Relevant plans were compiled to guide its development, like the “Ecocity Construction Plan 2005”, “Urban-Rural Integration Plan 2011”, “Master Plan for Mineral Resources”, “Public Transit Plan” and “Master Plan for the Tourist Industry.” Enforcement and implementation of these regulations and plans were greatly enhanced by revising the political achievement assessment system for local government officials, effectively moving from a GDP centered system to a more comprehensive assessment of environmental, economic and social balanced development. Better enforcement was also achieved by increasing the public participation in the compiling, implementation and management of the whole planning process. The local government has also worked to expand urban financing channels by exploring new models like PPP, BOT, BT to raise funds for the construction of eco-city infrastructure projects, in addition corporate investment construction and government repurchasing.
People’s habits, behavior and life style choices have a deep impact on ecocity development. Dissemination of information, education and training for the public all plays a significant role. Huainan has established a National Education Base for Eco-Civilization, a platform for eco-education. Local government tries to foster an ecocity, eco-community and eco-family culture by organizing training seminars and activities such as “City Car-Free Day” and “Low-Carbon Eco-Family,” thereby publicizing ecocity concepts to residents from all walks of life.
Discussion and Conclusion
Huainan’s remodeling efforts cover 6 major areas of ecocity development as shown below.
Major areas of ecocity development in Huainan
Huainan’s experience shows a vivid picture of ecocity remodeling practice in a resource-based city. Through Hainan’s example and Chinese understanding of the definition of an ecocity achieves a balance between the environment, natural resources, industry, and social equity.
There is no fixed and unified model for ecocity development. Residents in different cities hold different opinions on what makes an ecocity. However, they tend to agree on some important areas of ecocity development. According to a questionnaire survey conducted in eight Chinese cities of vary size and regions (in total, 788 respondents), the most important factors influencing sustainable urban development are the natural environment, housing, income and employment, transportation, and social security.
Ecocity development in resource-based cities involves a lot of aspects. It cannot be conducted in all-round manner, and it can’t reach its final goal in one step. Each city must examine its own individual characteristics, and concentrate their efforts and to make those defining characteristics the highlight of their city. Then cities should spread their relevant experience points to other areas. In other words, be sure to avoid aiming too high beyond one’s reach in an attempt to gain quick success and instant benefits.
Ecocity development is not the end product, rather, it is a long-time systematic process towards sustainable urban development. We shouldn’t dwell on the terminology the ecocity, as it is no more than a useful phrase to express people’s aspiration on an ideal city, like the “Garden City” term used over a hundred years ago. What is far more important is to witness the city’s actual progress on the road towards urban sustainability.
Acknowledgement: Thanks to Jack Maher (PIA fellow at NRDC) for the English editing.
References:
CHENG Xuefeng and HU Youbiao (2005) Quality Characteristic of Mine Water and its Utilization in Huainan Mining Area, Journal of Anhui University of Science and Technology (Natural Science),3:5-8
LIU Fei and LU Lin (2009), Progress in the Study of Ecological Restoration of Coalmine Subsidence Areas, Journal of Natural Resources, 4:612-620
USEPA (2001), Investment Opportunities in Coalmine Methane Projects in Huainan Mining Area, Huainan Mining Group Ltd.
XIE Pengfei and ZHOU Lanlan, et al. (2010) Research on Eco-city Index and Best Practices, Urban Studies, 7:12-18
ZHU Xiaohui and DUAN Xuecheng (2009) Study on Developing Tourism in Resources-Based Cities—A Case Study of Huainan City, Journal of Shanxi Agriculture University (Social science edition), 2:216-219
We hope that this paper will inspire and initiate a Gen-Z led movement for advocating towards the urgent actions needed for restricting the frequency and severity of such epidemics globally.
The lessons learnt by teenagers today will assist us as global leaders of tomorrow, to make better and more informed decisions to prevent any such future epidemics. The Covid-19 crisis and widespread epidemic has infected more than a million people and is increasingly causing agony to billions. While the severity of epidemic is reflected by rapidly increasing numbers of infected cases, the perception towards its impacts and effectiveness varies from country to country and with age group. A unique and key respondent group includes teenagers as the most upcoming global citizens, whose experience with and opinions on today’s events could be a resource for governments to combat such situations in future.
Foster Street, New Haven, US No people visible in the otherwise lively East Rock Neighbourhood. Photo: Sabrina Liang
Kamothe, Navi Mumbai, India The extremely busy Khandeshwar station road, now empty and vegetation in the Khanda Lake beside it. Photo: Anvay Akhil Palherkar
What do teenagers think about the crisis? This essay captures the perception of a focus group of 12 current teenagers from different cities in a few impacted countries namely: New Haven, New Jersey and Amherst in the United States, Belfast in the United Kingdom, Stockholm in Sweden, Delhi and Mumbai in India, Hunan and Nanning in China, and Mexico City in Mexico. Building on the valued suggestions of these teenagers, the paper aims to serve in a way as a time capsule for our future governments and education systems to look back and reflect on their views. The author constituted a panel by identifying and inviting teenagers from among the recent and past social contacts established while residing in the US, UK and India. All the panellists are high school students or have recently started college education and are aware and concerned about the pandemic and its impacts within their country and globally.
The methodological approach included a few online focus group discussions organised during the ongoing lockdown period through participation of the panel of teenagers from the cities mentioned above. Discussions were initiated with a focus on first noticed impacts in each panellist’s city and changes they experienced in daily routine during quarantine. Further, the discussions focused on a few overarching questions relating to the linkages between Covid-19 epidemic and nature, decisions taken by governments and societal differences, coping mechanisms adopted by schools, and impacts on global and local economies. Outcome of the online discussions have been analysed and further complemented through review of a few relevant publications.
This paper acknowledges the participation of Ms Sabrina Liang (Amherst, US), Ms Anna Kolosenko (Stockholm, Sweden), Ms Ayla Leval (Stockholm, Sweden), Mr Matthew Alexander (Belfast, UK), Mr Luis Fernando Sobrino (Mexico City, Mexico), Ms Matilda Debesai (Stockholm, Sweden), Ms Nikita Agarwal (New Jersey, US), Ms Katherine Van Tassel (New Haven, US), Mr Anvay Akhil Palherkar (Navi Mumbai, India) and 2 anonymous teenagers (from Hunan and Nanning, China), in the online focus group roundtable discussions structured and moderated by Mr Vishisht Singhal (Delhi, India).
Mexico City, Mexico An empty market road in the otherwise very busy Mexico City. Photo: Luis Fernando Sobrino
Covid19 – a natural calamity or a manmade disaster? Have we completely failed in human-nature interactions?
The panel acknowledged that while there are many theories revolving around how the coronavirus came into being and spread to humans, one aspect is confirmed that viruses spread from animals to humans due to our poor human-nature interaction such as wildlife trade, poaching, and forest fragmentation.
A report from the World Health Organisation (WHO, 2020) also indicates that new viruses emerge when destruction and encroachment of wildlife habitats, forces the wildlife to initiate unwanted dangerous interactions with humans causing the spread of unique and infectious diseases from species to species.
Research by Shereen et al (2020) mentions that COVID-19, which is a highly transmittable and pathogenic viral infection, emerged in Wuhan, China and is related to SARS-like bat viruses, thus drawing an inference that bats could be the possible primary reservoir. Shereen et al reiterate that the rapid human to human transfer of virus has been confirmed even while the intermediate source of origin and transfer to humans is unknown.
Hillsborough neighbourhood in New Jersey (USA) has cleaner sky with no traffic and noise pollution. Photo: Nikita Agarwal
The teenage panel was in consensus that the spread of Covid-19 is an example of poor human wildlife interactions. The panellists felt that in general people have been rapidly straying from natural lifestyle and consuming food items that are exotic and are sometimes substandard modifications of age old food traditions and practices. It is evident that this has resulted in new and never before faced diseases affecting humans with no immunity against it and the rapid interspecies spread of such diseases. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention also highlights that this phenomenon has happened in past as reflected through the spread of Ebola and HIV/AIDS (CDC, 2019 a, b).
The panellists from India and Mexico raised that significantly higher number of Covid-19 cases are being reported from metropolitan cities such as Delhi, Mumbai, and Mexico City mainly due to rapid spread of the infectious virus among highly dense population living in and around such cities. Such cities are already home to even denser pockets of slums such as Dharavi in Mumbai and Ciudad Neza in Mexico City where, due to poor living conditions, the community is more vulnerable to such epidemics.
We should definitely be more proactive in the future. Stricter food regulations and improvements to sanitary conditions may minimize the number of infected individuals.—Katherine Van Tassel (New Haven, US
These panellists shared that during the lockdown and quarantine period, however, better air quality is being reported in these cities, mainly due to very restricted traffic and footfall. This situation has led to decreased consumption of crude oil resulting into noticeable reduction in carbon and greenhouse gas emissions that shall also slowdown the rate of climate change. Entire panel was in consensus that several anecdotal evidences were reported in media about nature’s revival reflected through increased bio-diversity coming towards cities. Low levels of sound, air and water pollution due to limited anthropogenic activities, show signs of increased flora and fauna within cities, a phenomenon that was earlier rarely observed. However the panel speculated that unfortunately this shall be mainly limited to the lockdown period. The teenagers advocate that governments of all countries should substantially amplify measures to enhance planetary health and environment especially to meet climate goals after the pandemic is over and not wait for nature’s such unfavourable reactions.
Stockholm, Sweden. A gloomy Sunday morning on the busy Drottninggatan Shopping Street in Stockholm. Photo: Ayla Leval
Government strategy and the influence of societal difference: How proactive and effective have strategies by the government been? Do these reflect societal characteristics?
Completely empty Stockholm Metro, even during peak hours. Photo: Ayla Leval
In India, China, and the UK, the governments have taken an all-hands-on-deck approach to tackle the Coronavirus pandemic by introducing the most restrictive mass quarantines. The panelists from these three countries felt that these measures were imposed mainly to keep the country’s population—specifically poor, uneducated, and elderly population—far from the grips of the highly infectious Coronavirus. The panel was concerned that in developing countries such as India, the health care system is extremely weak and fragile. Thus, an epidemic of such severity could result in complete breakdown of the health care system.
The panellists from India offered that society in the country is structured in a way that many social activities occur engaging large numbers of people, ranging from religious activities to open markets and a generally densely packed housing system in large metropolitan cities. The panellists thus strongly felt that in India, such an outbreak, if uncontrolled, could grow to an exponential level infecting a huge population in a matter of days.
Sweden has ultimately saved our society from collapsing by still granting us our freedom.—Ayla Leval (Stockholm, Sweden)
On the contrary, panellists from Sweden highlighted that the Government of Sweden has come up with a unique strategy that appears to be focusing on the herd immunity that emphasizes on creating a large number of people immune to reduce the future risk of spread to non-immune individuals. They feel that their government considers that citizens are highly educated and hence their strategy had been limited to just recommending a quarantine instead of forcing the nation into a lockdown.
I trust the government and all of their decisions. If Swedish government feels that a balance between the economy and healthcare must be made, then I trust that’s what we should do.—Matilda Debesai (Stockholm, Sweden)
These panellists were of the opinion that government has done this to ensure the survival of small businesses that are given high importance by the government to keep country’s economy in balance while maintaining the social order. They felt that while this strategy appears to be liberal, the panellists trust the government and their decisions as they felt that their government is much aware of all negative consequences extreme quarantine would have on their mental health and societal function.
The Indian culture establishes cleanliness as a key aspectsintertwined with every aspect of one’s life thus perhaps reducing the spread of this disease drastically.—Anvay Akhil Palherkar (Navi Mumbai, India)
The teenage panel was concerned that Mexico and India are under an unusual threat. Since there are few social safety nets, unemployment in Mexico for daily wage labourers or those having small businesses, the panellist from Mexico felt that the income sources of such labourers will be completely halted during the quarantine leading to an uncertain future and many hardships.
Under such pandemic situations, the Government of the US and other impacted countries must prioritize providing necessary healthcare to their citizens as opposed to focusing on economic growth. —Nikita Agarwal, US.
Similarly, the panellists from India were of the view that India, being home to a large population living below the poverty line, weak and unenforced unemployment schemes may also lead to a challenging time for the majority of the poor population. The panellists highlighted that this aspect is only partially being addressed by the State governments in India. Likewise, the World Economic Forum (2020a) highlights that the existing social safety nets in the US are also facing challenge due to around 20 million (as of 16 April 2020) citizens applying for unemployment benefits.
The Government of Mexico should provide aid to low income homes and inform the population about situations of this type, mostly for them to know how to react and avoid panic.—Luis Fernando Sobrino (Mexico City, Mexico)
The discussion between the panellists uncovered that the Government of Mexico has adopted measures that are mainly observant in character with a nation-wide lockdown but without any legal enforcement. Despite this, people of Mexico have chosen to stay inside. In China, first country combating Covid-19 epidemic, the country’s economy has been crippled while the country now appears to be moving towards normalcy. The panel is of the opinion that the approach of lockdown and quarantine that has been adopted by the governments in India, UK and China is very effective and shall prevent the number of infected cases to rise giving a control over the pandemic and shall result in economies being able to open sooner. The steps taken by various governments that panel appreciated are the efforts towards management of misinformation spread via social media and other sources during the lockdown period.
Experimental schooling during quarantine:
It’s definitely not ideal or sustainable but online classes help me and my friends keep on track with schoolwork.—Anna Kolosenko (Stockholm, Sweden)
Will online schooling continue to serve as a means of alternative education, keeping at par with the established institutions?
The global pandemic has led to everyday activities grinding to a halt with uncertainty about resumption. This has led to a huge impact on the teenage population as well as the entire student community, as their schools and leisure activities cannot continue due to the fear of the spread of the virus.
Carrickfergus, Northern Ireland, UK. Increased traffic at a checkpoint despite lockdown in place. Photo: Matthew Alexander
A common approach adopted by the school education systems globally is a shift towards or extensive use of an online teaching and learning system. In Sweden, the schools have successfully managed to keep their students and teachers in a “lockdown” situation without enforcing it simply by encouraging them to opt for an online education from the comfort of their homes. The panellists from Sweden felt that the online schooling is more engaging, comprehensive, and at par with face to face learning and will result in students being able to concentrate more on studies than the fear of getting infected. However, the panellists from India, Mexico, and the UK have contrary views on online schooling, mainly owing to technical glitches, such as poor internet connections due to which the lessons they feel are less interactive. The panelists further highlighted that poorer households mostly even do not have money to pay for the basic needs thus paying for internet, computer or any technological service is impossible for them and they are inevitably left out of the online school setup.
The online classes definitely do not meet the same standards as face to face teaching. It makes asking questions a lot harder and limits the details that a teachers can explain.—Matthew Alexander (Belfast, UK)
Globally, the university entrance examinations such as GCSE, SAT, JEE and many more were postponed, resulting in stress, anxiety, and confusion over immediate future prospects for the currently quarantined high-schoolers. The panellists felt that authorities should place very high importance to conducting such exams and sharing the information relating to their scheduling/rescheduling. Overall, the panellists felt that greater emphasis on online education during the lockdown period, if continued, may result in developing countries like India and China realising the need to strengthen their rural education. This may in turn result in higher literacy rates and people having greater exposure to the thoughts and ideas of the global community.
Kamothe, Navi Mumbai, India Generally Crowded and High Density Neighbourhood in a Greater Mumbai suburb, now with deserted roads. Photo: Anvay Akhil Palherkar
Economic side effects of Covid-19: Economy or public health, can there be a balanced approach?
The ongoing Covid-19 outbreak has proved severely detrimental to the global economy and is likely to push it towards recession. While most governments around the world are primarily focusing on facing the current and future challenges of epidemic, the discussion among panelists indicates that some countries such as Sweden and some states in the US are parallelly focusing on their economy. The discussion highlights that in most of the impacted countries whether lockdown had been enforced or not, small businesses, hospitality, tourism and entertainment sectors have been completely shut down even if not ordered to close down, mainly due to the impact of self-quarantine of people and/or lockdown ordered by the law. The panelists reiterate the fact that losses in these sectors are directly contributing to the plummeting GDP in all impacted countries. While acknowledging this aspect, the entire panel strongly feels that public health must be prioritised over the economy. The World Economic Forum (2020b) also advocates for giving prime focus on public health through government and business partnerships to prevent a short-term recession from becoming a global depression.
The report by UNCTAD (2020) speculates that since India and China had taken timely decisions to combat the epidemic, their economies may face milder impact. The panelists from Sweden felt that their Government’s efforts to save economy against realising urgency of the epidemic may however result in a surge of infected people as in the US, but will be handled by their healthcare system as long as older population is kept completely out of contact. The panelists from the UK and Mexico were of the opinion that to reduce effects of pandemic, their governments seem to have compromised with potential losses in GDP. They felt that while this shall cause huge losses in their economy but they may be able to prevent the infection spreading altogether and have comparatively easier economic recovery with time. The entire panel perceived that Covid-19 epidemic has led to significantly reduced social interactions between people with increase in digital transactions that may lead to increased transparency, better management of currency and faster transactions thereby increasing business outputs after the pandemic is over.
Innovation and connectedness is what defines our generation and is the quality that will guide us through tomorrow’s challenges.—Vishisht Singhal, Delhi
Learnings for the post Covid-19 era
The author feels that teenagers are the most immediate generation who would shape the way governments shall form decisions in future to tackle such epidemics. Although quarantines and their varied impacts have been tracked for years, this event is unique as an entire generation is experiencing this globally for the first time. A new perspective is formed and therefore it will be useful to understand and take cognizance of our opinion.
Indirapuram, Delhi National Capital Region, India A high rise neighbourhood with empty streets in a suburb of Delhi NCR. Photo: Ashim Bhattacharya
Based on analysis of varied aspects as deliberated by teenage panellists and through review of relevant articles, the author summarizes here the derived learning and his observations for the future:
This is the time that global leaders of various countries must forget differences and significantly increase their cooperation in order to best prevent and manage any such global epidemic in future.
With an aim to enhance social justice, the governments of all countries must make momentous progress towards providing adequate inexpensive health care services for the disadvantaged population. Effective measures must be in place for spreading awareness especially amongst the rural and impoverished urban population. This must include simple basic acts like maintaining hygiene, cleaning surroundings, and reducing consumption of non-indigenous material. Our unsustainable consumption over time has resulted in nature retaliating, this needs to change substantially.
The governments of all countries must establish advance early warning systems for people to quickly adapt in order to prevent an epidemic. Governments must give more attention to advance research for drug discovery such as creating adaptive vaccines for viruses in order to overcome adaptive diseases like influenza, COVID-19, Ebola and others.
The governments of all countries must establish advance early warning systems for people to quickly adapt and prevent an epidemic.
More interconnectedness between the global scientific community shall lead to greater and more efficient results in creating solutions for epidemics in the future.
Continue to advance research for creating adaptive vaccines for viruses in order to overcome adaptive diseases like influenza, COVID-19, Ebola, and others.
Based on success in a few countries, it is necessary to initiate schemes by governments to provide subsidies for essential items like sanitizers, masks and medicines during pandemic situations. Governments should also keep dedicated funds for medical supplies and for additional support to health care workers mainly for epidemic situations.
It is essential to enhance the shift towards digital financial transactions leading to increased transparency, better management, less printed money, faster transactions and minimised person to person contacts.
Schools must create better learning strategies for students to engage in classrooms even without physical presence. Not much change has been brought into the mainstream schooling system since the past 50 years whereas society has progressed greatly ever since.
It is also important to continue with the already initiated transition towards online lifestyles even in the rural areas of developing countries by increasingly making technological services affordable and accessible through government interventions, particularly the online schooling. This way even a crisis situation shall not hamper the education of children in future.
Government often refuses to take the younger generation seriously. —Sabrina Liang, Amherst, US
The author hopes that this paper will inspire and initiate a Gen-Z led movement for advocating towards the urgent actions needed for restricting the frequency and severity of such epidemics globally. The steps that are taken now would result in a future that each one of us can live in without constant fear and hostility. We hope that the solutions to this virus are collectively found through combined efforts of global community. Our connectedness and unbroken faith in wake of this crisis has shown how much we can accomplish.
World Economic Forum, 16 April 2020a, Coronavirus: Over 20 million Americans have now applied for unemployment benefit, https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2020/04/united-states-unemployment-claimants-coronavirus-covid19/
As we celebrate the 40th anniversary of the Endangered Species Act, I thought I would tell a story from back when the City of Portland (Oregon) first was beginning to grapple with the implications of the listing of a species found in our urban environment.
In 1993 residents of the Pacific Northwest had just lived through the spotted owl wars, a decade of conflict where activists literally took to the trees to protect the last of our majestic old growth forests. That spring President Bill Clinton travelled to Portland to hold the Northwest Forest Summit to develop a plan to resolve the forest conflicts. More than 50,000 people rallied in Portland’s Waterfront Park to the music of Neil Young, Phish and others to greet him and raise their voices for the trees. We were still half a decade away from the first listings of salmon and steelhead that would fundamentally change the way we think about our urban waterways. Bald Eagles were slowly making a comeback, but you still had to travel to a local wildlife refuge to see one nesting. Endangered species were something that residents of Portland cared deeply about, but they were still something that was “out there.” Most people had never seen an endangered species.
It was under these circumstances that a pair of peregrines took up residence on Portland’s Fremont Bridge, a giant arch that dominates Portland’s downtown skyline. Although peregrines had been listed under the Endangered Species Act for more than two decades, we had only a handful of nesting pairs in Oregon at that time. The Fremont Bridge pair was OE 26, signifying the it was the 26th eyrie (nest) to be established in Oregon since peregrines began their long road to recovery from the ravages of DDT.
Portland’s Fremont Bridge. Photo: Bob Sallinger
Adult falcons on the Fremont Bridge. Photo: Mary Coolidge
Their arrival was met with….secrecy. Biologists, used to keeping the location of wild land nest sites confidential, applied the same logic to falcons on a downtown city bridge. They watched quietly as the falcons courted and played house throughout the 2003 nesting season, but went away disappointed when no eggs ever materialized. However, in 2004, the falcons produced a single eyas (nestling) on a steel plate on the underside of the bridge, high above Portland’s east side industrial area. Rather than gravel, peregrine’s preferred nesting substrate, they hollowed out a scrape (nest) amid hard balls of pigeon poop that had accumulated on the bridge structure.
Peregrine eyases on Portland’s Fremont Bridge. Photo: Bob Sallinger
That first year of nesting, their nestling fledged prematurely. On the cliffs that peregrines typically nest upon, air currents rise in updrafts and tend to keep young peregrines ledge-bound until they are ready to fly. However on bridges, the cold water moving below causes downdrafts. As young peregrines become more active, the combination of descending air currents and poor nesting substrate tends to suck peregrines off the ledge and out of the sky.
Adult falcon protecting nest during banding. Photo: Mary Coolidge
Years later, a worker beneath the bridge would tell me of this young bird’s adventures when she first hit the ground. I was struck by how knowledgeable and aware of the falcons the local workforce appeared to be—truckers and dockworkers below the bridge were often a good source of information on the comings and goings of the falcons. Apparently she landed among small mountains of sand and gravel being loaded onto barges below the bridge, the last flecks of white down still covering the top of her head. Several workers noticed her on the ground, and gave her a wide berth. One shift supervisor, however, decided to get a closer look. Despite the admonishments of other workers to “just leave her alone” he made his way over to her. As he towered over her, falcon looking up and man looking down at falcon, mom came screaming out of the sky in a full stoop (dive) and cold clocked him. Chuckling, the worker who told me this tale, noted, “Any bird that knocks my boss on his ass is okay with me.”
Young falcon learning to fly among the rubble. Photo: Bob Sallinger
Closer-up. Photo: Bob Sallinger
Truckers watching peregrines beneath the Fremont Bridge. Photo: Bob Sallinger
That bird did eventually get airborne, but a week later she slammed into the window of a Rolls Royce dealership a few miles from the Fremont Bridge. She was reported by a homeless person who borrowed change to use a payphone. By the time the information was relayed to me at Audubon, a true game of “telephone” had occurred–all we were told was an that there was an injured falcon standing on the sidewalk somewhere near downtown Portland. We were pondering this information when the phone rang again. This time it was my friend Rick Yazzalino, a keeper at the Oregon Zoo. He shrieked into the phone that a peregrine had hit a window near downtown Portland.
“Yeah, we got that call too,” I told him, “but we don’t know the location, and it probably isn’t a peregrine…you know there is only one pair in the city.”
“Oh its a f@#!ing peregrine all right,” he screeched back, “and it’s in my back seat coughing up blood all over the place.”
We were able to repair that bird and successfully return her to her parents within a few weeks, but the travails of 1994 had left their mark. In the ensuing year, serious discussion began about removing either the eggs or nestlings from the Fremont Bridge and fostering them into a remote nest site on the Mt. Hood National Forest. Peregrines were too precious to be left to the vagaries of the urban landscape.
Audubon pushed back hard on this proposal—after years of battles over spotted owls, we felt that it was important that urbanites not only have the opportunity to see an endangered species, but also to participate in its recovery. Eventually the decision was made to leave the falcons on the bridge. Audubon agreed to monitor them and try and keep them out of trouble during the hazardous fledging process, although we had little idea of what that might actually entail. Also, in a decision that seems obvious with nearly two decades of hindsight, but which was debated at the time, we decided to do public outreach and introduce the community to the falcons nesting in their midst.
In 1996 the falcons moved their nest from the east end of the bridge to a mirror site on the west end of the bridge. Whereas the east side of the river is industrial and blue collar, the west side is much more white collar and in 1996, was on the precipice of exploding into Portland’s most trendy, upscale neighborhood, the Pearl District. A small stretch of the Willamette River Greenway runs beneath the bridge, extending out about a quarter mile or so before dead-ending. The Willamette River Greenway aspires to be a continuous riparian buffer and trail extending the entire 187-mile length of the Willamette River, but in Portland, it is disjointed and fragmented. This particular stretch is really not much more than a sidewalk running atop a seawall. There is little that is green. For most of the year it is used primarily by old men fishing for sturgeon and office workers on their lunch break.
In 2006, however, hoards of birdwatchers descended upon this stretch of asphalt. Audubon volunteers set up spotting scopes and an information table. The local media climbed on board with stories with titles like “Falcon’s Crest.” Hippies gathered to play drums and watch falcons hunting pigeons. Fishermen rolled their eyes at first, but eventually grew to enjoy their status as minor celebrities as the assembled throngs would ooh and ahh every time they pulled a prehistoric fish from the primordial muck below.
Peregrine Watchers beneath the Fremont Bridge circa 1996. Photo: Bob Sallinger
In late May of 2006, three young falcons began appearing on the girders and I-beams that extend outward from the steel plate on which the falcons were nesting. Still covered in a thick layer of down on top of their emerging feathers, they would scurry about, often trying to pass one another on beams that were too narrow for one falcon let alone a traffic jam. As the days went by, they grew more active, furiously flapping their wings and rising a foot or two above the smooth steel…and then scrambling furiously to regain their footing. People began showing-up throughout the day to keep a vigil on the high wire act—would they fly or fall?
Photo: William Hall
The first fledgling hit the ground on June 4th and he picked the worst possible time to drop. Other than sturgeon, peregrines and a quiet place to eat lunch, the only other thing that draws people to this little patch of greenway is the annual Rose Fleet Parade—a procession of military ships that dock in Portland for a few days to signal the start of summer. The Rose Festival was started at the turn of the twentieth century by civic leaders who wanted to establish Portland as the “summer capital of the world.” Today our civic leaders have a more modest aspiration of celebrating Portland’s “volunteerism, patriotism and environmentalism” so maybe this little falcon was onto something after all.
Skulking falcon. Photo: William Hall
I arrived to find the falcon wandering about on the ground among a sea of parade watchers, his parents flying just above the crowd in tight circles, his siblings watching from the girders far overhead. At nearly that same moment, a SWAT team of uniformed Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife officials also arrived on the scene. One of them turned to me and said, “I knew we should not have left those damn birds in the middle of the city.” It was determined that the falcon was only a day or two short of being able to take its first flights and the best thing to do was to leave it alone and let its parents care for it on the ground.
I was assigned to do crowd control and was sent off with the quintessential tool of urban endangered species management: yellow caution tape. I quickly set about dividing the greenway into two areas, one for peregrines and the other for people. I spent the rest of the afternoon fielding questions from the public along the lines of “tell me again why we can’t cross this line because of a bird?” and “Does the Audubon Society actually have the authority to shut down the greenway?”
Photo: Bob Sallinger
The indelible image from that afternoon that sticks with me to this day is of the young falcon skulking around on the ground—ground-bound peregrines are a very different creature than the agile fliers they soon become after taking to the air—with a cadre of four uniformed Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife officials tiptoeing along in single file about 200 feet behind him. From my vantage point guarding the yellow caution tape, I would see the little falcon periodically emerge or disappear from behind a building or a dumpster or any number of industrial artifacts that lined the riverfront with the ODFW team a minute or two behind in stealth pursuit. And so it went for the next several hours.
Late that afternoon, my reverie was broken by the sudden appearance of Joe Pesek signaling in the distance for me to come down to where the ODFW team had assembled at the edge of the river. Joe had been our ODFW regional biologist as far back as I could recall. Audubon archives have pictures of generation after generation of Audubon staff working with Joe through the decades. Normally staid and laid back, Joe was about as animated now as I had ever seen him.
“The falcon is gone!” he announced.
“What do you mean he is gone Joe?” I asked. “You all have been following him around like deranged bird stalkers all afternoon.”
“He’s gone,” he insisted. “He just disappeared.”
As best we could tell the falcon had not fallen in the river and he was too young to really take to the air. But as night fell, our bird was still nowhere to be found.
I arrived back at the bridge the next morning about a half hour before sunrise. I wanted to get there when it was still quiet and watch for the parents coming down to feed our missing bird. I wasn’t alone however. As I stood at the edge of the river scanning with my binoculars, a steady procession of homeless people emerged from the shadows. One at a time, they made their way to the northernmost part of the greenway, where it terminates under the bridge, and disappeared for several minutes into a small thicket of shrubs that separate the greenway path from the seawall.
As the sun rose over the river, I decided to investigate. Behind the shrubs I found a long narrow crack in the earth, only a few feet wide and perhaps 6 feet long and 7 feet deep where earth had collapsed landward of the seawall. The local homeless community had been using this hole as a latrine. Toilet paper hung from the jagged cement and rebar that jutted out into this gash. At the bottom was a liquid puddle of human feces, and there staring up at me was our missing peregrine.
Joe Pesek pulled in a few minutes later. “I found our bird, I announced as he got out of his car.
He looked at me for a second, and then said, “He’s in that hole full of shit, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I replied, “down at the bottom.”
Joe sighed, “Well one of us is going to have to go get him.” Joe looked me up and down. I was a good forty years younger and 100 pounds lighter. Without any further discussion he announced, “I will get you a pair of gloves.”
The thing I remember most about that hole is Joe’s voice reverberating above, “Oh my God that looks horrible…oh that is horrible” as the falcon flapped its wings and scurried into the furthest, darkest recesses of the hole, kicking up a small storm of dust and excrement. I held my breath, reached into the darkness and felt a pair of talons latch onto my glove.
45 minutes later, I was sitting on the doorstep of one of our volunteer veterinarians with a five week old peregrine sitting on my lap. She joked that she should probably call the health department to have us both examined. However we both checked-out more or less okay and within days we were able to reunite this young falcon with his parents and siblings.
Author releasing falcon back to parents in 1996. Photo: Elisabeth Neely
18-years later, endangered species are no longer an anomaly on our urban landscape. For better and for worse, they are very much part of the fabric of our existence. Peregrines have been delisted and they now inhabit half a dozen local bridges. The Fremont Bridge nest site has fledged more than 55 young and is recognized as the most productive nest site in Oregon. Bald eagles too have returned to our skies. They nest along our river and we get a growing number of reports of them showing up in backyards. The most common injury we see with eagles is from territorial fights between eagles competing for nest sites. We struggle with our role in recovering federally listed salmon and steelhead knowing that our degraded urban waterways create significant impediments to restoring runs on the Willamette and Columbia Rivers. A new listing is on the horizon—streaked horned larks, a bird that most people have never hear of that nests in disturbed grassland habitats near Portland’s airport and industrial area, is proposed for listing.
The days when we debated whether endangered species belonged in the city seem long ago, but not so far away.
What is particularly of concern is the lack of action in many disadvantaged communities where historic and current inequities in funding, decision-making, siting of industrial and transportation facilities, and access to nature make residents especially vulnerable to climate impacts.
Looking out from my office in lower Manhattan, preparations for rising seas and coastal storms are becoming real. As I type these words, construction crews are cutting scores of mature trees that once graced the local parks to make room for a system of about five-meter-high berms, flood walls, and deployable barriers. Together with dry- and wet-proofed buildings and infrastructure, these measures are intended to prevent damage from coastal flooding for five kilometers of the City’s shoreline.
Losing precious greenery in our city is never easy. The initial plan put forward by the city government and a state-run development authority sparked community concern and opposition. It’s a fair argument to say that renaturing and retreating from one of the most densely developed business districts on the planet was not really an option (at least for now). And, ultimately, given local memory of flooding from Hurricane Sandy in 2012 and the resources available for this neighborhood, a modified plan is going forward. It provides for the replanting of trees and shrubs as well as new landscaping that will help integrate the new coastal infrastructure into the neighborhood and people’s lives. It’s a sad day for the trees and the wildlife and people (like me) who enjoyed their benefits, but it’s also true that these changes are relatively minor notes in the long story of our ever-changing urban waterfront.
Our seas are expected to rise by at least two meters by 2100 and the probability and reach of coastal storms are increasing as well. But not all the people and neighborhoods that line the Hudson River estuary in New York and New Jersey are currently considering safeguards like the ones I see being erected in Manhattan’s financial district. What is particularly of concern is the lack of action in many disadvantaged communities where historic and current inequities in funding, decision-making, siting of industrial and transportation facilities, and access to nature make residents especially vulnerable to climate impacts. These communities are some of the places most in need of shoreline enhancement.
But our experience is that, if offered support, these communities are eager to engage and take part in developing a response to climate change. A recent targeted grant program instituted by the Hudson River Foundation offers some insight into how community-led efforts can be supported.
Brooklyn’s Coney Island, a neighborhood that also experienced devasting floods in 2012, is a case in point. Despite a number of City and State-led initiatives to address long-term resiliency in the area, the plans for shoreline berms and possible tidal barriers on Coney Island Creek have not advanced. To be sure, protecting the people, homes, and businesses on this former barrier Island is a complex technical challenge that has been the focus of government-led planning efforts. But in the eyes of community leaders like Pamela Petty-John of Coney Island Beautification, the cause for inaction is also a disconnect between community needs and desires and the will and ways of government.
City of Water Day on Coney Island. Credit: Coney Island Beautification Project
Indeed a key objection of a coalition of community organizations and environmental groups to the concepts being discussed in the United States Army Corps of Engineers Harbor and Tributaries Focus Area Feasibility Study (HATS) is that the Corps’ existing cost-benefit calculations reinforce existing inequities by “undervaluing” waterfronts features in poorer neighborhoods and not addressing community-expressed needs. Specifically, the Corp’s process relies on calculations of existing property values and public parks, an impediment for neighborhoods suffering from a legacy of institutional disinvestment. As a result, the study, which is key to unlocking billions of federal, state, and local capital dollars, is missing an opportunity to address flooding issues of concern to community members as well as other potential co-benefits ― remediation of water quality issues and providing waterfront access.
Bridging this gap requires making community knowledge and values an integral part of data gathering, project formulation, design, implementation, and on-going monitoring and management. Such understanding reflects the observations and lived experiences of people living or working in the project location. This is especially important for initiatives located in or otherwise intending to serve disadvantaged communities. Too often a lack of access to planning processes, political power, and cultural differences has disconnected residents and businesses in these areas from these decisions. The result can be poorly conceived projects, or decision-making paralysis resulting from disagreements between the responsible government agencies and local stakeholders. Our changing climate makes getting things right ― and quickly ― an urgent need.
To help meet this moment, the New York – New Harbor & Estuary Program (HEP) has sought to advance climate resiliency planning and education through a series of grants that prioritized disadvantaged communities. A collaboration of government, civic organizations, and university scientists established by the federal Environmental Protection Agency and the states of New York and New Jersey, HEP and our hosts at the Hudson River Foundation, have a long history of supporting partnerships in estuary management.
The creation of this program, which resulted in more than one hundred proposals from local stewardship organizations or their partners, are small snapshots into the expressed needs of frontline communities for assistance and provide a framework for how funders can advance community-led resiliency initiatives.
Our effort is the result of recent federal initiatives in the United States to accelerate the pace of coastal investment and adaptation, funded by the Infrastructure Investment and Jobs (IIJA) and Inflation Reduction Acts. Importantly, this includes significant funding for advancing projects outside of the strict context of disaster recovery/rebuilding or even hazard mitigation. This presents opportunities to advance proposals featuring natural and nature-based resiliency features, or otherwise delivering important water quality, habitat, public access, and other benefits for the local community. Specifically, Executive Order 14052, the Justice40 Initiative, mandates that at least 40% of this funding reach disadvantaged communities.
Thanks to the federal funds provided by the IIJA, HEP recently released its RFPs to underwrite community-led resiliency efforts aligned with our collaboration’s water quality, habitat enhancement, and public access goals. To ensure that the terms of the RFPs would be responsive to the needs of communities, HEP engaged in a series of conversations with local and national environmental justice leaders. Based on that input, we relied on multiple definitions of “disadvantaged communities” to identify qualified communities, incorporating federal guidance, state definitions (that incorporated race as a criterion), and HEP’s own definition (that reflected inequities in access to water). The RFP process itself was structured to provide low barriers to entry (with an initial letter of inquiry, standard forms, and transparent criteria). Expenses for organizational capacity building and administrative expenses, especially hard to fund for groups in poorer communities, were allowed.
Our goals were explicit as well:
Enable disadvantaged communities in the Hudson―Raritan Estuary to fully participate in planning and decisions about coastal adaptation, habitat enhancement, and other infrastructure projects being advanced by federal, state, and local agencies. Proposals that can describe how community input could be incorporated into the federal, state, or local decisions or otherwise demonstrate coordination with the lead project agency were particularly encouraged.
Advance community-initiated projects that will enhance climate resiliency, including shoreline improvements, stormwater management measures, and natural and nature-based resiliency features. We were especially interested in projects that will help communities gain access to future federal and state infrastructure funding opportunities and demonstrate how to incorporate social vulnerability of communities to make better-informed decisions.
Address gaps in data and knowledge that will improve community and agency understanding of baseline conditions, the current and future impacts of climate change, community values, and/or the effectiveness of alternative adaptation measures and management strategies. This could include efforts to assess the state of existing knowledge as well as the development, implementation, and evaluation of educational programs. Projects that engage community members to participate in the co-production of required data and knowledge are especially encouraged.
Demonstrate the power of collaboration between community, government, independent scientists, and/or utilities. Addressing climate change and enhancing habitat in our urban estuary requires a team effort. Proposals that engage multiple stakeholders or seek to establish successful community involvement in such partnerships are highly desired. Using the arts, recreational programs, and experiential learning to bring messages about climate change and resiliency to local waterfront parks and public spaces is appreciated.
The response was great, reflecting the appetite of community-based organizations. Altogether, we received 107 requests for assistance totaling $ 4.1 million. To date, and based on currently available funds, we are able to support about a third of those organizations with 35 grants totaling $ 612,000 for projects ranging from support for co-producing data on flood risk to community-managed engineering consultants to community-led tree planting and habitat restoration efforts to arts-forward community engagement programs. Additional funding anticipated from the IIJA over the next three years will enable us to meet more of this documented need from current and new partners.
While our programs are certainly not the biggest source of assistance available, what we gleaned from the process points to needs, challenges, and opportunities that are also confronting much larger public and private sources of philanthropy for community-led efforts.
For most community organizations, the focus is on authentically and accurately articulating their problems and needs to community stakeholders and the relevant authorities: What are the climate-driven risks? Who will be impacted? What are acceptable solutions/what is the desire for other improvements? How can we effectively organize to ensure these needs are met? These organizations help co-produce needed knowledge, bringing community understanding to the problems confronting the waterfront while at the same time building community support for the proposed solutions.
Another key challenge is about process. Many community members are wary (and weary) of the usual workshops and engagement tactics. Just too many past experiences of public planning efforts going nowhere. Right-sizing engagement efforts and making it easy and even fun to be part of the conversation is key. The familiar community organizing maxim of engaging local residents and businesses where they live is critical, including leveraging existing forums and community festivals. Using cell phones and social media to document the issues and bringing discussion of the issues to existing community institutions and events can help keep the usual suspects engaged and bring new voices to the discussion.
Of course, enabling the community to move from conversations to seeing positive changes on the ground is the best way to avoid the risk of planning fatigue. Ensuring that expressed needs are incorporated in the design, and the final engineered and permitted project requires honesty and transparency in the process. Enabling community organizations to have the means and, importantly, the internal capacity to hire and manage their own trusted technical consultants can help ensure that viable solutions are fairly considered. Just as important, it can allow for unrealistic expectations to be forthrightly addressed early in the process. Every construction project ever conceived requires on-going compromise in terms of design, budget, and delivery. However, bringing and keeping the community and agencies together can help ensure that those changes do not derail the effort or the people who have to live with the results.
Coney Island Creek. Credit: Ed Rainer
We are proud to say that HEP is now supporting the important work of groups like Coney Island Beautification. Building on their history of effective organizing around the development of public parks, water quality improvements, and community greening, the community-based Coney Island Beautification has established an effective partnership with the New York Aquarium/Wildlife Conservation Society and engineering consultants which are lending technical support and additional capacity for this work. They have started hosting community meetings intended to establish a resiliency vision from the ground up, incorporating multiple means of resiliency and potential co-benefits of public access and water quality from the start. The intent is for this conceptual plan to provide a framework for recasting (and hopefully advancing) the many prior government plans in the area.
Of course, these conversations are just starting, and Coney Island is still years away from implementing specific measures. But taking the first steps with the community (as opposed to in or even for the community) is offering some promise for our precarious future.
As the introductory chapter states: “Sustainability is everywhere.” Indeed, what did we do before the introduction of the term? Sustainability in the Global City engages with the concept of urban sustainability from a sophisticated, skeptical, but sympathetic perspective. Through multiple case studies, it shows the complex and contradictory tensions that emerge in the concepts and practices for implementing greater sustainability. The programs described in the book are organized to highlight the ways in which sustainability initiatives impact social justice and equity, showing how, in some cases, it can entail positive change,yet increase domination by organized economic interests.
One of the major contributions of this book is the use of ethnography to create detailed accounts of local histories, cultural meanings, and everyday lives. Embedded in the larger context of history, social and cultural expectations, norms, and political rules and organization, this perspective provides an understanding of how urban dwellers interact with the sustainability discourse, and how the programs can disguise otherwise purely modernist projects of displacement. The anthropological voice is welcome in uncovering the tensions and contradictions that emerge from sustainability initiatives.
The introduction does an admirable job of revisiting the origins and history of sustainability, placing it squarely in the negotiated outcome of the collapse of communism and the unfettered rise of neoliberalism. While it backs away from claiming that sustainability and sustainable development are fully co-opted concepts, better placing their origins provides greater understanding of how and why upscale, cosmopolitan, and politically liberal urbanites tend to be attracted to sustainability.
Chapters are organized into four parts: Building the Myth, Branding the Green Global City; Planning, Design and Sustainability in the Wake of Crisis; Everyday Engagements with Urbanity and “Nature;” and Cities Divided: Urban Intensification, Neoliberalism and Urban Activism. I liked that some chapters were theoretical and academic, drawing on literature, and that some were simple and direct vignettes. Cities from around the world are included and each place illustrates a different face of urban sustainability endeavors, from modernizing traditional laundries in Delhi and the impacts on the Dhobis (washer-people) and water resources, to ethnographic research on bicycling in Los Angeles and Seattle. The common thread throughout is that sustainability policies and programs affect people and communities differently depending on their status and degree of activism.
I highly recommend this collection of essays, and hope to have a chance to use it in teaching. It provides insightful and nuanced perspectives on how the language of sustainability is used, how programs get deployed, and their differential impacts on communities. The sophisticated way in which the concept and its origins get unpacked offer an important corrective to some of the dominant paradigms and definitions of sustainable development and sustainable cities that then allow a more critical rethinking of the terms and direction. By such thoughtful engagement, we may have a chance to reexamine sustainability, to develop more precise terms, and examining the full impacts in order to emerge to the next set of alternatives that can be more just. There is no doubt that integrated, less resource intensive, more human- and nature-oriented development and redevelopment is necessary. This volume helps us be more alert to unintended consequences and to the need for greater equity going forward.
We’ve seen a surge in new open space design initiatives here in New York City in the past decade, with projects as big and bureaucratically complex as the 2,200-acre Fresh Kills Park on Staten Island and as small and locally focused as the Bedford-Stuyvensant Community Garden in Brooklyn. Many of these initiatives are designed to make New York City more environmentally sustainable and ecologically resilient in response to the disturbances that will come with a warming climate.
Nature isn’t absent in the works of Charles and Ray Eames, but it’s never intended as a replacement for design.
But much of what passes for examples of “ecological,” or “sustainable,” or even “resilient” design in cities makes it seem as if the ideal urban landscape is one that resembles a post-apocalyptic Eden made perfect by the absence of actual human beings. When people do pop into these beautifully rendered images, they often look as if they just finished hiking the Appalachian Trail or rafting the Colorado River. They’re outdoorsy, effervescent, and earnest. There’s no sign of the frazzled morning commuter ascending from an overcrowded morning metro ride, or the disheveled pedestrian jumping over black pools of melting sidewalk snow. No anger or irony or humor. No graffiti. No panhandlers or pizza rats. No street meat vendors or aluminum can scavengers or cops giving teenagers a hard time for sneaking a toke of weed behind the bus stop. No humanity.
Sarah Lidgus and Sam Holleran (not photographed) lead a participatory design process in 2014 with residents of Queens, New York to imagine new futures for Flushing Meadow Corona Park, a project of the Design Trust for Public Space. Photo: Sam Holleran
Nature, it seems to me, is an impoverished source of inspiration for the design of urban landscapes. We think of nature as something out there beyond the boundaries of human culture, a standard for how things ought to be that both predates and excludes people. Nature, in this sense, derives its authority from its essential lack of humanity. It sits in judgment apart from the messiness of human life. It bears the responsibilities of a god, and all of its pronouncements from on high seem to tell us that the solutions to our problems can be found in abandoning our humanity, retreating from society to find holiness in the purity of streams and meadows, forests and mountains.
This deity we call Nature really doesn’t like cities, and when pressed to come up with something useful to say about careful urban design, its dismissive response is, invariably, “Make them in my image.” Nature, though, is what we make of it. “Our experience of nature is rarely direct,” the geographer Noel Castree reminds us. “Rather, it is thoroughly mediated for us.” The wisdom we claim to find in nature is really a refraction of our own culture—our hopes, anxieties, prejudices and beliefs bounced back at us from the horizon of our limited understanding. Nature, by definition, has no language. Or, put another way, Nature does not speak in any language humans will ever understand on its own terms. We are the wizards behind the curtain, pulling levers and talking into a megaphone to make an otherworldly Nature talk. The real trick, though, lies in convincing ourselves that the rumbling voice we hear is not our own.
Residents of neighborhoods surrounding Flushing Meadow Corona Park in Queens survey the outcomes of a participatory design process for the future of the park. Photo: William Michael Freericks
None of this is to say that cities don’t need functional green space or that designers shouldn’t be conscious of environmental concerns. Parks and gardens and trees are essential building blocks in cities, both aesthetically and because of the ecosystem services they provide. And landscape architects, urban designers, engineers, and planners of all stripes have much to learn from mimicking the technics of environmental processes. But in both cases, we’re talking about applying good design practices to urban problems—a thoroughly cultural process, no matter what inspiration we draw from that tangle of concepts and creatures we persist in bundling under the heading of “nature.”
Where do we turn to discover good design processes? We turn to good designers. Let’s consider, as an example, the design processes of Charles and Ray Eames, the mid-20th century husband-and-wife architect-and-painter team that put research, learning, and holistic thinking at the center of their practice. You won’t find much having to do with unspoiled nature in the Eames design archives, but you’ll find plenty of projects tackling breathtaking concepts in science, engineering, and technology—all branches of knowledge at the core of any effort to create more sustainable cities. You’ll also find a sincere appreciation for the simple beauty of living things, for things that grow and change, for leaves and flowers, trees and tumbleweeds. Nature isn’t absent in their design, but it’s never intended as a replacement for design.
There was nothing Ray and Charles seemed to love more than a solving a puzzle—other than explaining the solution and its underlying logic afterward. They were humanists, through and through, betraying a love for every dimension of human culture in their educational films, covering topics that included tops and trains and trigonometry. Charles once made a short film that investigated the flow of sudsy water washing across the surface of a blacktop playground, just because the patterns of movement fascinated him. They loved the stuff of daily human life, the stuff Charles named “The New Covetables” in a lecture at Harvard in 1981: bolts of wool and spools of twine and reams of unused paper, all made valuable by their unreleased creative potential. Ray and Charles were also inveterate aphorists, leaving behind a trove of pithy slogans and sayings about design that give us a peek into their creative process and what it has to say to contemporary urban designers and landscape architects in search of a more sustainable future. Here are just two to get started.
Residents of Greensboro, North Carolina come out to enjoy a revamped public sidewalk as part of the Kit-o-Cart project commissioned by the Elsewhere Museum as part of South Elm Projects. Photo: Mitchell Oliver
“Eventually everything connects—people, ideas, objects. The quality of the connections is the key to quality per se.”
Charles and Ray were “systems thinkers” before there was a popular phrase to describe that way of looking at the world. They were ecologists in the sense that they were sensitive to connections, seeking out surprising links between seemingly unrelated “people, ideas, objects” and exploiting those connections to arrive at better design. Urban designers and landscape architects won’t create more sustainable cities by simply filling every downtown with more trees and grasses and greenery. They need to take the time to consider the emergent and unintended consequences of their designs—how “everything eventually connects.”
Take the case of Los Angeles, where an ambitious “Million Trees” planting campaign initiated by former mayor Antonia Villaraigosa came up nearly 600,000 saplings short by the end of the mayor’s second term in office in 2013. In arid cities like LA, costly investments in lush greenery can make the landscape less sustainable over the long term by making them less resilient in the face of drought and more reliant on water piped in from far-off sources. “By ignoring these technical details,” wrote one local critic, “The Villaraigosa program evokes an earlier generation’s deliberate rejection of environmental realities in favor of imported cultural norms.” And yet it was all done under the guise of “bringing nature back” to the city, as one community group involved in the project claimed.
“Take your pleasure seriously.”
Ray and Charles Eames were playful in their approach to working through design challenges. They loved children’s toys and circuses and every day they hosted a picnic on the lawn behind their sunny Los Angeles studio. “Take your pleasure seriously,” they admonished other designers, inviting them to find joy and satisfaction in complex projects that could demand iteration after iteration of backbreaking failure before arriving at a winning solution.
Residents of New York City’s Lower East Side enjoy the On a Fence installation by Chat Travieso and Yeju Choi at Pier 42 on the East River. Photo: Chat Travieso
Nothing dour ever came out of the Eames studio at 901 Washington Boulevard in the quirky, seaside neighborhood of Venice. Compare the colorful cacophony of an Eames design (be it a bookcase paneled in bright primary colors or a thirteen-minute seven-screen multi-track film about life in the United States in the 1950s) to the flinty renderings of new parks and open space projects that unspool from so many large-format plotters in design firms across the land. These designers certainly take their work seriously, but there’s little evidence of any pleasure in the product. Urban design and landscape architecture in the service of sustainable cities need to make space for solutions that pop up from having a healthy dose of wild fun. For example, check out studios like the Hester Street Collaborative in New York City’s Lower East Side or recent work from designers like Chat Travieso, Sarah Lidgus, or Sam Holleran for an idea of what this joyful approach to crafting sustainable and inclusive cities could look like. Lively, participatory, and grounded in local culture, the work produced by these designers often concerns itself with nature in cities, but doesn’t assume that nature is the antidote to urban life. Instead, Chat, Sarah, Sam, and the growing team at Hester Street all start from the core belief that cities are beautiful and worth celebrating. The rest flows from there.
* * * * *
Urban designers and landscape architects can’t ignore human culture in their efforts to make environmentally innovative cities. Every attempt to turn to nature for broad brushstroke solutions is really a turn toward a particular idea of nature—nature as the absence of human intention, human meddling, human design. Yet design is inevitable, even if we’re talking about the design of trees and grasses and greenery, and even the most conservative urban conservation project can never actually put things back they way the were before humans showed up. There is no way to go but forward. “We are as gods,” Stewart Brand likes to say. “We might as well get good at it.”
Sustainable infrastructure design—from water, energy, material flows, built systems—is the art of seeking solutions that address ecology, engineering and culture as interconnected realms.
In the past, civil engineering was the transformer of the natural environment to meet development and human needs. In doing so, engineers blindly trusted technique as a pillar, repeated recipes, disregarding the importance of understanding each intervention site as a unique living system. Multiple evidence around the world shows that, in many cases, engineering has been responsible for more environmental problems than for solutions.
In this book S. Bry Sarté calls us to design structures for the future that will be effective in the next century, reconnecting strategies that worked in the past with new methods.
An engineer himself, S. Bry Sarté graduated from the University of California. He is founder of Sherwood Design Institute, a non-profit research and policy group. Through his collaborative projects around the world, and in lectures and conferences he has addressed the urgent need for a new paradigm and has this influenced urban planning and management in a very positive way.
Sustainable infrastructure. The guide to green engineering and design, belongs to a constellation of books such as Green Infrastructure: Linking Landscapes and Communities (M.A. Benedict and E.T. McMahon, 2006) andGreen Infrastructure: A Landscape Approach (D.C. Rouse and I.F. Bunster-Ossa 2013) just to mention two. All these works are aimed at demonstrating the value of ongoing collaboration among architects, engineers, planners, ecologists and many other people.
This book is structured in three parts and nine chapters. The first part introduces the reader to the New Paradigm for Design, which is essential for this new era: the Anthropocene. In the present age, the social, economic and environmental issues surrounding infrastructure are too complex to be left to engineers alone, as it has been practiced in the past century. Today these multiple and multifaceted problems need to be solved in an interdisciplinary and collaborative fashion, if we want to make our habitat more livable. This part of the book there are two key chapters, describing the process and frameworks of sustainable design, explaining the new paradigm for an integrated approach to sustainable design at different levels.
The second part, comprising four chapters, describes water and energy management, as well as sustainable site planning and materials flow.
The third part of the book gives many examples across different action scales, which at the end are always intertwined: the urban (chapter 7), community (chapter 8) and site scale (chapter 9). Through case studies around the world, most through the experience gained by the Sherwood Design Engineers Institute, the author shows how sustainable design can provide system models for integrated win-win management programs.
This book is easy to read. It explains paradigms and strategies, providing a practical guide for planners, landscape architects, educators and students. It is an excellent inspiration to students and professionals, inviting them to integrate existing concepts in new ways.
The author succeeds in passing on an important message: design should deliver systems that are useful and also beautiful, so that people can connect with them, giving them value and understanding. He emphasizes the responsibility that citizens have in their everyday life choices to ensure the sustaining of life on Earth.
This book is an important reference, highly recommended.
Ana Faggi
Buenos Aires
To buy the book, click the images below and go to Amazon—part of the proceeds return to TNOC.
The final night of the European Soccer Cup in July, 2016, brought together some of the world’s greatest sports figures and fans. France, the hosting team, was hoping to ride a wave of wins to capture their third Eurocup title, following successes in 1984 and 2000. But it was not to be, as Portugal won its first-ever European championship in a 1-0 extra time victory.
We need to view eating insects as part of a sustainable answer to the rapidly increasing demand for food worldwide.
Along with the stars on the field, fans in the seats, and extra security forces everywhere, there were some unexpected visitors at the national Stade de France Stadium—swarms of medium-sized moths, known as Silver Ys (Autographa gamma).
The moths had been attracted to the Stade de France by its floodlights. The stadium, built for the 1998 Soccer World Cup, sits like a great elliptical space ship in the northern Parisian suburb of Saint Denis. It looks particularly spectacular at night. Meanwhile, the Silver Ys are quite ordinary looking. They are brown and grey, with a sort of y-shaped marking on the wings and a wingspan of 3-4 cm (~1-1.5 inches).
Stade de France Stadium on the final night of the European Soccer Cup in July, 2016. Photo: Reuters
The Silver Ys are migratory and very common across Europe. The moths winter around the Mediterranean and head north in the summer in search of new breeding grounds. Many of the moths—millions, if conditions are good—end up in the UK, following fast-moving airstreams hundreds of meters above the ground that allow them to travel at speeds reaching 50 km per hour (~30mph).
On the night of the soccer final, the moths were out in abundance, described as rising from the turf in great clouds when officials first stepped onto the Stade de France field. Players and referees were seen swatting the moths before the game began, while stadium staff tried to vacuum or sweep them away with wide brooms. During the match, one famously flew by Portuguese team hero, Cristiano Ronaldo, who was forced to abandon the match after only 18 minutes of play due to a knee injury. The moth added lightness to the tension and drama on the field.
I live in Nairobi, Kenya, and it is easy to relate to the feelings of human helplessness and frustration experienced in the face of swarming insects. Twice a year, during the rainy seasons (April-May, October-November) we experience the nightly emergence of thousands of flying termites. Attracted to light, they arise from the ground in great waves, and in a determined pursuit to find a mate. The winged termites, known as alates, are the sexually viable members of the colony. They have one assignment: to reproduce with a fellow flyer from another colony.
The pursuit is a desperate one, however, as the termites naturally lose their wings after about 20 minutes of flight. This makes their efforts quite dogged and the insects completely impermeable to the frantic swatting and flailing of nearby humans. Most ultimately fail to find a mate, but it does not prevent them from infiltrating lighted areas by the hundreds or even thousands. Like a micro-sized invasive force, they creep through the tiniest of spaces, making their ways indoors even when all the doors and windows are seemingly tightly shut.
Termite wings. Photo: Vanessa Watley
By morning, all that is left of the nocturnal swarm is piles of detached wings and brown, beelike bodies—some still squirming with life. Most of us urbanites sweep them up and toss them in the garbage, not without some feelings of disgust.
But for western Kenyans, the flying termites represent more than a temporary pest. They are a source of food, appreciated for their abundance, taste, and nutritional value. Termites are rich in protein and fatty acids. They contain iron and zinc, and may have antimicrobial properties. They are most easily collected during the rainy seasons. But the insects can also be extracted from termite mounds directly, and a typical mound can produce 20 kg of termites. Because they deteriorate rapidly, the insects are best when caught alive, from healthy environments, and eaten or processed immediately.
Some people eat the termites raw, with a pinch of salt. More often they are fried or dried, and often mixed with other food, such as beans. At the Amaica Restaurant in Nairobi, the fried ones, known as kumbe kumbe, are served as an appetizer. They are nutty-tasting, crunchy, and surprisingly filling.
More than 2.5 billion people on the planet eat insects, according to the United Nation’s Food and Agriculture Organization (or FAO), and termites are second only to grasshoppers in terms of human bug consumption, according to its 2013 report, “Edible Insects: future prospects for food and feed security.” Termites come in a variety of sizes and types. The most commonly consumed Termitidae in Kenya, according to a 2010 study include Macrotermes bellicosus, Pseudacanthotermes militaris, and Pseudacanthotermes spiniger.
In the West, however, the consumption of insects, known as entomophagy, is considered unconventional at best—something people do out of desperation when stranded in the wilderness, for example. Likewise, urban attitudes in developing countries are heavily influenced by “modern” perceptions that see insect consumption as “primitive” or only to be considered as a last resort. Thus, the popularity of kumbe kumbe declines once it hits a city like Nairobi, where it takes on the image of poor people’s food.
The truth is, we should be eating more bugs, not fewer—for ourselves and for our planet. Instead of seeing entomophagy as primitive, we need to view it as part of a sustainable answer to the rapidly increasing demand for food worldwide.
Insects are a healthy alternative to meat and fish, and can also be used as animal feed. They are greener than conventional livestock: they emit less ammonia and/or greenhouse gas, need less land or water, and are able to feed on organic waste streams. Insects are more efficient at converting feed into protein than are organisms such as cattle, pigs, or chickens. Moreover, insect harvesting requires minimal inputs or technical knowledge, and it is an important possible source of livelihood for poor people in both urban and rural environments.
Because bugs are not generally categorized as livestock, however, their production as a source of food (or animal feed) is rarely incorporated in agricultural research and development agendas, and they have been absent from major agricultural innovations. To the extent that insect farming is considered, it is largely limited to honey bees, silkworms, and scale insects (used for red colorant). When insects are considered within agricultural research and development, it is through the lens of their (considerable) role as pests or as biocontrol agents against common crop pests, e.g., using ladybugs to control aphids as an alternative to control by insecticides.
Since 2003, the FAO has had a campaign aimed at increasing the uptake of insects as a healthy and readily available alternative food source. The campaign promotes greater awareness regarding the benefits of insect consumption. Its goal is to increase knowledge-sharing among different countries and across multiple sectors (policy, education, advocacy, implementation) regarding the potentials and policy implications of an increased use of insects as food, in processed products, and for livestock feed. It also supports field projects and collaborations exploring the multiple uses of insects as food and feed. A major focus of the campaign is changing the negative image of insect consumption and highlighting its potential:
“Western societies still largely averse to the practice of eating insects will require tailored strategies that address the disgust factor and break down common myths surrounding the practice. Governments, ministries of agriculture, and even knowledge institutions in developed countries will need to be targeted, given that insects as food and feed are still largely absent from political and research agendas. Insects are still viewed as pests by a large majority of people, despite the increasing literature pointing to their valuable role in the diets of humans and animals.” – FAO, 2013
Targeted studies, supported by the FAO and others, are investigating the development and acceptability of processed food products based on insects. For example, a study published in the African Journal of Food, Agriculture, Nutrition and Development (2010) conducted research with processed products based on readily available termites and lake flies in marginal areas of Lake Victoria, Tanzania, where protein deficiency is common. Their findings suggest that insect-based products, such as crackers, sausages, and muffins, have commercial potential and could play a significant role in improving food security and income generation in the region. Further studies on edible insects are occurring in institutions as varied as Wageningen University (Netherlands); Montana State University (USA); University of Copenhagen (Denmark); Khon Kaen University (Thailand); Chinese Academy of Forestry, Kunming, Yunnan Province; Jaramogi Oginga Odinga University of Science and Technology (Kenya); Centre de Recherche pour la Gestion de la Biodiversité (Benin); National Autonomous University of Mexico; and the National University of Laos.
What will it take to get more insects on our plates?
Clearly, a targeted makeover is needed to overcome the negative biases against insect consumption, both in terms of the “ick” factor and its image as a poor person’s food. Though the task may seem great, it is not unprecedented. Consider the cases of lobster and shrimp. Like insects, these organisms are arthropods, characterized by a hard outer shell, segmented body, and jointed appendages—and they were historically considered poor peoples’ food. It was only 80 or so years ago that lobster (known as the cockroach of the sea) went from being throw-away food—given to cats, spread as fertilizer, fed to prisoners—to becoming a gourmet delicacy, thanks to growing demand and better recipes. Shrimp experienced a similar transition in the 20th century, when it replaced oysters as the cocktail shellfish of choice.
More recent examples of foods that have been propelled from elements of meals for subsistence to gourmet rankings in upscale supermarkets and restaurants worldwide include quinoa, kale, native potatoes, and even the lowly Brussels sprout.
The FAO suggests that further changes would help assure greater use and acceptance of insects in our diets, including:
Technological innovations, such as simple ways of rearing insects at scale, or methods to simultaneously control pest insects by harvesting them as food
Food and feed legislation that encompasses insect production and trade, with the development of regulatory frameworks in collaboration with government, academia, and industry
Sustainable ways of producing insects for food (or feed), including nature conservation strategies
Further documentation of the nutritional value of insects, and investigation of the bioavailability of micronutrients in insects, especially iron and zinc, as a way to address common deficiencies in the tropics
Greater emphasis on and understanding of environmental benefits of insect consumption, using quantitative studies of the environmental impacts of harvesting/farming insects compared with traditional livestock or agricultural production
More research on preservation and processing techniques to increase shelf life of insect products—and to extract insect protein for the food and feed industries
Clarification of the socio-economic benefits of insect farming and gathering as income and food-generation activities for the poor
With these considerations in mind, the swarms of termites in Nairobi take on a new dimension. Termites are among the most successful groups of insects on earth. They are available on every continent, except for Antarctica, and live in profusion in cities, such as Nairobi. It’s time we city dwellers stopped swatting at these flying sources of protein, and considered savoring them instead.
Ayieko MA, Oriaro V, Nyambuga IA. Processed products of termites and lake flies: Improving entomophagy for food security within the Lake Victoria region. African Journal of Food Agriculture Nutrition and Development, Vol. 10, No. 2, 2010, pp. 2085-2098. Link: http://www.bioline.org.br/request?nd10013
Spring in Brussels. Balmy weather, traffic jams, helicopters hovering in skies of pale, duck-egg blue. Politicians, policy-makers and lobbyists rub shoulders with the G4S security personnel tasked with their safety. The guards outnumber their charges, and by some margin. The hotels and train stations are full. Lufthansa is on strike.
At the tail-end of the 4th EU-Africa Summit, April 2014, some forty-odd people have gathered to talk about — and to imagine — the African city of the future. It’s a bold move on the part of the organisers to bring together at least four distinct groups: academics; architects/planners; artists and politicians to swap ideas, share experiences and collectively imagine a better, brighter future for the continent’s beleaguered urban centres. In the organisers’ own words, ‘the objective of the meeting is to define priority interventions that need to occur in cities in order to contribute to a more sustainable, inclusive and creative urban environment, based on cities’ architectural, cultural and spatial capital. How can cultural, architectural and spatial capital contribute to social cohesion and inclusiveness, and to economic prosperity in African cities?’
Over several hours of intense discussion, a broad range of ideas and issues emerged, for the most part centred around those old ‘staples’: education, infrastructure, funding, policy. But, every now and then, a word or a sentence – a description of a park, an open green space, the village square, a desire? – emerged and although ‘ecology’ as a distinct category wasn’t a specific topic on the agenda, two things struck me again and again as I attempted to moderate the discussions: one, that the question of the nature of African cities is still very much up for grabs and two, possibly more interesting, that the culture, history and role of nature in African cities is hardly ever discussed. In and of, of and in. Two sides of the same, particular coin.
Note: The ‘Sweet’ in the title refers to the West African colloquialism, ‘sweet, paa,’ meaning ‘deep’, ‘profound’, ‘meaningful’.
Root(s)
The word ‘root’ has multiple and myriad meanings. Amongst those that are of interest (or relevance) to me, are:
(noun) the essential, fundamental or primary part or nature of something (your analysis strikes at the root of the problem);
(noun) origin or derivation, especially as a source of growth, vitality or existence (plural) a person’s sense of belonging in a community, place, especially the one in which he/she was born, brought up;
(noun) an ancestor or antecedent;
(verb) to take root: to put forth a root, to establish and begin to grow;
(verb) to take root: also to become embedded or effective;
In the sense of 2) and 3) above, origins and ancestors, the following short story perfectly encapsulates a now almost forgotten sense of the importance of nature in Accra, the capital city of Ghana, West Africa.
Its crown is umbrella-shaped and can reach heights of up to 45 metres. Both fresh leaves and fruits are reddish in colour, hence the name albizia ferruginea, referring to the Latin word for ‘iron’, or ‘rust-coloured’. The wood is moderately durable, resistant to fungi and termite attacks. It is suitable for building construction, carpentry and railroads, but also for toys, furniture and musical instruments. Its leaves can be eaten by goats. Parts of the tree are used to treat dysentery.
A tree that marks an edge. Amongst many other things.
Awiemfosamina’s pods also be cracked open, boiled and applied to mud walls as a sealant, keeping the natural iron-coloured pigment intact.
House Lokko, Accra, Ghana
In our conversations in Brussels last week, we seldom mentioned the words ‘material’ or ‘matter’, as though the stuff of our cities matters less than its form. Yet the relationship in most tropical climes between the natural and the manmade (for want of better terms), is profound: heat and humidity combine to ensure a fecundity that is fierce, almost fearful. Inert matter — concrete, glass, metal, wood — must fight nature in order to survive, maintain, remain. Things rot, disintegrate, weather and decay at a rate that far exceeds anything more milder climes contend with. Nature’s vitality is evident everywhere. Yet we speak little of nature, even less about it. It seems to me that there’s a missed opportunity somewhere to think deeply and creatively about what nature means to us, and to translate those narratives into built/grown/planted/managed form. The program of a park (recreation, respite, respiration) might be one such example but I suspect (hope) there are others. In a context and culture(s) where the very term ‘nature’ and the word ‘natural’ might have radically (see 6 above) different meanings, the opportunity to come up with new programs, new forms, new landscapes of leisure and pleasure is perhaps more visionary than we’ve been prepared to accept.
Radi(c)al City
Similarly, although speaking to and with a different audience (students rather than politicians) ‘ecology’ and ‘nature’ aren’t specific topics on the list at many schools of architecture — much less African schools of architecture — but in my present role as coordinator of final year (Masters-level) students at the University of Johannesburg, South Africa, the question of nature has emerged in their theses topics in interesting and somewhat unexpected ways. I’ve only just started in my new job, and, as a way of quickly getting to know my new students and the ways in which they think/draw/read/explore their immediate built environment, I asked them to ‘name’ their city — Johannesburg. I was fully expecting terms such as, The ‘Disconnected’ City; The ‘Migrant’ City, The ‘Broken’ City, adjectives that have been in vogue in South African urban discourse(s) for many years. Somewhat to my surprise, however, they came back with other adjectives, new ways of describing the spaces and places they inhabit. The ‘Natural’ City; ‘Rehabilitated’ City; ‘Landscape’ City, ‘Greenway’ City, pointing to a fascination (and possibly new affinity) with nature that goes beyond the historical and colonial obsession with land as a way of binding oneself to inconveniently hostile, already-inhabited territories. Of the thirteen projects I’m currently guiding, four stand out, in different ways and for different reasons.
The Frontier City, by Tiffany Melles
A barren ridge in the centre of Johannesburg. A cluster of people dressed in white sit on a rocky outcrop. A man stands, addressing his followers: women on the right and men on the left. Over time, his speaking ceases and the sitting people join together in song, their hands pressed together in a gesture of prayer. A solitary nun, dressed in her full habit, kneels, hands clasped tightly in prayer. Nearby, on the roof of an abandoned building, a line of Muslim men stand bowed over, facing Mecca, reciting the Quran. Clapping and singing can be heard from all around. Amongst the gatherings there are large puddles of wet earth and broken glass, marking areas where prayers have been released. There are numerous ‘frontiers’ — forgotten gaps — in Johannesburg’s urban fabric, empty ‘natural’ landscapes where people gather for different purposes. Some gatherings are religious, some social, some a combination. This dissertation will attempt to describe the narrative and spatial stories of a number of these ‘frontier’ sites, and develop an appropriate architectural response.
Tiffany’s main site — the Wilds — is a 16 hectare nature reserve, adjacent to Houghton, one of Johannesburg’s oldest suburbs. Her project, although in its early stages, attempts to marry the contradictions between religion, ritual, leisure and recreation to suggest an architecture that is neither entirely ‘natural’ nor entirely manmade.
Her drawings, which combine a number of different techniques: mapping, siting, coding, and land-marking, suggest a new relationship between program and site. In an area prized for its ‘wild’ nature, new forms of use and occupation have sprung up outside the city’s formal planning strictures. These ‘traditional’ forms of worship are not bounded and housed in the same way as other major religions: here there is no ‘church’, no altar, no mosque, no temple. The spiritual and natural worlds exist in the same dimension and space, where ritual and use establish the hierarchies of worship: preaching and prayer, hearing and listening, cleansing and purifying.
Zoë’s strapline, Reclaiming Johannesburg’s Natural Environment, speaks directly to the issues of ecology, nature and parklands that most of us are already familiar with. What is potentially interesting in her project is the juxtaposition of normative (read: Western) notions of parklands, the management of ‘nature’ by city municipalities for the enjoyment of city dwellers and the potential for ‘other’ cultural readings of nature, leisure and recreation that could influence and shape her chosen site and program. Her reading of the site sits within a traditional Eurocentric perspective:
‘public parks are utilised primarily for recreational use and to provide people with social locations that offer opportunities for them to meet with friends, observe other people and be seen. Crime, a history of spatial segregation and a lack of infrastructure have rendered the area under-utilised and abandoned. It is a sad fact that many Johannesburg residents’ experience of outdoor space and nature is often limited to that which exists in their backyards. People often travel to and from work withoutever coming into contact with nature, placing a disproportionate importance on private gardens as a way of connecting people with their natural environment. One possible way to link the domestic ‘garden’ and its somewhat sanitized version of the ‘natural’ world with broader ecological themes, is through ‘linking spaces’, green linkages between home/park/work/local services and the ‘wilds’, of particular importance to suburban dwellers who, in themselves, exist in a twilight state between the ‘real’ urban and the rural.’
‘Humanity currently exists in a dysfunctional relationship with the natural world and auto-bound cities are both symptom and cause of this dysfunction.’
As Johannesburg’s suburban population becomes increasingly reliant on private motor vehicles as a mode of transportation, we enter deeper and deeper into this dysfunctional relationship. This is a result of the fact that middle-class, suburban Johannesburg was created on the assumption that every middle-class household would own a car, with blocks too large and facilities too separated to enable people to walk, replacing pedestrian movement with vehicular movement. In this scenario, it can be argued that the private vehicle is as a major source of social alienation, creating a city of disconnected strangers.
Zoë’s proposal sits at the intersection of these concerns: our growing disconnectedness from our natural environments; the dislocation of the suburb from both nature and the city and the risk of even greater social alienation.
Like Tiffany, her use of the techniques of mapping and coding allow her to grasp, digest and manage the vastness of her site, which stretches almost the length of the city. By identifying infrastructural elements (bridges, power lines, tunnels, roads, malls, leisure facilities) alongside ‘natural’ elements (plants, gardens, views), a conversation starts to emerge between the two worlds: instead of a strip shopping mall, she proposes a garden centre; a drive-in movie theatre that makes use of nature, rather than suppressing it. The speed at which one cycles or walks through a landscape profoundly alters one’s view of it: her careful analysis of surfaces — tarred, rough, smooth, paved, grassy — provides opportunities to stop, savour a view or a scent, take in the city from a distance, see something new/different/’other’.
The Forgotten City, by Gabi Coter
This thesis looks at open landscapes across Johannesburg that were left behind and forgotten within suburban areas of the city as a result of white flight, urban sprawl and the establishments of buffer zones between residential areas. This thesis aims to imbue such forgotten landscapes with dignified means of ‘memory’ and/or ‘remembering. Rietfontein Farm (in Johannesburg) sits like an urban island within the suburban areas of Edenvale, Linksfield and Rembrandtpark. This fifteen hectare site lies unused and forgotten, primarily because of the Sizwe Tropical Diseases Hospital situated in the centre. When the hospital was first opened in 1895, the open land around it was configured as a buffer zone between the ‘unhealthy’ grounds and surrounds of the hospital, and the neighbouring suburbs. Just outside the hospital grounds, a number of cemeteries were created to bury victims of smallpox, tuberculosis and bubonic plague. Although many of these graves are unmarked, it has been established that over 6,000 bodies lie buried within the site’s boundaries in unmarked and unnoticed graves. This site, which has adapted and reinvented itself many times over, can be read as a ‘third’ landscape, following Clements’ description of ‘landscapes having been formed primarily due to the rapid growth of cities and the effects of urban sprawl.’
Gabi’s drawings, which map and explore the site at a number of different scales, see nature as a healing force within the city-scape, not only for its restorative powers in terms of growth and re-growth, but for its ability to protect and prolong memory. Using the notion and programme of a clinic, it is her intention to rehabilitate this third forgotten landscape through sensitive landscape interventions and restore its ecological and cultural dignity.
A consumer-driven approach to the economic ‘health’ of a society tends to focus solely on growth (GDP), employment and urbanisation. As a result, ‘softer’ measures of development such as water and natural landscape preservation tend to fall by the wayside. In Africa, this is particularly endemic where ‘progress’ and ‘development’ focus almost exclusively on ‘hard’ data and more nuanced and culturally-sensitive/appropriate responses to the environment are dismissed or under-played. This unbalanced approach to development has led to the destruction and scarring of many urban landscapes which teeter on the brink between potentially productive spaces (in all senses of the word) and perpetual abandonment. These marginalised and often unseemly landscapes are what I call ‘junkspaces’, and are the focus of this year’s investigation, a potential buffer-zone or no-man’s land between spaces of consumerism and extreme urbanisation and ecological preservation.
Rachel’s dissertation explores the breakdown in society between extreme consumerism and the fragile eco-systems of Johannesburg, proposing an Institute of Political Ecology which mediates between the worlds of finance, development and politics, the ‘real’ world of policy and governance, and the ‘natural’ world of ecology, sustainability and landscapes. It’s a challenging, complex architectural brief with the potential to weave together systems, materials, programs and possibly even forms from a number of different spheres. Her ‘Endoxene’ drawings below are a hybrid transplant of Johannesburg into the rural landscapes of Kigali, Rwanda, showing the communication connections that bind diasporic communities together and playing on the notion of the nostalgia for the ‘homeland’ that is often experienced by those who have left home (back again to the notion of ‘roots’, see 1-4 at the beginning of this essay).
7. to root for (verb) to encourage a team or contestant by cheering or applauding enthusiastically. To cheer, cheer on, shout for, applaud, clap, boost, support.
8. rhizome (noun) in botany and dendrology, a rhizome (from Ancient Greek: rhízōma ‘mass of roots’,from rhizóō ‘cause to strike root’)
Embedded (perhaps subconsciously) within these four student projects are complex ideas about ‘landscape’, ‘nature’ and ‘ecology’, particularly in South Africa where conflicting material interests in the ‘natural’ world — from ideas about how and what to farm (subsistence vs. industrial farming practices, for example) to the ‘spoils of nature’ — minerals — which have driven and dominated South Africa’s wealth for centuries — collide. Questions of ownership still dominate the discourse around ‘land’ and ‘landscapes’: who ‘owns’ the land, on whose terms, in whose image, according to whose beliefs and practices? We are accustomed to the idea that culture, social practices and religion are the common fault lines in any given society: what these student projects demonstrate, albeit tentatively, is that ‘nature’ itself is every bit as rich, complex (and, yes, fraught) a belief system as anything and everything else.
The schism between the natural and the man-made, or between ‘nature’ and ‘culture’ (culture being what we do to and with nature), is site-specific and culture-specific, and not universal in any sense. In today’s global, multicultural and highly cosmopolitan urban environments, where radically different views about ‘nature’ often predominate, how do we explain, explore and exploit these differences in ways that hold meaning for us all? (see 7 above). The radical feminist Audre Lorde’s phrase, ‘the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house’ is pertinent: now, more than ever, in societies that are literally ‘made up’ of sometimes contradictory and opposing views, the ability to think outside our normative boxes, disciplines, ways of seeing and working, is not just visionary, it’s required. It’s sometimes said that culture is the sum total of the stories we tell ourselves, about ourselves. For many Africans, whose spiritual, ritual and material connections to the ‘natural’ world run deep, the absence of a sustained, creative and critical discourse around ecology and nature in our exploding urban centres is a dangerous void, one that we will struggle to fill.
Origins. Ancestors. Roots. Rhizomes.
To root for: to cheer, to cheer on, to support and applaud.
The swifts have gone. They left about a week ago and the sky is silent over British towns and cities. By now they will be well on their way south, quartering marshes in the south of France and Spain, making for Gibraltar where they cross to Africa; airborne now until they return next May.
They are not with us for long, but for many people the screaming flocks around the rooftops are the very essence of summer. They are as much a part of urban life as we are, for these birds are totally dependent on buildings for their nest sites. Some colonies in older towns and cities depend on individual buildings, or old walls, which have been occupied for many years. The Wailing Wall in Jerusalem is thought to be the oldest known site of a colony. Ancient city walls of Siena in Italy have supported colonies of swifts for several hundred years. This is typical of many European towns dating from the medieval period with old buildings and town walls still supporting substantial colonies within the urban fabric. Roof spaces of imposing 19th Century buildings such as museums and City Halls, along with housing of the same period, are also favoured nesting locations.
Swift returning to the nest with a bulging throat pouch full of food. Photo David and Jackie Moreton
The colony of swifts that occupies the roof of the University Museum of Science in Oxford provided the basis for one of the most extraordinary ornithological studies, described by David Lack in his book Swifts in a Tower in 1956. He and his wife Elizabeth produced a detailed account of the life history and ecology of swifts that is a model in the literature of urban ecology.
Although we know a great deal about the intricacies of their lifestyle it has been difficult to make accurate estimates of their population both nationally and locally. During the 1980s and 90s most assessments assumed the UK swift population was relatively stable. However, since 2000 a number of surveys suggest that there has been a substantial decline in numbers. The British Trust for Ornithology estimates that over the period 1995 to 2010 numbers fell by 38% in the UK and by 46% in the Republic of Ireland. Following this the swift was put on the Amber List of species that are cause for concern.
As long distance migrants wintering in southeast Africa we can expect that swifts will be susceptible to ecological changes affecting their wintering grounds and migration routes. Current research is pinpointing these areas with remarkable accuracy, but we are a long way from knowing whether significant ecological changes are taking place. The reason for declining numbers may lie much closer to home. We know that great changes are affecting traditional breeding sites in urban areas of the UK and elsewhere in Europe, and it is now widely accepted that these changes could be responsible for declining numbers.
The fact is that new townscapes offer fewer opportunities for swifts. Modern buildings of glass and concrete have no suitable holes for nest sites, and older buildings especially private houses that were at one time suitable are increasingly being re-roofed in ways that make them inaccessible. Modern construction techniques are creating new urban landscapes with no room for swifts.
But need this be so? The lack of provision for swifts is not intentional. Their needs simply do not figure on the radar of most architects and developers who are more concerned with the functional and aesthetic qualities of new buildings. But since 2000 a number of new organisations have been set up to raise public awareness about what is happening and to promote the use of artificial nesting chambers in new buildings. Swift Conservation promotes action plans for swifts in many towns and cities, which have proved to be very successful. It has also tackled the building industry head-on to promote the use of nesting chambers in new developments.
A great variety of swift-bricks and nesting boxes are now available, designed to be incorporated into new buildings or added to existing ones. Swift bricks are standard sized building blocks, with a hole leading to an internal nesting chamber. The nest is entirely self-contained and there is no danger of any mess inside the building. The only external sign is a small hole in the wall. Other kinds of boxes can be fitted under the eaves of existing domestic and commercial buildings. Successful schemes using swift bricks include a number of notable buildings such as London’s police HQ at New Scotland Yard and the 2012 Olympic Village. In 2011 South Cambridgeshire District Council won the Best Practice Award from the UK Institute of Ecology and Environmental Management for a village project called Saving the Fulbourn Swifts, which involved fitting nest boxes to a large number of modern houses. This was particularly significant because architects and developers gain prestige from such awards
It seems that advice provided to businesses and other organisations by Swift Conservation has led to a significant shift in attitudes within the development industry. There is now a willingness to act when pressure is applied. The widespread adoption of such schemes might be precisely what is needed to reverse the current decline in numbers of swifts.
But some people are going a step further with the construction of swift towers akin to dovecots which can be erected anywhere in the built environment on car parks, commercial business estates and even on rooftops. Once the need is identified the possibilities are endless.
Biosolar Roof in Lausanne, Palais de Beaulieu—taking a break & contemplating —European goldfinch (Carduelis carduelis) Photo: Antoine Lavorel (2017)
Some weeks ago my colleagues (from the University of Applied Sciences in Geneva and the City of Lausanne, Nature and City Department) and I organized a half-day event: an exchange of experiences on the Swiss green roof standards practice with the Swiss Society of Engineers and Architects (SIA) in Lausanne.
It is easier to continue pretending that nature-based solutions can’t work than to take a new step which is not based on economic gain, but is instead based on ecology and the promotion of biodiversity.
“The SIA is Switzerland’s leading professional association for construction, technology and environment specialists. With 16,000 members from the fields of engineering and architecture, the SIA is a professional and interdisciplinary network whose central aim is to promote sustainable and high-quality design of the built environment in Switzerland” (http://www.sia.ch/en/the-sia/).
“The SIA and its members stand for quality and expertise in architecture and construction. The SIA is well known for its important work on standards. It develops, updates and publishes numerous standards, regulations, guidelines, recommendations and documentation, which are of vital importance for the Swiss construction industry. Some 200 committees are responsible for further developing these standards” (http://www.sia.ch/en/the-sia/).
The standards SIA 312 were published and printed in November 2013. The goal of this event in Lausanne was to see, after more than three and a half years, if these “practices“ are used and if they are an instrument to achieve requirements.
Standards in general
In this article, I discuss technical standards within the construction sector. There are various standards, meaning technical requirements that apply to various systems. Although not a legal tool, the standards insure that there are certain tested applications and practices which should guarantee a good quality planning, application and maintenance.
What is special about the standards SIA 312 “green roofs”?
SIA 312 is a highly technical document, which leads with very precise and short sentences, taking the reader from the main chapter of project study, through materials and implementation. I was a commission member when the project started in 2008, and the challenge of creating these standards was to integrate ecological parameters in order to achieve green roof quality as well improve biodiversity. Quality in terms of creating well thought out projects: planned wisely to achieve the desired vegetation, consideration of the life cycle of materials to be used, and the fauna and flora to be established in the long term. For the first time, ecological compensation matters and requirements were integrated in such a document in Switzerland.
The commission members represented all stakeholders involved in the building sector: architects, engineers, green roof companies, waterproofers, substrate producers, seeds and plant nurseries and city authorities. So, the points of reference were appropriately broad.
A brief overview of our federal law.
One key element is that the law incorporates the idea of ecological compensation. Ecological compensation is a collective term for measures that serve to maintain and restore the function of the habitats and their networking, especially in intensively used or densely populated landscapes. The Federal Act on the Protection of Nature and Cultural Heritage (NCHA) requires the cantons (federal states) to provide ecological compensation (Article 18b (2) NHG, Art. 15 NHV). One of the goals of ecological compensation is the promotion of indigenous biodiversity.
The following measures are suitable ecological compensation:
Strengthening and re-creating natural areas
Biodiversity support areas (formerly ecological compensation areas)
Ecological improvement in urban areas (cities etc.)
Measures in the forest (for example by natural forestry, old woodland, forest reserves)
Habitat connection and networks
The goals for ecological compensation can be subdivided according to quantitative, qualitative and disposable criteria, which are explained in the Swiss Landscape Concept.
Digging into the law itself can be very helpful, and reveals other requirements for the purpose of protecting the environment. Specifically, with regard to the green roof standards, there are the following:
2.7.1.1 Where ecological compensation measures are required, the following criteria shall be considered:
thickness of the substrate (variation). This means two things: 1) mix natural or recycled substrates (the natural environment in which an organism lives, or the surface or medium on which an organism grows or is attached) like sandy-graveled, excavation soil, gravel, sand, compost, crushed bricks, crushed ceramic etc. and 2) vary them in thickness for the application all over the planned surface (builds more micro habitats)—the minimum is 100mm thickness.
type of vegetation (plant associations), combination of species, depending on the environment you want to establish. For example, a dry meadow—open spaces with low and scarce vegetation, mixed perennials etc., this has to be considered in the planing process.
distribution of the substrate (variation): designing various landscapes on the surface.
storage of meteoric waters: the more variation in substrates thickness the more retention and buffer of meteoric waters / rain waters.
structures and networks for animal species (fauna), like wood logs, stones, piles of branches
seeds species and seedlings (local & indigenous species); choose local species and support the local flora and fauna (genetic diversity as well).
2.7.1.2 The following local conditions have an influence on the success of the greening of a roof; They are therefore to be taken into consideration during the study:
solar radiation (drop shadow, reflection, thermal radiation)
precipitation (sites that may be sheltered from rain)
2.7.1.3 The requirements for ecological compensation shall be classified as follows:
basic requirements (Table 2),
high requirements (section 2.7.2),
special requirements (section 2.7.3).
Within this classification we offer three choices, as well as the option to go directly to the utmost classification (special requirements). In the standards only the high and special requirements are described in detail. The basic requirements are included in the general information found within the standards (like 2.7.1.1. and plant species details).
2.7.2.1 High Requirements:
basic requirements as a function of climate
variable distribution of the vegetal layer: shaping of the vegetal layer on surfaces (From a static point of view, e.g. Minimum thickness of the vegetal layer of 80 mm, 120 mm and 150 mm, distributed for each thickness on 1/3 of the total area.)
plant class 3 (Table 6 within the standards).
Lausanne Service de Parcs et Domaines (SPADOM), different type of biodiverse green roofs. Photo: Nathalie Baumann (2017)
2.7.2.2 In addition four other criteria are to be defined according to the following list:
use of two or more substrate types (mixes)
use of topsoil or earthy materials of local origin, provided that their quality (permeability, part of clay, etc.) is appropriate, or of mineral substrates produced locally
Biodiversity-improving structures (facilities): sandy areas
Biodiversity-improving structures (facilities): gravel areas
Biodiversity-improving structures (facilities): dead – wood (piles of branches)
Biodiversity-improving structures (facilities): dead – wood (logs)
Biodiversity-improving structures (facilities): stone pile / mount
Biodiversity-improving structures (facilities): for target species, etc.
The list is extensive, providing specifications for plant associations and species. Of course you can also find information on extensive and intensive green roofs, plant species and vegetation methods (seeds, seedlings, plugs and hay mulch/dry meadow cut grass) water retention, grey water usage, biosolar (combination of biodiverse green roofs and solar panels) in this document.
What is the connection between a standard or a norm and nature in the city?
Standards are a tool or instrument, which can be used to require from any stakeholder in the construction environment, “standards” for ecological measures, on how to implement biodiverse nature in the building environment, in order to be sure that nature and biodiversity can be improved. Cities normally add to the base standards, providing additional documentation with graphics and photos in order to provide greater detail about the topic.
Another possible method of communicating standards is a demonstration installed by the city of Lausanne a year ago; a green roof exhibition square. The exhibition features different types of green roofs, including combinations of different natural substrates (mixtures), different vegetation methods (local & indigenous plants) and projects from biosloar roofing to urban farming on roofs.
Green roof exhibition, Lausanne SPADOM, Photo: Nathalie Baumann (2017)
The event we organized welcomed approximately 80 visitors; from private companies to public institutions, politicians, and stakeholders from the construction and building sector, coming from the whole Swiss French-speaking region.
Welcoming the participants at the SIA event and explaining the exhibition square of green roofs. Photo: Nathalie Baumann (2017)
We started with a visit of the exhibition square, one year after it had opened, to show that this demonstration is an additional feature that can accompany the written standard SIA 312. It serves as an excellent tool for the purpose of education and communication.
After the introduction, presentations and discussion, architects, waterproofers and the University of Applied Sciences in Geneva, demonstrated their experiences, their actual research, and best practices with regard to using this tool in implementing the SIA 312 standards.
All the presentations showed fabulous improvement either in research or in planning and/or installation of green roofs (including biodiverse and biosolar ones).
Background, a biosolar roof. Foreground, a modular box on wheels for expositions (mobile box), Lausanne, SPADOM (exhibition square). Photo: Nathalie Baumann (2017)
It demonstrated that with the help of an exhibition square, a different perception and awareness was awakened; as was an interest in changing practices and learning new ways of creating nature based solutions.
Looking back on this event, a number of questions arise. Why don’t we embrace these projects more readily, even though we know, that they are possible and easy to do? Why is there a kind of “fear”, that it is not going to work, despite the decades of work documenting good and best practice? Why is there disbelief in it?
My hypothesis is that it is easier to continue pretending that it (nature-based solutions, discontinued reliance on industrialized products, protection of resources, etc.) can’t work than to take a new step which is not based on economy or gain / turn over but instead is based on ecology and the promotion of biodiversity. We come back to the old and ongoing discussion about human beings and their relationship to nature. In my opinion, this remains paradox and represents the ongoing fight between the desire to control nature and wanting to keep it at a distance.
I was very pleased with the progress made within three years, knowing very well that such changes normally don’t come quickly. However, in the case of Lausanne, changes in the French speaking part of Switzerland have come quickly. With good tools, motivated and engaged people who want change, good communication and education actions, it is possible to change awareness among different professions and stakeholders in a short time frame.
Conclusion
What is the essence of this “standards story” for non-Swiss citizens? What is it for?
The idea behind this essay was to provide an example of something that could take place in any country and city in the world. But how can I be sure that this can happen everywhere? The key, in my opinion, is to find personalities in politics, urbanism, and the construction business and persuade them of the benefits and positive impacts of biodiverse & biosolar green roofs to both the environment and to people. Is not going to happen on its own, for sure. But as we did in Switzerland, pursue those ideas and practices you believe in, and which can be proved to work, given patience and determination. In doing so, you will demonstrate to other parts of the world, that change can happen, and instruments can be installed, which will have a positive impact on the environment as well as on the green economy.
I read this article by Menno Schilthuizen, a Dutch evolutionary biologist and ecologist, about the evolution of animal and plant species taking place in cities. In cities, evolution is propelled by two forces: the known laws of ecology AND the social dynamics of human society.
The city habitat, as a novel ecosystem, promises a towering stack of current and future questions that cross disciplines.
The article concludes that we are witnessing the emergence of a novel, hybrid type of ecosystem, one that is emerging at different locations all around the world at more or less the same time: the urban ecosystem. This made me question: why are more and more species calling the city home, and how do they adapt to survive in this new habitat?
Let’s start with my own home and habitat: Amsterdam. The Netherlands is one of the world’s most densely built up and populated countries. There are very few places in this country where you will find a horizon free of man-made structures, complete silence (even in the 650,000 ha appointed as silence area, where noise levels should not exceed 40 dB, there is no guarantee that the rules of silence will be complied with), or a night sky lit solely by the moon and stars (actually, we’ve got only two such spots). You will have to get yourself to the coastal outskirts to find these extraordinary places; in the rest of the country, ecology and society bump into each other constantly.
In order to guide this eco-societal contact, we have traditionally isolated one from the other by creating nature conservation areas and limiting urban sprawl by building compact cities. Zoning policies are valuable for protecting the functioning of different stakes that exist in a region: nature, food production, housing, industry, and so forth. The downside of prioritizing one function per area is the risk that the landscape becomes a collection of isolated or thinly connected islands. I will illustrate this using the “island” of intensive agriculture as an example of an isolated landscape, and the wildlife corridor as an example of a way to connect the “islands” of protected areas.
Large-scale intensive agriculture leads to impoverishment of the countryside’s natural character, chasing away birds and small animals that thrive on hedgerows and other linear elements that constitute the more traditional agricultural landscape in Europe. Removing grassy field margins and tree lines may obstruct water infiltration and increase erosion. At the same time, agricultural intensification and field enlargement lead to a decrease in the landscape’s attractiveness for tourism and outdoor recreation. People, just like other living creatures, enjoy variation in a landscape. So by prioritizing one function, in this case food production, there is a risk of losing other functions.
The second exemplary case is the wildlife crossing. The Dutch version of a wildlife crossing, the ecoduct, has become very popular over the past few years as an engineering solution for habitat fragmentation that connects natural areas with each other to enable safe animal crossings. And, as this video shows, wildlife crossings facilitate the movement of wildlife not only in Europe, but all over the world, including, for example, red crab migration in Australia. Yet since people are never far away, at least not in the Netherlands, the question has been raised whether to open wildlife crossings for recreational use. What would the deer, frogs, and hedgehogs think of sharing their crossing with hikers, bikers, and horseback riders?
Wildlife crossings are frequently built as a vegetated bridge over a highway—is there a place where ecology and society bump into each other more literally? Photo: Wageningen University & Research
Both cases illustrate a struggle between isolating versus mixing the diverse functions of the land. There is an ongoing debate about whether to propagate so-called nature-inclusive agriculture that offers opportunities for biodiversity increase through habitat creation—e.g., low-intensity management of drainage ditches that mimics natural processes. Farmers would receive financial compensation if they implement nature friendly measures. Then again, there is a strong argument against nature-inclusive agriculture: nature and large-scale agriculture have different demands on the land that are hard to satisfy simultaneously, such as in terms of the most preferred ground water level. So, in this case, ecology and society experience friction.
But the story is not just sad and gloomy. The bumping of ecology and society actually reveals very promising dynamics. And where do these dynamics reveal themselves most elegantly? In cities.
Because the city offers little space for isolation, functions need to be mixed. The city is a mix of buildings; infrastructure; flows of people, money and knowledge; but also home to an extremely diverse set of vegetation types and arrangements, water bodies, gardens, parks, and all things in between. The result is a unique ecosystem that operates on its own and that can only be expected to gain in importance, considering the increasing cover of urban land globally. Combined with the ongoing loss of natural habitat and the attraction of easily accessible food sources in the city, the emergence of the unique urban ecosystem has driven species formerly living in shaded forests and wild rivers to call this novel habitat home.
So, how do species adapt to urban living? Some are not so familiar yet with their new neighbors and remain on the lookout for spots with little human interference: the outskirts, industrial sites, and railway tracks. Amsterdam’s resident fox has built her hollow in a small patch of woodland right next to the train tracks and a large industrial area flanked by a busy road. Somehow, she manages to cross the road every day without getting hurt and with a meal for her family. On the menu: mostly rabbit (themselves once dumped here by their caretakers), alternated with the occasional rat or pigeon. A kingfisher has chosen to reside in one of the city’s port areas, a spot where the waters of river and sea collide to produce a large nutritional variety. From a sandy wall hidden by marshy bushes, the bird flies up and down while the ships go by. The grass snake has found a home in Amsterdam, too. It breeds in the urban forest, reproduces by the thousands, and the lucky few that are not turned into road kill or eaten by birds of prey can grow up to 100-110 cm long as adults. In March, these fellows like to go out in the sunshine, and you may very well find them sunbathing between the steamy stones of rail track levees—one of those urban fringes not crowded by people. If you’d like to see how the fox, kingfisher, and grass snake came to call the city home, the urban lives of these creatures have been beautifully captured in the 2015 documentary Amsterdam Wildlife, by city ecologist Martin Melchers.
Amsterdam’s resident fox jumping the water that divides its hollow from an industrial site. Photo: nrc (Dutch newspaper)
Other species, birds in particular, seem to mind the presence of human beings to a far lesser extent. Amsterdam is full of swallows building their nests underneath the tiles of sloping roofs; I witnessed a coot trying to build its nest on a deserted boat in the canal in front of my apartment; and people have found blackbirds nesting on inner-city balconies, even when that space is shared with the owner’s pet. People’s presence can even increase an individual’s chance of survival, as shown in a scene from the documentary Amsterdam Wildlife. In one of Amsterdam’s few high-rises, an office of ABN AMRO bank at the Zuidas business district, or “Financial Mile”, employees took over the care of a young Peregrine Falcon after it was deserted by its parents. The bank employees even came in on weekends to feed the bird. Peregrine Falcons are Amsterdam’s penthouse inhabitants; they like heights and started to inhabit the city when tall chimneys and office towers were constructed. From their lofts—often man-made nest boxes—they’re living an easy life, just waiting for a pigeon to fly by below before dinner is served.
A coot nesting on a heap of waste in the Amsterdam canals. Photo: belevenissenindenatuur.blogspot.nl
There are plenty more examples of animals adapting to city life. Madhusudan Katti recently described the growing population of endangered Kit Foxes in a California oil town in an article for TNOC. Matt Soniak has also provided entertaining stories about urban wildlife for Next City. In Chicago, for instance, coyotes have learned to navigate the city’s hectic traffic and can be found waiting patiently by the side of the road for traffic to stop, after which the coyotes start to make their way across. City coyotes in Chicago also appear to be healthier than their wild counterparts, as the city contains fewer of their predators and offers more food sources. Complex as they are, cities can turn out to be safer and steadier than many undeveloped areas. A severe drought in India that killed nearly half of the rural monkey population left Jodhpur’s city monkeys virtually unharmed. To other species, the urban heat island effect is what makes the city such an attractive place to live. Some insects just love the warmth, and this has resulted in more insects living inside than outside of cities. Meanwhile, people are purposely attracting biodiversity into the city. Residents actively plant flowers to attract pollinators and place bee hives on their green roofs, assisted and enthused by people and organizations trying to bring nature closer to the city.
So we know some of the reasons that animals come to the city, and have an idea of the ways in which they adapt their behavior to survive in their new homes. But does this adaptation also result in evolutionary changes? In his TNOC article, Madhusudan Katti mentions that Bakersfield’s Kit Foxes demonstrate novel traits. Also, some birds have adapted their singing to the urban environment. To deal with one of the largest urban burdens, low-frequency traffic noise, birds in San Francisco changed the tone of their melodies to a higher-pitched one. Or, they save their calls for the (relative) silence of the night. There are additional examples of typical urban bird behavior. Schilthuizen explains how, starting in 19th century Germany and extending from there to other European cities, blackbirds stopped migrating because cities offer plentiful food year round. In general, due to a lack of natural predators, urban birds are less sensitive to stress. This means that urban birds are evolving differently than birds of the same species that roam in non-urban areas. Research has shown that changes in urban bird behavior are taking place over decades, not millions and millions of years, and this process is labeled with the term HIREC: human-induced rapid evolutionary change.
Evolution-the-urban-way is happening all over the world. In a MOOC by Leiden University, Schilthuizen explains the effect on a species’ evolution if some reside in cities, facing strong selection pressure, and others of the same species don’t. Speciation may occur: the evolutionary splitting of a species into an urban and non-urban species. And if species evolve while in the city, how then do populations in different cities compare to each other? When the same evolutionary changes take place independently in different places or times, we arrive at what is called parallel evolution. These dynamics promise a towering stack of current and future questions for biologists and ecologists, but also for architects and planners (for a great example, see Mark Hostetler and colleagues’ new Building for Birds online tool), home owners and companies, food growers and traffic controllers. Most of all, these novel changes promise a chance to move from “nature despite people” and “nature for people” focuses all the way to a framework of “people and nature” that is underpinned by an interdisciplinary approach—just the right thing for our multi-function cities.
With the city habitat as a novel ecosystem, there is a whole new world to explore and discover for humans and, indeed, for many more animals.
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
show/hide list of writers
Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Keren Bolter, Fort Lauderdale Resilience requires two things: awareness and being in action. Be aware of what is occurring and what the risks are, and then take actions to reduce risks and increase capacity.
Cezar Busatto, Porto AlegreIt’s crucial to know whether a community is more or less resilient to evaluate its culture of participation and collaboration and its social cohesion and civic engagement.
Lorenzo Chelleri, L’Aquila Resilience is a socio-political choice, implying trade-offs. Metrics help, but won’t save us from the development of risk-washing strategies.
William Dunbar, TokyoResilience assessment via communities’ own perceptions, through Indicators of Resilience in Socio-ecological Production Landscapes and Seascapes.
Thomas Elmqvist, StockholmIncreasing efficiency is viewed as critical for achieving sustainability, but a too strong emphasis on efficiency may erode resilience making the urban system vulnerable, through insufficient overlap in critical functions should some fail.
Antoine Faye, DakarIn my understanding, if the process is aimed at fusing a “resilience” agenda with the mainstream urbanization agenda, then it should be a continuous learning process. In that sense, the concept is not a “stock” but rather a “flow”.
Richard Friend, BangkokIf we take resilience as being the ability to learn and reorganize in the face of changing circumstances and risks, then the need to measure resilience becomes a learning exercise.
Lance Gunderson, AtlantaIt is better to understand and assess resilience in urban areas, than to try and measure it for at least two reasons: difficulties in measurement due to different definitions of resilience; and attempts to measure such a property creates spurious certitude to a complex issue.
Tom Henfrey, BristolAll talk of resilience these days is highly politicised, and it’s important to take this into account when considering whether and how to measure resilience in cities.
Patricia Holly, Barcelona+NairobiFrom the metaphorical world of ‘resilience’ writ large, is an emerging consensus around the means of addressing through concrete, reliable, and comprehensive urban engagement, the visions, aims and goals of cities to become safer, more resilient places for the people, businesses, and organizations that live there.
Dan Lewis, Barcelona+NairobiFrom the metaphorical world of ‘resilience’ writ large, is an emerging consensus around the means of addressing through concrete, reliable, and comprehensive urban engagement, the visions, aims and goals of cities to become safer, more resilient places for the people, businesses, and organizations that live there.
Rachna LévêqueResilience at strategic city scale requires collective governance that looks beyond the specifics to respond to intricately linked urban stresses.
Shuaib Lwasa, KampalaMeasuring resilience in cities is locale and context specific. Context to the risk profile and local conditions that shape the risk but also provides the levers for making cities resilient.
Timon McPhearson, New YorkResilience is a property of a system. Cities are systems, so on the surface it makes sense to think of building “urban resilience”. But cities are complex entities that have multiple social, ecological, and technical systems, so it’s difficult to interpret the meaning of terms like “resilient city”, let alone evaluate them.
Franco Montalto, VeniceResilient cities will be as diverse in form and function as we are diverse as an urban populace. Resilience plans will morph and change as we learn and grow. Resilience solutions are local and diverse, not monolithic and standardized.
Henk Ovink, The HagueThe key question is not how to measure resilience, but how to get to resilience in an accountable and transparent way?
Elisabeth Peyroux, ParisMeasuring resilience should be considered both as a (very difficult) methodological and a political problem.
Catherine Sutherland, DurbanWhat needs to be measured is the entanglement of state policy and practice with the practices evident in the lives of ordinary people and how these together contribute to greater resilience. This is much harder to measure, as these entanglements emerge in multiple ways along multiple paths at different scales.
Pakamas Thinphanga, BangkokIf we take resilience as being the ability to learn and reorganize in the face of changing circumstances and risks, then the need to measure resilience becomes a learning exercise.
Claire Weisz, New YorkThe value of scientific data and metrics to track losses and gains across many variables and factors could be the engine to realize the resilient communities that we are currently unable to achieve.
Dan Zarrilli, New YorkReady to withstand and emerge stronger from the impacts of climate change and other 21st century threats.
David loves urban spaces and nature. He loves creativity and collaboration. He loves theatre and music. In his life and work he has practiced in all of these as, in various moments, a scientist, a climate change researcher, a land steward, an ecological practitioner, composer, a playwright, a musician, an actor, and a theatre director.
Resilience is one of three in a trinity of key urban design values: resilience, sustainability, and livability. Yet, of the three, resilience seems to reside the most in metaphor. Many are trying to build resilient cities and communities all over the world, and “resilience” works wonderfully (for the most part*) as a metaphor. Having a “resilient city” sounds like a great idea that everyone could support. No? But to design for resilience suggests we can identify it, plan for it. There are many definitions, each addressing different sectors of thought or action: ecological resilience, economic resilience, community resilience, engineering resilience, psychological resilience, and so on. When we descend from the heights of metaphor we are quickly faced with four key questions, practical questions: resilience to what, resilience of what, resilience for whom, and decided by whom? In addition, the answers generally must be specified locally. As a metaphor, resilience is deeply susceptible to risk-washing and cynical politics. As a grounded concept, it has the potential to address serious human and ecological problems. It’s a steep challenge, community by community.
(*And then there are the social patterns and systems that we wish were less resilient: social systems that seem to tolerate or even perpetuate corruption, racism, injustice and poverty come to mind.)
Of the 21 respondents to this roundtable, some are working on direct or indirect metrics. What makes them relevant and validated? Some are measurement skeptics. If it can’t be measured then how can we construct resilience (in an adaptive management sense)? Some are actively engaged in city building and policy. How is resilience an actionable concept?
In a time of gathering stresses from climate and ecological change, economic stress, and the persistent challenges of sustainability, justice and livability, resilience is a key area of thought with enormous potential. We must continue to work to bring it down from the 10,000 meters of metaphor to functional concepts on the ground. As we build and improve the cities of world, how can we act on the core ideas and promise of resilience?
Dr. Bolter has planned and collaborated on several projects including the MIT Sea Level Rise Scenario Planning and Alternative Futures project and an Anglo-Floridian partnership to exchange adaptation strategies between the UK and the US. For the Southeast Florida Regional Planning Council, Keren helped create a Guide for Adaptation Action Areas, in order to identify areas that experience coastal flooding due to extreme high tides and storm surges.
Resilience requires two things: awareness and being in action. Be aware of what is occurring and what the risks are, and then take actions to reduce risks and increase capacity. In a completed design for resilience, you must go beyond planning to implementation. This transition can have many obstacles, but creativity, inspiration and leadership can overcome resistance. You can measure changes in resilience by monitoring unique indicators of performance over time.
Let’s move from these abstract ideas to focus on examples in my city, Fort Lauderdale, located in Broward County, Florida. Sea level rise risks here are increasing dramatically in many dimensions, including physical, social, and economic. The Southeast Florida Regional Climate Compact has a unified projection which predicts 7-18 centimeters of sea level rise by 2030 and 17-61 centimeters by 2060. The City of Fort Lauderdale already experiences tidal flooding (see picture). With the majority of the City’s land sitting at elevations between 1.2 and 1.8 meters above sea level, there is significant risk to storm surge. In addition, the porous limestone aquifer is just a meter below the ground surface during the wet season. Increasing sea levels will continue to compromise drainage and reduce our capacity to store ground water. With these increases in flooding, water management issues will impact more people and more property due to increased growth in the city. There are a variety of health impacts from threats such as seepage from septic tanks, vector-borne diseases, and mold. Financial risks include increased insurance rates driving down property values, in turn reducing the tax base, which will limit infrastructure and drainage improvements. What about vulnerable populations, and issues such as lack of a vehicle and public transportation options during hurricane evacuations?
Now that we understand the risks, how can we measure resilience? I will explore qualitatively. Adaptation to sea level rise tends to be classified in three ways: accommodate (modify structures, for example by elevating, floodproofing), protect (seawalls, living shorelines), and retreat (or at least stop developing in those high-risk areas!).
Flood risk into the future. Credit: Keren Bolter
Low water, Broward County, Florida.
There are policy actions, design standards, and outreach strategies which can prioritize adaptation. Fort Lauderdale has been a champion in all three of these arenas. In 2011, Florida’s Community Planning Act (HB 720) was created, providing Adaptation Action Area language at the state level. Broward County was the first local government in the state adopt Adaptation Action Areas (AAAs). Last June, Fort Lauderdale integrated the language as well. AAAs are a designation in the Coastal Management Element of a local government comprehensive plan which identifies one or more areas that experience coastal flooding due to extreme high tides and storm surge, and that are vulnerable to the related impacts of rising sea levels for the purpose of prioritizing funding for infrastructure needs and adaptation planning.
High water, Broward County, Florida.
Leadership from the local government had driven up awareness and action, working hard to inform residents and municipal employees with education workshops and promotional materials.
In one neighborhood, Las Olas Isles, which frequently experiences tidal flooding, drainage improvement plans include 50 tidal control valves and 48 baffles with an anticipated City budget of US$8.5 million over the next 5 years. In addition to government action, there are private businesses which are investing in awareness and action. As part of Coastal Risk Consulting, I have been helping to provide Coastal Rapid Risk Assessments which inform residents about the risks of nuisance flooding and storm surge at the parcel level over a 30-year mortgage period. These are specific examples of actions which reduce impacts which provide a foundation which we can ramp up as risks increase.
Cezar Busatto is married, father of twins, Leonardo and Carlos Ernesto, born in Veranópolis city and an Economist from the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS).
Resilience is a complex approach to complex problems we have not been able to deal with in our cities and societies. Therefore, I understand resilience as a new hollistic approach that tries to reconnect knowledge that has been imprisoned in silos in the last centuries.
The one dimension type of solution is the origin of unsustainability. Gross National Product measuers economic growth but is not able to measure sustainable development. The United Nations made a big paradigm change introducing Human Development as a new measure of development. But it’s still short, if we consider the need to take into account the measurement of environmental, cultural, political, institutional and other dimensions of development.
How to begin that paradigm change?
In my opinion, we need to consider two basic concepts: territory and collaboration. Territory is where people live, grow their families and communiites, have their public spaces and social equipments. It’s the space of convivience. Collaboration is a way common people connect to each other in their informal networks on everyday life.
Bringing together collaboration and territory, we begin to restablish the necessary connections of knowlwdge to create innovative approaches to solve old problems.
Innovative and plural apporaches take into account different ideas and dimensions of a given situation, helping to build more complex, sustainable and resilient answers to it.
We are talking about articulating multistakeholder networks getting together people from communities, private sector, government and academy to deal with real problems local communities have to face with. These person-to-person (p2p) networks are real democratic experiences of dialogue and conversation among common citizens and foster better convivience and quality of life.
This is not a localist type of proposal. Local challenges are very offen connected to global ones. Let’s take a city, for instance: the challenges people face in a neighborhood are very often connected to challenges in the whole city. And it’s difficult to imagine that challenges found in a city would be disconnected from challenges at a broader scale. Besides, the p2p conversations and connections through new technologies connect local to global, bring new knoledge to the table and give more sustainable and resilient answers to local issues.
Moreover, collaborative territorial networks dealing with real and everyday challenges assure people’s motivation and mobilization. To achieve this purpose, the commitment of government staff in the dynamics of these networks is also very important.
That’s the social methodology we conceived in developing Porto Alegre’s resilient strategy. The core of our strategy is the articulation of local resilient networks in each of the 17 territories in which the city is divided. These networks define their main challenges and the way to face with them in a multistakeholder type of commitment. When the answer depends on public money, the local network of Participatory Budgeting is called to place a priority on the specific project in order to be included in the Public Budget. Each local resilient network will finally have an action plan to strenghten resilience in a given territory.
At the same time, all these local resilience networks come together to define the main challenges for the city as a whole. In a collaborative workshop we select what we call the focal areas to make Porto Alegre more resilient. Working groups are then organized to get deeper in the diagnosis and formulation of a plan of acction for each focal area. The consolidation of the territorial and focal plans will result in the resilient plan for the city.
In order to measure resilience, we will also need an innovative approach. We must of course take into account wellbeing conditions like the meeting of basic needs, public services provision and economic opportunities. But I understand it is crucial to know whether a community is more or less resilient to evaluate its culture of participation and collaboration and its development of social cohesion and civic engagement.
Lorenzo is the Director of the International Master Degree City Resilience Design and Management and Chair of the Urban Resilience Research Network (URNet) at the International University of Catalonia (UIC). With a background in urban and regional planning, environmental policy and urban geography, his research and teaching activities critically address the governance and planning processes related to city resilience governance.
City resilience? Take resilience thinking (the theory) and apply it to cities. “Nonsense”. As an urban planner, this is what came to my mind when I first came across the definition of resilience 10 years ago. Indeed, if defined as the capacity to overcome threats, retaining system structure, functions and identity, to me this was nonsense if were to be translated to cities. Why? Because a part from Lewis Mumford teaching us that “the need for social life” and “the commodities exchange opportunities” always represented the eternal core identity and function of any metropolis, city or settlements, the real capacities of cities, evident through history as the most durable (or resilient) human artifacts, resides in their transformational capacities.
Measuring city resilience? This is of course necessary and useful, and makes a lot of sense. This is not at all contradictory. The application of resilience thinking to cities, the metaphor of resilience (or “dealing with change”) has the positive effect of inspiring planners to tackle some specific urban challenges. It became worth finding measures to address resilience to disasters (recovery capacities), to climate impacts (adaptive capacities) to carbon emissions (mitigation capacities), etc. As presented from various colleagues within this roundtable, there are different valuable metrics and methods to measure such necessary and specific aspects of resilience related to urban development.
However, while I do agree on the need to assess, measure, and enhance city specific resiliences, my main concern is related to the emergence of a new overall paradigm, framing resilience per se as an imperative urban goal, a label potentially fitting within business as usual development agendas and promoting resilient cities rankings thanks to its indicators and metrics.
How can this be the case? We have now reached a general consensus on the need, normative compliance and positive outcomes related to resilience building. However, notwithstanding agreeing on resilience being a multifaced concept, many efforts have been spent on framing, promoting and measuring specific resiliences, while less attention has been spent in critically assessing and evaluating the trade-offs between resilience and other development goals. For instance, the “overcoming change” normative paradigm, should be operationalized through three very different approaches, namely “maintaining – adapting – transforming” (respectively aiming to build robustness, introduce incremental change or introducing long term disruptive change within the system).
The three coexisting and conflictive approaches through which is possible to operationalize resilience by “overcome change”. Credits: adapted from Chelleri et al (2015) “Resilience trade-offs: addressing multiple scales and temporal aspects of urban resilience”, Environment and Urbanization (27)-1: 181-198.
These coexisting but conflictive approaches, which could be operationalized through hundreds of different actions building resilience, can imply specific or strategic trade-offs. For instance, how would one frame long term transformational resilience synergies with enhancing the robustness and business continuity of current critical infrastructures? How to build resilience through community led initiatives (enhancing local self-sufficiency) in synergy with the need of growing the international competitiveness of a city? The main issue is that resilience, as sustainability, should be a social and political choice, about how and which substantial change, or incremental change, or asset to be maintained through robustness, promote. Green-washing experiences are a warning of the potential manipulation of metaphorically positive concepts, like sustainability. While our unsustainable urbanization process takes place, we should carefully avoid the rise of Risk-washing development strategies, manipulating the normative message of resilience building. The assumption of the normativity of resilience hides the issue of who is building it, for whom, and possibly replacing urban sustainability outcomes with urban (un-sustainable) durability.
Within the academic debate, it is clear to us that resilience is not just the flipside of vulnerability, and that in cities these three approaches related to resilience building (figure above) should coexist within the emerging urban resilience thinking. However, on the ground, resilience and its metrics, do not provide practitioners with any guide on how to prioritize or manage the process of building development pathways accounting possible resilience trade-offs. For instance, if we take resilience metrics and assess both the renewable energy distributed network of a very sustainable community, and the redundancy and modularity of a decentralized fossil fuel energy network, owned from a big company, they could eventually score the same level of resilience, in providing a reliable energy service. But what about their embedded trade-offs respect to sustainability, or social justice, or economic implications of such resilience metrics?
As Aristotle said, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. For urban resilience I think we should learn and frame our thinking following this quote. Urban resilience is not just the sum of its parts. Measuring its social, economic, infrastructures or disaster facets performance is key. It is key only once we are clear on the city overall goals (like achieving sustainability, or inclusiveness, enhancing people quality of life, etc.) in order to frame how each of the resilience facets could support or impede the path to achieve them.
William Dunbar is Communications Coordinator for the International Satoyama Initiative project at the United Nations University Institute for the Advanced Study of Sustainability (UNU-IAS) in Tokyo, Japan.
A community-based approach to measuring resilience in peri-urban areas
“Resilience” has gained increasing attention in recent years, to the extent that it seems to be rivaling “sustainability” as the word of the day in many fields. This makes it increasingly important to study resilience systematically; otherwise there is a risk of the term becoming overused and therefore essentially meaningless. Effectively measuring resilience is one step toward systematic study, keeping in mind that the goal is not just to study resilience but to optimize it.
Defining a community’s resilience loosely as its ability to withstand various types of changes, shocks and disturbances, unfortunately the only way to directly measure resilience is to subject a community to shocks and disturbances and see if it withstands them, which is obviously not practical. So we are left with estimating or measuring indirectly. One way to do this is by using elements that are thought to contribute to resilience and can be measured directly as indicators.
Ideally, it would be possible to use these to produce hard, quantitative data that could then be used in some sort of universal index of resilience. The fact that different communities exist in different ecological and cultural contexts, however, means that various responses to related challenges may contribute to or undermine resilience differently in different places. This can make it difficult if not impossible to identify and correctly weight quantitative elements of resilience. An alternative approach is to rely on qualitative, perception-based data. This roundtable entry presents an example of the latter approach.
The “Indicators of Resilience in Socio-ecological Production Landscapes and Seascapes (SEPLS)” were developed through a collaborative activity carried out under the International Partnership for the Satoyama Initative (IPSI) by Bioversity International and the United Nations University Institute for the Advanced Study of Sustainability (UNU-IAS). After extensive field-testing around the world, they were further refined and updated in a Toolkit publication in collaboration with UNDP and the Institute for Global Environmental Strategies (IGES), providing guidance on how to apply the indicators. Much of the indicators framework applies to peri-urban areas, particularly where a significant amount of food production takes place. As was pointed out in a recent TNOC essay, peri-urban areas can provide connections between people living in urban areas and rural areas and can see benefits in resilience through effective management.
The process outlined in the Toolkit involves engaging a community in “resilience assessment workshops”, in which participants provide scores for the 20 indicators based on their own perceptions of their community and landscape. Example indicators include: “The landscape or seascape is composed of a diversity/mosaic of natural ecosystems and land uses”; “Common resources are managed sustainably in order to avoid overexploitation”; and “Rights and access to resources and opportunities for education, information and decision-making are fair and equitable for all community members, including women.”
Perhaps more important than the numerical scoring of the indicators is the process of having the community gather to discuss their resilience. Many participants have never considered resilience as a concept before, and it can be eye-opening for them to think about how different kinds of resource management in their landscape affect the community’s prospects. This can then feed into a long-term process of holistic resource management including repeated assessments and actions based on their results.
There are trade-offs involved in measuring resilience with either a purely quantitative approach or a qualitative, perception-based approach like the one introduced here. The former may provide the sort of comparable numerical data preferred for making decisions about resource allocation, but that same data may be less useful to those on the ground in any landscape. The latter, on the other hand, may not provide comparable data, but may pay off in secondary benefits like improved communication, understanding and motivation to work toward a resilient community.
Measuring resilience is a problematic but extremely important issue for urban as well as other communities, and I hope the Indicators of Resilience in Socio-ecological Production Landscapes and Seascapes (SEPLS) will help forward the process. I encourage readers to download the Toolkit publication, and I would like to thank TNOC for the opportunity to take part in this roundtable and discuss these issues.
Community members scoring the Indicators of Resilience at a workshop in Ondangwa, Namibia: Photo: William Dunbar
Thomas Elmqvist is a professor in Natural Resource Management at Stockholm University and Theme Leader at the Stockholm Resilience Center. His research is on ecosystem services, land use change, natural disturbances and components of resilience including the role of social institutions.
To start out, I will make two statements about resilience. Firstly, my view is that resilience represents a systems approach (non-normative) to meet the challenges of sustainable development (normative goal). So at the outset, resilience could be either good or bad depending on the context. We certainly struggle with undesired resilience (e.g. dictatorships and corruption are examples of systems often being resilient but undesired by most). Secondly, resilience is a property of a system not of a locality. There are many instances where resilience has been linked to particular city or small geographic region. But this may lead to many unintended consequences, for example, building (desired) resilience in one city may lead to erosion of resilience or create undesired resilience elsewhere. Only if we view resilience as being a non-normative systems approach where cities are viewed as open systems connected to the rest of the world in many ways, may we be able to design appropriate indicators of urban resilience and measure some of its components.
Although we are still far from identifying such measures I will suggest two areas where we should start developing these, admitting the large challenge we have ahead of making any such measure operational.
The first starts out from the common view that increasing efficiency in urban functions (transport, energy, governance) is critical for achieving sustainability. However, in some instances a too strong emphasis on efficiency (maximizing outputs) can erode resilience through a deliberate reduction in redundancy and connectivity. The loss of redundancy and connectivity might create vulnerabilities in the urban system as a result of an increased dependence on a few sources and the entire system might become unstable having insufficient overlap in functions. In the figure below there is an evident difference between a self-organized system/network (to the left), having high redundancy in connections between different parts (many alternative pathways if one fails) and designed systems/networks (to the right).
There is empirical and theoretical evidence for that the trade-off between efficiency and resilience is real, and thus it would be worthwhile developing a measure of redundancy or degree of overlap for critical urban functions to avoid loosing desired redundancy. Such a measure could for example be based on some rather simple metrics developed in network theory.
Secondly, to build resilience, urban regions must take increased responsibility for and take into account their profound connections with, and impacts on, the rest of the planet. Collaboration across a global system of cities could and should provide a new framework to sustainably manage resource chains. Here a measure is needed that capture the intensity and type of such collaborations across multiple scales.
So combined, such measures could provide us with guidance for where and how much we should invest in redundancy in urban functions and in governance and institutions and for engaging in collaboration across a global system of cities. The outcome would likely also help us understand some of the true costs of sustainability.
However, it is still uncertain if we will succeed in finding such measures that truly could become operational and used in urban regions across the world. Perhaps we may alternatively view resilience as a concept that brings new dimensions and insight into urban planning. Insights from resilience thinking provide urban planning with a new language and metaphors for the dynamics of change and new tools and methods for analysis and synthesis. Most importantly, a resilience approach confronts modes of governance based on assumptions of predictability and controllability with a mode based on dynamics and non-linearity. However, resilience thinking provides planning with little guidance in prioritizing or addressing tradeoffs between different development strategies, highlighting the inherently political character of urban governance. Perhaps these insights from resilience thinking into urban planning combined with the acknowledgement of the limitations of these in addressing trade-offs, e.g. among different groups of people, is perhaps still the important contribution resilience can make to a sustainable urban and socially equitable future.
Antoine is the Chief Resilience Officer (CRO) of the city of Dakar in Senegal, West Africa, where he oversees the elaboration of a Dakar Resilience Strategy.
The idea of “resilience” is gaining ground in urban policy circles. Although differently defined, the concept is commonly accepted as being the process from which, cities as complexes systems “of individuals, communities, institutions and businesses”, would be able to gain “the capacity to survive, adapt, and grow no matter what kinds of chronic stresses and acute shocks they experience” (100 RC of the Rockefeller Foundation).
On one hand, provided that above definition hold true and is widely shared, we will at least success in taking “resilience” out of the realm of metaphor and avoid that every actor gives a meaning to the concept depending on the trajectory that that actor wants to adopt.
On the other hand, in my personal understanding, if the process is aimed at fusing a “resilience” agenda with the mainstream urbanization agenda, then it should be a continuous learning process. In that sense, the concept is not a “stock” but rather a “flow”. Legitimately, the question of “how do you measure resilience in cities? How would you know if your city or your community was resilient?” makes sense only if we encompass that “resilience” is not acquired, but rather sought.
Indeed, the commitment towards resilience is accompanied with challenges that open to opportunities. Both, perspectives depend on various factors. These factors can ease or deepen the challenges while maximizing or annihilating the opportunities. For instance, in Africa, the present context of that of rapidly growing cities has produced two key figures, namely; informality and entrenched inequality. A prerequisite for building resilience in this part of the world is to understand how informality and entrenched poverty interact and are intertwined.
We are not without knowing that informality manifests itself with settlement on unplanned land without public services and bulk infrastructures, unregistered and or transfers of constructions, insecure job, unregulated trade and service provision; all of such widening the already existing inequality between the “have” and the “have not” and deepening the vulnerability of the later to resist to shocks and stresses.
However, above all that precedes, what born out of informality is perhaps the inability for the institutional (systems) of the city to capture data from these constituents in order to build a base line to inform the prerequisite status with which to depart from in elaborating a resilience strategy. Thus, the most difficult aspect of building resilience in city like Dakar in Senegal is the unavailability of reliable data to form solid hypothesis and assumptions based on reliable indicators. In such case, “measuring resilience to know if your city or your community was resilient” will be just hazardous since there are no indicators to assess the real impacts of policies and infrastructure investments.
According to the World Council on Cities Data (WCCD), cities are subject to complex dynamics forcing us to dwell upon a necessary framework if we are to understand the interaction of natural and human system within that specific space. In that view, the WCCD adds that the resilience of cities to withstand the impacts of natural and social evolution and changes depends predominantly on the flow and efficient management of resources. I sense that better indicators can enable us to better measure the resources flows and interactions towards holding governments and communities accountable to their targets and goals which is the ultimate objective of resilience.
Richard Friend is in the Environment Department, University of York, and member of the management group of the University’s International Development Network.
Measuring resilience through self-assessment and public dialogue
If we take resilience as being the ability to learn and reorganize in the face of changing circumstances and risks, then the need to measure resilience becomes a learning exercise. Given the nature of urbanization as a deeply contested process of change entwined with issues of power, knowledge and rights, promoting such learning around measurements of resilience becomes a process of social learning and dialogue. Yet it also needs to be a process that can accommodate different values and interests in ways that allow for innovation, and ideally, for socially just and ecologically viable outcomes. The major challenge has been in getting issues of climate change and resilience on the policy agenda.
Our work on promoting urban climate resilience in South-east Asia has been based on a framework that is grounded in Shared Learning Dialogue (SLD) processes—essentially spaces for informed public dialogue that bring diverse urban stakeholders together. Combined with this, we have approached urban systems as comprising:
infrastructure, technology, ecosystems,
institutions and
agents (organizations, individuals).
Measurement of urban resilience requires consideration of these three elements and the ways in which they interact.
We have experimented with different approaches to measuring resilience; the jury is still out on which approaches work best but certainly different approaches serve different ends.
From our perspective from city level engagement in Thailand and Vietnam, we have had greatest success adopting self-assessment methods. For example, the UNISDR Local Government Self Assessment Tool (LGSAT) is based around the Hyogo Framework for Action key essentials, providing a kind of global standard. It is framed largely around disaster risk reduction rather than climate change, although elements of climate resilience do appear in some of the questions. These generally have to separated out into two discussion points—for example, assessment around disaster risk reduction in many circumstances is far more positive than around climate resilience.
The questions in the LGSAT are efforts at defining key elements of resilience. This is also requires further refinement around characteristics of resilience which we have taken as being—diversity, flexibility, redundancy, safe failure, access to information and participation in decision-making.
By adapting this framework, and focusing in on core elements or urban resilience around governance, institutional coordination, land use planning etc.—we have been able to facilitate dialogue among state and non-state actors that has identified key areas of weakness (and in rare cases strengths!), and also the very different, conflicting perspectives of different actors. In this way we are able to open up for public debate, issues around resilience of what, for whom – and critically, who defines ‘resilience’.
The focus of this effort has been less concerned with the score and more with the dialogue. Even so, the record of the dialogue becomes a point of reference for city stakeholders to monitor progress in improving resilience. However the challenge still remains in actually achieving degrees of urban resilience that are also socially just.
Pakamas has a technical background in biological sciences and coastal ecology with a Ph.D. from James Cook University, Australia and a bachelor’s degree from the University of Oxford. She joined TEI in late 2008.
I think it is better to understand and assess resilience in urban areas, than to try and measure this property for at least two reasons. These reasons include 1) difficulties in measurement due to different definitions of resilience, 2) and that by attempting to measure such a property creates spurious certitude to a complex issue.
The word resilience has been defined and applied in at least three different ways by different scholars or scholarly fields. Such different definitions imply not only different metrics and approaches to measurement, but also the feasibility of measurement. One definition, used by physical scientists and engineers is referred to as engineering resilience. For such systems, there is an assumption of a single configuration (regime, state or identity) and resilience is defined as the magnitude of a disturbance and the capacity of the system to recover from that disturbance. For the engineering type of resilience a variety of quantitative metrics have been proposed which relate to the rate at which the system recovers to a pre-disturbance state. Such metrics may be a recovery of processes or structures, such as restoration of power outages, or rebuilding buildings. Even with this type of resilience, there seems to be little agreement on which of the many attributes should be measured in practice.
Another type of resilience is called ecological resilience. Ecological resilience refers to the shifts in controlling variables that mediate or control the transition from one state or regime to another regime. Moreover, the variables that influence such shifts generally operate at different scales of space and time. Because of the dynamic nature of these thresholds, and difficulties in measuring such slow and fast dynamics, this type of resilience may be assessed, but is (for all intents and purposes) not quantifiable or measureable.
The third type of resilience has been described as community resilience. Some social scientists reject the notion or existence of social systems and hence community resilience. For those who do recognize community resilience, it can be characterized as the capacity of a group or organization to function with respect to specific disturbances or crises. Due to the novelty of configurations, ranges of functions, a large and complex number of variables that define a community’s capacity to respond to a specific disturbance, such resilience is also (for all intents and purposes), not computable or measureable.
When faced with a new type of collective problem, we try to gather information in order to develop an understanding that helps direct how we act or intervene. In this case, trying to understand and direct trajectories of cities or urban centers over time, the concept of resilience has become part of the discourse. In efforts such as the Rockefeller Foundation’s 100 Resilient Cities, or NOAA’s Coastal Resilience program, resilience is the central organizing theme. Implicit in these programs is the use of resilience as a normative term (as in a city or coast should be resilient). Yet there are a number of resilient facets of cities, such as slums, impoverished economic zones, or air-pollution zones that are very resilient. Such areas can be quite resilient, yet are not desirable.
Attempting to measure or index resilience (and there are lots of folks that say they can measure resilience) creates a spurious certitude that is likely to drive maladaptive actions and constrain creative and productive actions that may help change unwanted trajectories.
Measurement and power: The political ecology of urban resilience
All talk of resilience these days is highly politicised, and it’s important to take this into account when considering whether and how to measure resilience in cities. Most treatments of urban resilience are overtly or covertly complicit with the appropriation of the concept by conservative forces seeking to reinforce inequalities of wealth and power. The essence of this neoliberal discourse is to conflate resilience with persistence, as an outcome whose necessity needs no qualification. Urban resilience, therefore, is presented as the ongoing existence of cities in something like their present form: nonwithstanding either its desirability or wider consequences.
Although ill-informed and inchoate—for reasons I’ll explain shortly—this narrative is implicit in almost all mainstream discourse on resilience. It is abetted by an ingenuous and academically fashionable postmodern notion that resilience is not a well-defined quality of complex systems, but a purely normative concept that can and does mean all things to all people. Created and sustained largely by social scientists lacking any familiarity with relevant scientific theory—and often any apparent notion that the possibility that such theory exists—this notion is blind to, among many other things, the effects of power relations on the dynamics of social systems.
Resilience is neither the mere fact of persistence; nor does the latter reliably imply the former. Resilience is a quality: a capacity to negotiate change through creative responses, including the prospect of transformation to a radically different form when conditions demand. In their current form, cities inherently lack resilience. They depend on throughputs of matter and energy that are utterly unsustainable, and consequently endure only because they externalise the consequent social and ecological damage: in other words by systematically undermining resilience elsewhere. Their primary function—reflecting the main, unstated, policy goal of almost every government in the world—is to ensure that wealth and power accrue disproportionately to those who already have both in excess, at everyone else’s expense. An inevitable consequence of increasing inequity is to intensify resource flows to even less sustainable levels, further undermining resilience in the city itself, its constituent subsystems, and connected systems elsewhere. All centralised initiatives on ‘resilience’ of which I am aware are actually concerned with perpetuating this state of affairs.
For this reason, no city in existence can plausibly claim to be resilient. Nor, limited by present conditions and mindsets, do we have any solid idea what a resilient city would look like. There are some inspiring visions, and some good ideas of how to get there, but little prospect of progress under present urban governance and planning regimes. Each disruption experienced by a city is a signal of its fundamental lack of resilience, and hence an opportunity to identify routes towards transformative change. Urban resilience strategies that emphasise maintaining the status quo ignore these signals and dismiss these opportunities. In doing so, they force change in exactly the wrong direction. Where such strategies form the basis of measurement, the results will be useless at best, and more likely counterproductive.
Resilience theory shows that, in ecological systems at least, when resilience changes it does so abruptly and without warning. The indicators that a system is approaching such a threshold bear no predictable relationship to the changes that take place when it is reached, and are evident only in retrospect, if at all. Rather than seeking to measure either progress to resilience or resilience itself, what in my view is needed is a more qualitative approach to fostering the conditions that can enable such a transformation. This requires political commitment to dismantle existing political, economic and financial institutions, and support for meaningful efforts (pretty much all by grassroots actors too marginal with respect to these institutions to have vested interests in their perpetuation) to replace them with flexible and adaptive structures able to transform in whatever way necessary to allow resilience. Only then can begin the work of building genuinely resilient cities and societies—that sustain themselves, grow and flourish in ways that allow interdependent social-ecological systems to do the same.
As a civil engineer and private consultant, Dan Lewis has worked in urban reconstruction and housing programmes in South Africa and Chile as well as with First Nations communities in his home region on Vancouver Island, Canada since 1987.
Resilience as a metaphor? A journey from intuition to logic
The journey from concept to concrete is observable in the dozens, maybe hundreds of resilience-based dialogues currently underway. Everything from food security to kinder-garden care; ‘community’ to global; climate change to criminality; and metrics to ‘zeitgeist’ are being explored, debated, calculated, and sometimes even acted upon. Perhaps this is the foundation of the metaphor—resilience described by chaotic, disjointed, soup-to-nuts type interests.
Sifting through the varia however, is non-ending, often incredibly interesting, and virtually impossible to isolate the gems within the limitations of time and growing demand for understandable, reliable, and strategic action. Nowhere is the pressure more acute than from the cities and towns throughout the world asking for guidance and seeking support to introduce new planning, development, and management paradigms that (ultimately) result in better capacity to withstand the shocks and stresses they face daily. Our journey within UN Habitat’s urban resilience programming begins from this point.
Key words shaping the approach include: ‘cities and towns – understandable, reliable, strategic – planning, development and management – and action’. In the best case, the manner in which cities—all cities—change, is through the functions of planning, development and management. These functions, when they are undertaken in a strategic, reliable and understandable manner can positively re-shape cities over time.
The implications are huge however. Planning in the 21st century hasn’t changed since the beginning of the 20th century, and the inertia is enormous. Development patterns, driven by grossly unsustainable, real-estate driven, land use, has produced urban sprawl (and trillions in profits…and losses) that will take decades to undo. Urban management practice continues in the silo’d bureaucratic models that seem timeless and ubiquitous. In spite of this; that there is demand for creating more resilient cities and towns, is indicative—not conclusive—of a desire for change, and gives us the first milestone in the journey from metaphorical to literal.
The challenge now begins to take shape—introducing comprehensible, reliable and strategic action through urban planning, development and management to achieve—over time—better resilience to both acute and longer term shocks and stresses.
Breaking down these key words or ‘elements’ was essential to getting from concept to concrete, and finding a comprehensive approach to meeting the challenge. It began simply with the who, what, where, when and how interrogation which rapidly blossomed into a pretty complex array of interdependent, multi-stakeholder, multi-sector, multi-hazard ingredients in the mix. However, even this helps move the journey forward.
Accepting, for example, that an urban ‘planning’ process must be ‘comprehensible’ we understand implicitly that this means different things to different people—in other words, it demands ‘reliable’ translation giving meaning to all stakeholders from politicians to bankers, community members to utility operators, and so on. The same applies to urban ‘development’ and ‘management’ processes, and we have access to methodologies for consultation, collaboration and engagement that are well developed and tested throughout the world. Introducing new content—knowledge and process that delivers elements of resilient urban development—and strategically re-orients how a city or town develops, benefits from these tools and ensures that all stakeholders contribute, own and support both short, and long term aims.
Similarly, understanding that cities are incredibly complex, complicated, dynamic and unique systems; creating understandable and reliable baselines from which to plan, develop and manage within a resilience-based strategy, requires layered communication that provides meaning to that same diverse group of stakeholders. Moreover, developing an approach that is applicable in all cities and towns demands standardizing both the urban systems model, and the language and meaning of resilience-based planning, development and management.
Why? Try and find out how many cities there are in the world today. Wikipedia ridiculously defines 85, most of them in China. Other sources range from 4,000 to 3 million cities and towns…bottom line is no one knows. In any case, far too many to suggest a customized process for each, which achieves little in terms of building understanding, or standardizing reliability, or achieving greater, global strategic aims of meeting demand for more resilient cities and towns.
Now we’re getting somewhere—we have a clear challenge, we understand the means to meet that challenge, and are well on our way developing the models, metrics, standards, and systems through which to deliver. We’re not alone—organizations participating in the Medellin Collaboration on Urban Resilience for example represent the largest community of practice engaging with cities, and have agreed to a set of common aims to meet increasing demand. Resources, both knowledge-based, and knowledge generating, are emerging from academia, and analysis of implementation, and political commitment at all scales is freeing up financial support directly for cities, and for the support institutions they rely on.
From the metaphorical world of ‘resilience’ writ large, is an emerging consensus around the means of addressing through concrete, reliable, and comprehensive urban engagement, the visions, aims and goals of cities to become safer, more resilient places for the people, businesses, and organizations that live there.
Patricia Holly Purcell, a US and British National, is the Senior Strategic Partnerships Advisor at the United Nations Human Settlements Programme (UN-Habitat), based in their Nairobi Headquarters, focusing on the Agency’s City Resilience Profiling Programme.
Rachna Lévêque is an urban and regional planner with global experience on projects ranging from buildings and public space to strategic city planning and policy making.
The dominant approach to resilience in cities takes the approach of specific resilience – by focussing, for example, on resilience to disasters (natural or manmade) and resilience of communities. This approach, of building resilience of this to that and under these circumstances, enables resilience to be measured to some extent and therefore operationalized. However, focussing on specific resilience risks losing the overview of the entire city as an intricately connected social-ecological system (our economic systems being a subset of the ‘social’ of the social-ecological system). Hence, it raises questions like: who decides whether the resilience of one community is at the expense of another?
Decision makers taking a long-term strategic perspective of the city often have to judge various priorities against one another and pave a way forward, often in an environment of changing social, political, environmental, economic and technological influences locally and globally. Hence, their occupation is predominantly with generic resilience. In this respect, it is more meaningful to think of resilience as the ability of diverse stakeholders to collectively influence their social-ecological system (or sub-system) to be in a state of (desirable) resilience. In terms of city-level decision-making, this relates to three things: the ability of stakeholders to get involved (or connect into wider system dynamics), the ability of stakeholders to have or gain knowledge of the system, and the ability of stakeholders to take meaningful action (i.e., to have influence). The debates on power and the politics of inclusion and exclusion are interweaved through each of these: who is involved in what, why and in what way; which stakeholders have what access to the various discussions that take place at strategic level; what opportunities do stakeholders have to find common solutions; what opportunities do they have to question and present new ideas, and what potential do the stakeholders’ propositions have to ‘revolt’ to strategic decision making levels. It is important to remember that stakeholders comprise not just resident communities, but also workers, businesses, developers, utility providers, and various governmental and non-governmental authorities and agencies including those operating at regional and national level.
Based on the above, it seems obvious that greater transparency and participation in decision-making would lead to (desired) resilience. However, at city-regional level one has to consider whether the mechanisms for transparency and participation actually allow diverse stakeholders to have influence while also allowing the city to decide how to move forward. To take a recent example, in Mumbai, the draft Development Plan developed after three years of participatory workshops and consultations was recently scrapped by the state government in the wake of citizen protests. Is this the ability of citizen groups to have influence? Perhaps. Is it the exercise of veto by the state government? Yes. Is it a desirable state of resilience for the city? For some communities negatively influenced by the Development Plan, it provides another window of opportunity, however slight. However, for the city as a whole, spending further time and effort on a Development Plan which will probably have little influence on what actually gets built in the city is quite meaningless in the absence of other systems which support transparency and public participation. Not being able to have a say over its own development trajectory probably does not equate to a desirable state of resilience either. Nonetheless, Mumbai perhaps needs to consider whether its diverse needs (needs of its diverse communities and needs of the city region) are reconcilable at city scale in a document such as the Development Plan, and make provision for more local and regional initiatives which will incorporate its specific and dynamic needs.
The dangers for urban resilience at strategic city scale are likely to be different in different contexts. In a city with well-established systems of reporting and mechanisms for participation, involving the same stakeholders who get involved every time conserves knowledge of the system but could lead to a diminishing set of ideas and experiments to learn from. It is also easy to follow the protocol in any public consultation without actually taking on board the issues raised. The regular mechanisms of information transfer (websites) often exclude the most vulnerable, excluding their needs and points of view in the direction that the city takes; this frequently places the burden of resilience on NGO’s to transmit the information, collate input and present ideas in a convincing manner. Of course, actually implementing anything that is proposed requires both political will and capability, and may require collaboration and cooperation between agencies at different scales and with different priorities.
I therefore see resilience for the whole city not as an issue of robust infrastructure or community coping strategies, but as one of good collective governance that allows diverse stakeholders from multiple scales to come together, interact and share ideas in a fairly power-balanced manner, and find common ground on a variety of issues in a way that allows the city to move forward. This might mean ‘agreeing to disagree’ on certain issues and agreeing to experiment on other issues with a view to learning for the future. However, governance for resilience requires more than collaborative dialogue, it requires stakeholders to move their focus from specific sectors, scales or interests, to the interlinkages in the complex social-ecological system that are our cities.
Shuaib Lwasa is an Associate Professor in the Department of Geography at Makerere University. Shuaib has over 15 years of experience in university teaching and research working on interdisciplinary projects related to urban sustainability.
As the debate on the Sustainable Development Goals by UN member countries reaches its final lap for approval, there is general consensus about the transition from development at as measurable progress in terms of economic growth, improved social services, employment and incomes, trade and human wellbeing to development that encompasses nature, resource use in consideration of the planetary boundaries.
The most daunting of legs in achievement of sustainable development is the implementation of actions for the proposed 17 Goals and 168 targets. The debate about sustainable development is yet to reach consensus on how to achieve these goals and targets and how to measure progress. Parallel but very closely related debates have been going on in regard to climate change and disaster risk reduction. These three global debates are yet to resolve the challenge of making resilience an actionable concept and therefore measurable to address the inherently constructed, cumulative and extensive risk in various contexts. This calls for alternative conceptual frameworks, methodologies, data and tools to measure progress in achieving sustainable development goals.
Whereas the debates are global, the challenges are also local and these three issues of sustainable development, climate change and disaster risk reduction form the grand challenges of the century. This is because sustainable development is likely to be undermined by increasing risk and disasters, and or, progress so far made in terms of development will most likely be reversed by the increasing disasters. With intensive disasters notwithstanding, the case for extensive risk and associated disasters is a risk profile for much of Africa and particularly Urban Africa.
Kampala flood. Photo: Shuaib Lwasa.
Amidst closing the urban infrastructure deficit, sustaining the economic growth while reducing or avoiding emissions and adapting to a changing climate, cities in Africa present diverse risk profiles that define the city resilience challenge. In my opinion, climate risk and other risks, form the cornerstones of defining and achieving resilience in cities of Africa.
Achieving resilience in cities of Africa will most likely occur through three ways: first, the understanding of current risk rooted in historically constructed risk such that recovery from unavoidable disasters minimizes loss and damage; secondly, that future risk is anticipated and strategies implemented to reduce, the creation of new risk, potential loss and damage; thirdly, that current and future risk would have to be addressed in context of reduced impact on livelihoods and wellbeing in cities to enable building back better that reduces creation of new risk.
There are synergies and tough choices to make in building resilient cities. These tough choices are potentially the basis for measuring resilient cities, which is a difficult issue to achieve. Measuring resilience in cities is locale and context specific. Context to the risk profile and local conditions that shape the risk but also provides the levers for making cities resilient.
I would like to point to a few issues, which in my opinion can potentially be progress markers for resilience in cities like Kampala:
• There are tough choices around proofing urban infrastructure to risks given the path dependencies of urban development in Africa. This can be length or size of proofed infrastructure, proof-constructed infrastructure
• The possibility of harnessing synergies around reducing urban risk and curbing losses as a trade-off of increasing risk especially extensive risk
• Cities in Africa will continue their roles as production zones therefore there are tough choices around transforming production processes and infrastructure that is resilient to all forms of risk
• Cities are also zones for provisioning implying natural resource base that provides food, fiber, water, biomass, timber and therefore enhancing urban ecosystems is crucial for resilience in cities
• Cities and human development opportunities for the urban population is crucial especially the kind which increases opportunities for the urban poor
• A resilient city would have features that harness opportunities related to scalable resource efficiency, decentralized services and infrastructure, local employment and expanded markets and strategies that eradicate urban poverty
Dr. Timon McPhearson works with designers, planners, and local government to foster sustainable, resilient and just cities. He is Associate Professor of Urban Ecology and Director of the Urban Systems Lab at The New School and Research Fellow at the Cary Institute of Ecosystem Studies and Stockholm Resilience Centre.
Urban social, ecological, and technical-built system (SETS) resilience
With cities taking climate change adaptation seriously, building resilience in cities to effects of climate change and other urban challenges has become an increasing priority among urban policymakers, planners, designers, and managers. Coastal cities facing severe sea level rise, for example, are learning to “live with water” and thus build resilience to flooding into multiple aspects of planning and development.
Phoenix, Arizona USA was brought to a halt by a single storm on September 8th, 2014. Local climatologists called it a 500-year event when it rained 10-15cm in less than 24 hours. Photo: Twitter/Michael Chow
Resilience is a property of a system. Cities are systems, so on the surface it makes sense to think of building “urban resilience”, or designing “resilient cities”. However, cities are complex entities (McHale et al. 2015) that have multiple social, ecological, and technical systems (SETS), which interrelate and feedback on each other, making it difficult to interpret the meaning of terms like “resilient city” or “urban resilience” that apply to the city scale, let alone evaluate them.
Additionally, resilience is a multidisciplinary concept that encompasses persistence, recovery, and the adaptive and transformative capacities of urban systems and their subsystems (McPhearson et al. 2015). Improving resilience at both small and large system scales depends on answering the question of resilience “of what, to what” and, perhaps especially in urban areas, resilience “for whom”. It also means recognizing that resilience at one scale may positively or negatively impact resilience at larger scales. Additionally, resilience to flooding in one part of the city, for example, may have no, little, or a large impact on resilience in another part of the city.
Despite the need to think in systems to deal with the very real equity, livability, and climate change challenges we face, defining, measuring, and evaluating resilience in the urban context means, for the moment anyway, breaking apart our complex urban systems into their parts.
What I mean is this: We can develop metrics and indicators to evaluate social resilience, ecological resilience, and technical/built infrastructure resilience for particular challenges in a particular location, but we don’t have robust methods for evaluating resilience of a complex multi-scale system like a city. Even evaluating resilience in the social, ecological, or technical domains is not a simple task, but it is certainly doable. Engineers and product designers have been doing this for a long time and can provide reasonable methods and metrics for evaluating the resilience of a building, or bridge, or energy supply system to particular risks, such as flooding, storms surge, high winds, or power outages.
Though we still have a long way to go, we can develop these kinds of metrics for evaluating social resilience as well. Take heat waves as an example. Following both the Chicago heat wave in 1995 and the European heat wave in 2003, analyses found in both cases that people who were better connected socially were less prone to heat-related death (Klinenberg 2003). We can learn a lot by comparing how disasters differentially affect different communities. Developing indicators for social connectedness, social cohesion and other potential indicators for social resilience must become an area of active research, especially since cities are already asking for these indicators in urban planning and policymaking. Built and technological infrastructure may even be developed as potential social resilience indicators in so much as they may tend to increase or decrease the potential for social cohesion and other attributes of local communities that allow them to be more or less resilient.
Difference in average temperature (2000, 2001, 2002 and 2004) from 2003, covering the date range of 20 July – 20 August. Image credit: NASA
Developing methods for assessing ecological resilience is already an active area of research with good progress developing indicators to various ecological stressors and pressures. For example, ecologists can utilize biodiversity data combined with species trait data to develop functional response indicators. The assumption, backed up by research (though primarily in rural contexts), is that if species in an ecological community have a high diversity of traits that can respond to stress, disturbance, pollution, or other ecological challenges, then they are more likely to be resilient than a community with a lower diversity of response traits. Additionally, the importance of redundancy to resilience is important to keep in mind since communities with many species that have a particular trait useful for dealing with stress will fare better than communities that may have only one or few species with that particular trait. Though these kinds of ecological resilience indicators are beginning to be developed, we have yet to test this approach for multiple taxa and in multiple urban contexts.
The resilience research community has much left to do to not only better develop the various indicators for resilience in the social, ecological, and technical domains of our urban systems, since this remains all very new, but also to learn from each other in the process. For example, research approaches in ecology could inform development of social resilience indicators, and visa versa. The goal should be that the rise of resilience will serve to develop a broader understanding of the systems nature of planning, governing, and design while also driving greater interdisciplinary approaches and scholarship to foster the cities we want.
References
Klinenberg, Erik. 2003. Heat Wave: A Social Autopsy of Disaster in Chicago. University of Chicago Press.
McHale, Melissa R., Steward TA Pickett, Olga Barbosa, David N Bunn, Mary L Cadenasso, Daniel L Childers, Meredith Gartin, George Hess, David M Iwaniec, Timon McPhearson, M. Nils Peterson, Alexandria K. Poole, Louie Rivers III, Shade T Shutters, Weiqi Zhou. “The New Global Urban Realm: Complex, Connected, Diffuse, and Diverse Social-Ecological Systems.” Sustainability (Special Issue) 7: 5211-5240, doi:10.3390/su7055211
McPhearson, Timon, Erik Andersson, Thomas Elmqvist, and Niki Frantzeskaki. 2015. “Resilience Of and Through Urban Ecosystem Services,“ Ecosystem Services (Special Issue) 12:152-156, DOI: 10.1016/j.ecoser.2014.07.012
Dr. Montalto, PE is a licensed civil/environmental engineer and hydrologist with 20 years of experience working in urban and urbanizing ecosystems as both a designer and researcher. His experience includes planning, design, implementation, and analysis of various natural area restoration and green infrastructure projects.
Not unlike natural ecosystems, cities provide us with a wide range of functions and services. In the words of Harris and Ullman (1945) they are “…focal points in the occupation and utilization of the earth by man. Both a product of and an influence on surrounding regions, they develop in definite patterns in response to economic and social needs.” Cities are housing; they host new economic opportunities; they promote social interaction and cultural advancement. Cities free up a certain fraction of the human population from having to work the land directly, critical since according to Jane Jacobs (1970) “agriculture is not even tolerably productive unless it incorporates many goods and services produced in cities or transplanted from cities.” Cities are thus integral components of local, regional, and global economies.
When subjected to different kinds of disturbances, resilient cities continue to provide these valuable functions, though their form may change as a result. Subjected to a storm surge, they absorb energy but convert it into a reconfigured coastline; having become the destination for a particular group of refugees, they provide shelter and work, possibly through the repurposing of vacant buildings and neighborhoods; when global investors have shifted attention elsewhere, they cultivate local resources to fund local needs and initiatives, often through the generation of new businesses. Anti-fragile (Taleb 2014) and dynamic, resilient cities are both physically and culturally prepared to adapt to a range of uncertain futures. In so doing, they persist, while their brittle and inflexible cousins are gradually abandoned, dismantled, or destroyed by the same, or similar, events.
The question that many planners are asking is whether we can create this kind of resilience in both new and redeveloping cities that are challenged by contemporary trends in population growth, coastal development, climate change, and other perverse local realities associated with globalization. I would argue that where it exists, resilience is tightly woven into the cultural and physical fabric of a city, but is not easily superimposed on top of it. Resilience, in my view, is the outcome of diffuse grass-roots, micro-scale activities that collectively and gradually create a culture and place that can change in response to diverse and unpredictable stimuli, so as to continue providing the services needed by its population. To design resilience, we need to think small and diffuse, not big and centralized.
I offer three comparative examples. A new, regional storm surge barrier might protect certain coastal communities from certain types of storm surge; but its value pales in comparison to a city populated by individuals who, cognizant of the fact that they live in a flood plain, can easily move to higher ground temporarily when a flood is predicted. The latter requires an efficient means of diffusing information about imminent risks, a widely understood and multifaceted response plan, and an efficient transport network that can support relocation of different people in different directions at almost any time to a decentralized network of safe havens.
For the second example, think Baltimore, Maryland. Tourists and multinational corporations may initially be attracted to a fancy downtown, but if residents of the surrounding neighborhoods are barely getting by, and suffer from high crime, poor schools, corruption, crumbling infrastructure and high drug traffic, how resilient will this city be, for example to economic shifts that raise unemployment, or media reports that begin to spoil the glossy public image and brand that the local elites had been attempting to disseminate of the city center? A resilient Baltimore needs widespread attention, not just a fancy waterfront.
And finally, considering that each year the world wastes about 1/3 of the food it produces (FAO 2015) while global obesity, one of the leading causes of preventable depth, has doubled since 1980 (CDC 2015, WHO 2015), let’s consider resilience as it pertains to food choices. We can continue to subsidize industrial agriculture practices that, often located in increasingly drought prone areas, require massive application of pesticides and fertilizers, and generate extensive carbon emissions to transport highly processed agricultural commodities 1500-2500 miles (Worldwatch Institute 2015) before showing up, mysteriously, in your bodega in some highly processed form. Or we clear the way for the growing local and urban agricultural movement that enables urban dwellers to see more readily where their food comes from, and to choose to participate in its production, while creating new uses for post-industrial landscapes, new economic opportunities, and old-fashioned backyard learning. As the international development adage goes, the hungry man who is given a meal asks for another, while the one who knows how to fish feeds himself.
If urban resilience arises from decentralized grass-roots choices and actions that allow cities to provide valuable functions and services to the various populations that live in, or are linked to them, we can measure it by interacting with urban people. Resilience planners need to seek to understand why we, the urban population, do what we do; they need to better understand what motivates us and what hinders us; they need to remove the barriers (often historical and/or imposed from afar) that prevent us from solving our own problems. Resilient cities will be as diverse in form and function as we are diverse as an urban populace. Resilience plans will morph and change as we learn and grow. Resilience solutions are local and diverse, not monolithic and standardized.
Luciana Nery is Deputy Chief Resilience Officer of Rio de Janeiro and wishes to incorporate the lessons learned at the Olympics for the resilience of the city.
In theory, it is not difficult to measure the evolution of resilience in time: to the same shock, there must be less impact. This means that if a strong earthquake hits a city twice, the city is more resilient if by the second time it suffers less damage and fewer casualties. Or if the shock is an economic downturn, then the city is more resilient if the next recession is milder and its consequences are short-lived.
A 40mm/hour rain in Rio de Janeiro usually means that landslides will happen in the mountain slopes, threatening entire communities and claiming many lives. Since 2010, 40mm/h is the threshold to evaluate the need to activate the early warning system in the high-risk areas. In the meantime, the city built extensive slope contention infrastructure, resettled families in high-risk areas and established frequent evacuation drills. A recent study conducted by GeoRio of all landslides related to extreme weather events between 2010-2013 concluded that the threshold to initiating action can be safely raised to 55mm/h. More importantly, in that same period, no life was lost due to landslides in the city. This means that Rio de Janeiro is verifiably more resilient to heavy rains.
In this specific instance, that of rains and landslides in Rio, the scope is limited, the variables are well-known and the data are reliable. This is seldom the case in many other aspects of resilience. In the real world, how often can we establish parameters to determine cause and consequence? More than that, some consequences must be avoided entirely—and then being resilient is not allowing the shock to happen in the first place, like pandemics or terrorist attacks. In those cases, investments in prevention and the monitoring of trends is what fosters resilience, and then measuring the (non) consequences can feel substantial to policymakers, and yet seem diaphanous to the general population.
Then perhaps resilience must be measured not solely ad hoc, in terms of measuring impacts and its consequences, but also contextually and at the community and individual level. To what extent is a city, community or person exposed to a certain vulnerability, be it natural or manmade?
As the concept of resilience grows in importance for cities, so does the search for comprehensive and yet pragmatic indicators and measurement tools. The World Resource Institute, in partnership with the City of Rio, is developing a set of indicators for resilience. The work is in progress but we have already reached some conclusions.
The poor are disproportionately affected by shocks and chronic stresses, and a high proportion of socially vulnerable people will certainly make a city more fragile to all kinds of shocks. Measuring their resilience, thus, entails assessing their social vulnerability: educational level, employment status, access to basic services like sanitation, clean water, garbage collection, health, etc.
Another conclusion is that measuring self-reliance and preparedness of the general population is essential, so that efforts for fostering a culture of prevention can be assessed. Self-reliance and preparedness also depend heavily on the social cohesion of a community—when it comes to safety and awareness, the individual and the community are virtually indistinguishable. It is, therefore, the job of resilience practitioners worldwide to engage people in finding how they feel, respond and act more resiliently. It is this self-reliance and preparedness of citizens that, in addition to public policies and city resources, can prepare a city to face not only its recurrent risks, but also the unexpected ones, the black swans.
The efforts are ongoing. Cities and institutions around the world are working on resilience indicators. More than ever, cities are collaborating with each other. Big Data is more readily available. Indicators and units of measurement will be tested, improved upon and shared; then they will become widespread and continue to evolve. After all, it is not a simple task: if we are setting out to measure resilience in cities, we are also measuring our survival and prosperity. Let the challenge begin!
The transformative capacity of a resilient process
Disasters are terrible. I always use the image of “I hate you Sandy” painted on a wall somewhere on the Jersey beach, to stress that whatever happens and how bold and big government and private sector can come in, it is still all about the human scale. Bridging the gap between public and private also means bridging the gap between the institutional world and the people, the communities and the informal world. Because there is not only a disconnect between politics and people, there is also a disconnect between professionals and people.
Poor people live in poor places all over the world. They are hit hardest when disasters strike, fully dependent on others to get back on their feet. Some say resilience is all about the capacity to bounce back after a disaster. But I say that is not enough. Resilience is a progressive term, it is about bouncing back different and smarter, through collaboration, innovation and the best of science.
In the Netherlands we have a long long tradition of managing risks and uncertainties and deliberately started to built our country in the Delta of the rivers Rhine, Meuse and Scheldt. A delta prosperous and vulnerable at the same time. Public private partnerships were key from the beginning. Nowadays we manage these risks and uncertainties in a cross governmental long term Delta approach, where public, business and knowledge sector join forces in a joined approach.
This year’s WEF Report put the impact of Water Crises as #1 risk, at last we acknowledge as businesses, ngo’s, academia and governments that water is the #1 risk and also its number one opportunity! Water is the global connecting task. Two billion people will be devastated by 2050, four billion in 2080 if we continue with our current practices. Of all worldwide disasters 90% is water-related. Global urbanization gives us growth, prosperity, emancipation and development opportunities, but climate change, sea level rise and increasing impacts of these risks put a lot of pressure on our cities, societies and citizens, on our economy and ecology. If we don’t act the system will collapse and then we are the victims of our own failure and missed opportunity.
Water is at the heart of this uncertain future, it is through water that we feel the impact of climate change the most. Water is essential for our economy, our social and cultural well being. Water quality defines our economic and societal prosperity and water risks—too much or too little—define our society’s vulnerability. Water is an urban matter, an asset if right, a severe risk if not. And while urbanization has this emancipatory capacity—women work and kids learn—it is the collective water issues that puts these urbanizing places at higher risk and thus stressing—again—the emancipatory curve. Water connects economy and ecology and on the urban regional scale we can adapt and mitigate and thus strengthen our cities and our communities world wide By collaborating across silos, bridge gaps and use new ways for public private partnerships to get to such an approach.
The WEF’s Global Risks Perception Survey’s showcase over again that future risks (climate change, water crises, biodiversity loss and ecosystem collapse, extreme weather events, natural catastrophes, man made environmental catastrophes, etc) are increasing in frequency and impact. At the same time these risks show a clear and strong interdependency on a regional, most often urban scale. Although this increases the complexity of these risks and their impacts this is also the scale where we (mankind) can adapt to and mitigate these risks! This is where we can and must act.
Resilience is not a condition nor a passive state, it is a truly dynamic and societal process, progressive and in flux all the time. So when it comes to this question of measurement the key question is not how to measure resilience but how to get to resilience in an accountable an transparent way? A process where not only the outcome is at stake but the strategy and interventions are pre-assessed by truly comprehensive BCA’s, the process is monitored, and the outcomes both on strategy, governance and the actual interventions are evaluated. And that evaluation is brought back into the institutional domain for capturing reform. An not only in the public domain, but in this societal force of public and private partnerships. For that we need a comprehensive approach and I’d like to address the six critical points for that:
1. A resilience process of trust, inclusive collaboration and without negotiations:
Create a process of trust where it is not about negotiations (to get the most out of it) but about collaboration (to get the best out of it);
Truly collaborative and inclusive: From the start this should be about including all stakeholders through the phases of assessment and analysis all the way towards planning and implementation;
No negotiations towards agreements on paper, but collaboration in practice and ensure that that collaboration leads us to agreements. Negotiations never build projects, the experience helps to agree.
2. Better instruments: Benefit Cost Analysis, Monitoring and Evaluation instruments are critical but often are different, non-comparable nor cross applicable and lack the capacity to capture comprehensive long term integrated resilience approaches.
We have to share all our global knowledge we built up over the years to ensure that worldwide there is a better common understanding on how transparency and accountability can be strengthened both in public as well private environments through the development of new and better models and instruments.
3. Programmatic long term: next to our short term project based assessments where it is fairly easy to calculate benefits and bring in the private sector, we need a better understanding on how to assess and evaluate and thus build trust and commonality on a long term, comprehensive, programmatic investment approach.
4. Innovation: we need new models to address innovation. The Rebuild by Design competition I developed and led for the former US Presidential Hurricane Sandy Rebuilding Task Force, created a sabbatical detour, on the edge of the institutional world, collaborating across all partners, design driven, focused on resilience in light of future risks. We delivered 41 opportunities with coalitions and ended with awarding 6 strikingly innovative proposals for resilience investments across the NY region. UNISDR just acknowledged the Hoboken proposal as Model for the World.
5. Prevention pays! We all know this. The questions remain on:
How to capture future value and future revenues through upfront investments;
How to use the process of collaboration and innovation to get to comprehensive approaches and implementable projects based on partnerships and trust, like the Rebuild by Design competition;
How to incorporate lessons learned, for example the current Dutch Delta program agreed upon by our congress that addresses future risks for the next 100 years, with secured funding for the next 35 years.
6. Start now by building a platform for collaboration and innovation:
No time to waste. We have to start now, in a transparent and accountable way, use principles of collaboration for developing long term, comprehensive approaches to capture revenues and ensure upfront public and private investments.
We need to use this testing as the inspiration, as the new standard, as the way to replicate for a better tomorrow and bring these learnings back into our institutional worlds, both public and private and by doing so really innovate and reform. This is really about capacity building not only within those vulnerable communities but as much within our institutions of governments, businesses and research institutes. The reform of the institutional world is key for resilience success.
Right now no one in this world is ready, no one, no place, no system is fit for the future. We have to collaborate world wide to tackle these challenges together. This collaboration is different than any collaboration before. This is not about negotiating the best parts for ourselves, this is really about securing the world for generations to come. Not by fixing it, but by changing the culture. And with that changing our systems so they can become more resilient, more adaptive and empowered in embracing and dealing with complexity.
Elisabeth Peyroux is an urban geographer at the National Centre for Scientific Research (CNRS), based at the UMR Prodig in Paris. She works on urban development issues in Johannesburg.
I engaged with the debates on resilience while doing research on urban planning in Johannesburg. In 2011 the Johannesburg 2040 Growth and Development Strategy (GDS) committed itself to provide “improved quality of life and development-driven resilience for all”, “a resilient, liveable, sustainable urban environment” and “an inclusive, job-intensive, resilient and competitive economy that harnesses the potential of citizens” (City of Johannesburg, 2011, p. 9).
I think the context of South African cities’ transformative agenda provides an interesting starting point to reflect on the idea of measuring resilience.
As opposed to the so-called conservative “bounce back” perspective, resilience entails a dynamic process set in motion by a transformative action whose aim is to promote a more “inclusive” development pathway: “Resilience is the capacity of a system to continually change and adapt, yet remain within critical thresholds – even when confronted with the unexpected” (City of Johannesburg 2011, p. 25). The GDS shows that some of the critiques made towards complex adaptive system related to resilience thinking can be partially overcome, at least discursively: by stressing human agency, by assigning social values to development goals, and addressing issues of inequalities and injustice.
Writing from a political economy perspective I am critical towards the notion of resilience and its translation in policy making (in line with Davoudi, 2012; Joseph, 2013; Welsh, 2014). Measuring resilience in cities poses, to my eyes, overwhelming challenges. This undermines the very idea that it can be usefully mobilised in urban planning.
Measuring resilience in cities means that we can identify it and provide an accurate characterisation and quantification of it (Carpenter et al. 2001). This also means that resilience can be monitored in such a way that it can inform policy-making.
The first challenge for policy makers is to identify the factors that give rise to resilience in a complex environment: a highly diverse population, an heightened sense of uncertainty and unpredictability, the need to consider the intertwined effects of internal and external factors, the interdependencies between ecological and social systems, time scales and cross-scale dynamics. In addition, in a city as unequal as Johannesburg the challenge entails developing “a relational understanding of resilience” (Prior and Hagmann, 2013, p. 14) that can support a targeted allocation of funding in line with developmental goals.
Second, measuring resilience implies measuring both the capacity of the system to achieve resilience (a process of capacity building) and the outcomes resulting from this capacity (a change of state of being). The difficulty, in addition to developing adequate quantitative and qualitative indicators, lies in assessing how these processes and outcomes are directly or indirectly linked in order to draw lessons on “what works” and “what doesn’t work”.
Third, some indicators of change of state of being are observable and quantifiable: in Johannesburg an expanded Human Development Index that is closely associated to asset and protective factors linked to resilience is used to measure the improvement in the quality of life, wellbeing and development. Other factors connected with resilience, such as social cohesion and inclusion and social justice (“A society that is cohesive and inclusive can withstand change and extreme shocks (…)” (City of Johannesburg, 2011, p. 29), “Pursuing just distributions of benefits, to improve the adaptive and resilient capacities of vulnerable groups and the citizenry of Johannesburg as a whole, is central to resilience and to sustainability” (City of Johannesburg 2011, p. 32), are difficult to observe empirically and to quantify.
Finally, measuring resilience should be considered both as a methodological and a political problem (Prior and Hagemann, 2013). Through the neoliberal rhetoric of responsabilization, self-sufficiency and self-sustainability resilience thinking serves as a way to justify the withdrawal of long term, permanent state support exposing the ambivalence of the concept of local developmental state in South Africa. By favouring the constant adaption of the subject to current situation over the resistance to the conditions of its suffering (Welsh, 2014) resilience thinking can eventually seem at odds with the Johannesburg social transformative agenda, as such approach forecloses the possibility for people to challenge the structural foundations of unequal power relationships that cause poverty, deprivation and inequality, the very sources of the so-called “lack of resilience” of the population.
References
Carpenter , S., Walker, B., Anderies, J.M., Abel, N. (2001) From metaphor ro measurement: Resilience of what to What? Ecosystems 4: 765-781.
City of Johannesburg (2011) Joburg 2040 GDS, October 2011.
Davoudi, S. (2012) Resilience: A bridging concept or a dead end? Planning Theory and Practice 13 (2): 299-333.
Joseph, J. (2013) Resilience as embedded neoliberalism: a governmentality approach. International Policies, Practices and Discourses 1 (1): 38-52.
Prior, T., Hagmann, J. (2013) Measuring resilience: methodological and political challenges of a trend security concept, Journal of Risk Research, DOI:10.1080/13669877.2013.808686.
Welsh, M. (2014) Resilience and responsibility: governing uncertainty in a complex world. The Geographical Journal 180 (1): 15-26.
Catherine Sutherland is a lecturer in the School of Built Environment and Development Studies, University of KwaZulu-Natal. She is an urban geographer who focuses on urban sustainability and environmental governance.
Resilience is a contested term, as its definition and transformative value depends on from whose perspective it is viewed. The emergence of resilience as a ‘new’ way of approaching the economic, social and environmental crises we face, particularly in light of climate risk, reminds me of other moments when new ways of thinking about environmental challenges rose to the fore. In the 1960s ‘limits to growth’ became the dominant discourse framing environmental politics. In the 1980s ‘ecological modernisation’ and ‘sustainable development’ emerged as dominant discourses. Within each era of new ideas, scientists focused on ways to measure how far we had travelled in meeting the principles and goals of each discourse, with their indicators showing progress in some areas and failure in others. Some of the measures were universal and general, while others revealed that the measurement of environmental sustainability needs to be context specific.
Most of these measures were developed by scientists.
The measurement of resilience concerns me as it appears that those developing measures for it have not learnt from, or engaged with, other ‘moments’ in the history of the environmental movement. One of the main questions that have been asked in the critical reflection of these approaches is from whose perspective sustainability/ecological modernisation/resilience are being measured and for what purpose. This is important as it raises the issue of who has the power to define and shape each discourse and whose interests are being served in defining and measuring the relations between society and the environment in this way. Is ‘resilience’ acting in the interests of the poor and vulnerable and in the interests of highly degraded environmental systems, or is it just another way for those in power to mask the real reasons for poverty, inequality and environmental destruction and to move away from the just transformations that are required to change the world and the power imbalances in it? Resilience is about adapting, coping and learning to live through shocks and risks—it is therefore about ‘managing the dangers’ not challenging or changing them. It is about making people resilient, which is important when disaster strikes, but in so doing, it undermines the social protests and social movements that are required to change the world, as it makes it possible for the status quo to remain. It makes ‘coping’ a way of life for those who are tasked with managing environmental challenges and those that live through them. It does not question nor address the politics or power relations in cities and hence it cannot be fully transformative.
Another issue I have with measuring resilience is that much of this new discourse implies that people become resilient because of the policy and action of some outside agent and through the rationalities of government. It is the impact of these interventions that are measured. In other words, they were not resilient before. This notion needs to be strongly criticised as it does not recognise that the poor and vulnerable are continually being resilient, as that is how they live their lives. What needs to be measured is the entanglement of state policy and practice and the practices evident in the everyday lived worlds of ordinary people and how these together, through their relations, contribute to greater resilience. This is much harder to measure as these entanglements emerge in multiple ways along multiple paths at different scales.
For me, the value of ‘resilience’ lies in the lessons learnt from it. This learning is achieved by tracking resilience along its multiple trajectories as it emerges in different places within different contexts. Resilience is present in so many different forms. We need to start in local spaces, with local people, following ‘resilience’ and critically analysing it together so that it can reveal why and how people are having to be resilient and what this tells us about the power relations in the world between people and between people and the environment. And then we can begin to think about how we can change these relations, measure these transformative shifts and move towards a better world.
Claire Weisz, FAIA, is the founding principal of WXY, an architecture and planning firm based in NYC. Recently one of 10 Rebuild by Design finalists, her current work includes designing the new Rockaway Boardwalk post-Sandy.
Imagine this scenario; you live in a dense urban community along a vulnerable coastline, a catastrophic event occurs with only 6 hours warning, but since a web of communication exists to locate and reposition people, critical assets and provide alternative places to live and work short term. Issues have been worked out so that the time of recovery is minimized to 24 hours and there has been no loss of life and livelihood. In this community individuals and everyone around them are constantly reminded through notations on the physical surfaces of the city, their environmental history and through this the dynamic nature of where they are standing. Through these simple set of graphic interfaces, that are constantly kept current by real time data from scientists, people are able to learn as they go through their daily lives their risk level in a very subconscious yet concrete way. In the event of a climate related extreme events and conditions, these citizens, when they get critical warnings, via their devices or through media, understand in a visceral way where they are and therefore what they need to do. Because of the level of individual awareness, government and businesses alike have had to agree on a system and plan in the case of sudden and extreme climate related events. Although change is difficult, likely the increase in public and environmental knowledge has resulted in increases cultural and social capital spread across income levels.
New York City under Hurricane Sandy.
Designing shared civic and communication spaces and systems by connecting individuals to larger urban common webs and linkages is also about aligning values. By designing viable shared systems through a transparent process a need will emerge to evaluate longer term investments with the greatest chance of social equity and least environmental loss. More people than ever before are challenged by lack of leverage and access to power structures and at the same time more vulnerable to living in a degraded environment. If insurance and funding mechanisms are tied to minimizing unintended negative effects and maximizing individual and neighborhood autonomy, projects like zero energy neighborhoods, district renewable energy, zero waste districts, pooled investments in regional storm protection projects, shared regional risk analysis tying all local projects together, become important to pilot and advance.
Working this way the mechanisms of design and planning are the means to understand actual places, guiding policy and thus funding projects to reflect the way people behave both as individuals and in aggregate. Building soft and hard systems; from signage, to floating communities, new public transit and public spaces, to new places for habitat, wind turbines and water resource management, that help us adapt, model and test new ways of living and producing, are critical to a future of competing priorities and fluctuating risk levels.
A resilient and adaptable response as described in this snapshot is only achievable by design. This means designers and scientist being at the table together. Without the will to design both the process and the implementation of a multi-layered meaningful and responsive system, there will be stop gap, insufficient and less resilient communities. Without scientifically driven and ecologically understood design goals, there will be investments in expensive solutions and systems that are difficult if not impossible to update, that don’t take into consideration the flux of daily existence, that fail under the stress of people’s constant changes in priorities.
“What if?” the inevitability of the “internet of things” along with advances in the dialogue between scientists and designers could be catalytic in unexpected ways. Potentially what has started with foundation funding and private research initiatives might spawn new types of entities—public/ private partnerships—whose values demand that improving social, economic and environment conditions be aligned. These new ways of doing business and playing politics would avoid the zero sum game of choosing who benefits and who doesn’t by having changed where the goal posts are. Then the value of scientific data and metrics to track losses and gains across many variables and factors would be the engine to realize the resilient communities that we are currently unable to achieve.
Daniel Zarrilli was appointed in March 2014 by Mayor Bill de Blasio as the Director of the Mayor’s Office of Recovery and Resiliency for the City of New York. In this position, he is leading the development and implementation of the City’s OneNYC resiliency program.
Urban resiliency for climate change and other 21st Century threats
Our resiliency challenge
Hurricane Sandy was the worst natural disaster to ever strike New York City, claiming 44 lives and causing over $19 billion in damages and lost economic activity. As we continue to recover from its effects, we have also recognized the need to prepare for a wide range of future risks, not just ‘the next Sandy,’ as we continue to build a stronger, more resilient city.
In fact, just in the past fifteen years, New York City has faced a varied set of threats, including terrorist acts, an Ebola outbreak, hurricanes, an earthquake, a blackout, and a global economic downturn—all events that could challenge our ability to cope as a city and as an urban system. The only certainty is that the future is uncertain and the next threat won’t look like the last.
That’s why we have recently taken stock of our existing challenges. Our population will grow to 9 million by 2040; our infrastructure is aging; inequality is increasing; and, of course, our risks from a changing climate and other threats are growing.
With climate change in particular, Sandy certainly highlighted the city’s vulnerabilities, and those vulnerabilities are projected to get worse. According to the New York City Panel on Climate Change, sea levels are expected to rise 11 inches to 21 inches by the 2050s, and 22 to 50 inches by 2100. With this projected rise in sea levels, the city’s floodplain will continue to expand, creating more frequent and intense flooding. A similar Sandy-like event in 2050 could cause $90 billion in damage and lost economic activity—compared to Sandy’s $19 billion—due to the rise in sea levels alone.
The good news is that the City is acting to address these challenges.
Our resiliency vision
In April, Mayor Bill de Blasio released One New York: The Plan for a Strong and Just City. The OneNYC action plan guides the City’s investments in four strategic themes of growth, equity, sustainability, and resiliency. For us, resiliency is not just a metaphor.
But what does it mean? Our vision for resiliency is that our neighborhoods, economy, and public services will be ready to withstand and emerge stronger from the impacts of climate change and other 21st century threats.
To achieve this vision, the city and its partners are investing over $20 billion in a multilayered approach to resiliency, because there is no single silver bullet solution to our resiliency challenges:
1. Every neighborhood will be safer by strengthening community, social, and economic resiliency. This means we will improve neighborhoods by strengthening local organizations, expanding economic opportunities, and mitigating the effects of heat.
2. The city’s buildings will be upgraded against changing climate impacts, such as floods, wind, and heat waves.
3. Infrastructure systems will adapt to maintain continued services in the face of projected disruptions and impacts.
4. Our coastal defenses will be strengthened against flooding and sea level rise using a mixture of locally-tailored measures.
How will we know if we’ve succeeded? Measuring resiliency is no easy task. We intend to monitor several key performance indicators over time, including the Social Vulnerability Index for neighborhoods across the city, and our average annual economic losses resulting from climate-related events. These are the highest level indicators toward our goal of eliminating disaster-related long-term displacement of New Yorkers from homes by 2050.
By continuing to implement our full resiliency program – its physical, social, and economic measures – New York City is committed to achieving this goal, enabling us to fulfill our vision to withstand and emerge stronger from the impacts of climate change and other 21st century threats.
So many restoration projects fail when we try to bring Mother Nature back in a year and a half. In the business of landscape scale restoration, short-term, small-scale efforts are simply not good investments. And long-term requires partnership.
Each morning on my way to work, just west of Portland, Oregon, I pass a thriving new development with hundreds of brand new houses, a beautiful new school, bustling stores and new parks. These new assets, which serve humans so well, have largely replaced the green expanse that characterized this landscape just a few years ago. Along the fringes of this new development, I can spot remnants of the mixed forest, wetlands and oak savannah that until recently characterized this stretch of my commute. This kind of rapid transformation of the urban/suburban landscape is a familiar sight across the country and around the world. As we look out upon this scene, we can perceive the changes through different lenses—some clearly positive, some dimly negative, and some more complex, like bifocals—giving us pause, prompting us to think differently about how humans and wildlife might live together.
Western Tanager. Photographer unknown
Regardless of your perspective, there’s no question that it’s instructive to watch a landscape transform under the influence of rapid urban growth and climate change. That new development, for example: We can view it as a positive change that provides welcoming homes for thousands of new residents, drawn to the opportunities that Oregon’s Washington County offers them and their families. For those of us with experience in the field of public works, it is constantly amazing to observe the efficiency and poetry displayed in the creation of a new development like this one. In the span of a year and a half, we see the creation of a new transportation network, delivery of clean healthy water, a new sanitation system, electricity, and the many other services needed to provide a safe and healthy environment for humans. It is remarkable how quickly the landscape changes in order to provide the services needed by a thriving human community here in the Tualatin River Watershed.
The delivery of parallel services to wildlife can be very different, however. For wildlife, the benefits of food, shelter, and clean water are often provided by native vegetation along stream corridors. What we’ve learned along the way is that wildlife and humans both benefit when they are given an opportunity to work together. If we take a step back and think about human needs on a landscape level, we realize that humans and wildlife alike rely on the many benefits provided by our natural resources, including clean air, healthy soil and clean water. The real challenge is finding efficient ways to deliver these natural resources benefits for both humans and wildlife.
Birds at Fernhill Wetlands. Photo: Michael Nipper
Over the course of a dozen plus years, Tree for All has efficiently planted more than 10 million native trees and shrubs throughout the Tualatin River Watershed. Along the way, we have had many opportunities to celebrate this success with local business leaders and elected officials. On one of these occasions I had an interesting conversation with a person who has since become a friend who criticized this work as a waste of time, producing leaves that had to be picked up, trees that dropped branches in roadways, and the enormous amount of money needed to maintain these “nutty” green assets. I must admit that I had to bite my lip and take a deep breath as I struggled to understand his point of view. Maybe he was looking through a different lens, I thought. Perhaps a new experience could provide him with a more nuanced and accurate perspective—a new pair of bifocals, if you will.
I invited this now-friend to join me at a Tree for All community planting event at a city park near his home. To my delight, he accepted. He became the newest recruit to the army of volunteers that comes together every year, in the worst and muddiest weather, to plant native trees in local parks and natural areas all over Washington County. They participate for many different reasons. Some volunteer as a way to combat climate change, others join in to get their kids out of the house. Some plant a tree to remember a loved one, while others just enjoy the free donuts and an opportunity to chat with friends and neighbors. Regardless of the reason they showed up, each participant is changed by the experience. They have tasted their interdependence with the natural world around them. They more deeply understand how we can make room for nature, and how we can efficiently provide the services that are needed for a welcoming wildlife home. It is interesting, and sometimes transformative, to view the world through Mother Nature’s lens. It is safe to say that after that day my friend found a nice new pair of bifocals that saw both humans and wildlife as important.
Children planting trees at Jackson Bottom Wetlands. Photographer unknown
The long haul
Landscape conservation requires that we think long-term about our investment and stewardship. We are putting actions in place that address both our community’s needs today and the interests of future generations.
At work, the shiny new development miles behind me, I have the good fortune to have a desk just steps from Jackson Bottom Wetland Preserve. Watching the patience of a Great Blue Heron hunting for lunch as it wades through the water at Jackson Bottom reminds me that it often takes years–and sometimes decades–to create a welcoming home for local wildlife. A dozen years ago, this same location was drained dry, a sea of invasive grasses with marginal wildlife habitat. So much has happened since then to provide a home to this Great Blue Heron, along with more than 211 other species of birds. In the first two years, it started with the removal of non-native plants, tilling and reshaping the soil, removing channels, and planting native grasses. During the third year of this effort, the landscape was ready for woody and herbaceous plants, such as willows and forbs, to be placed throughout the wetland. During the next couple of years, native plants began to provide habitat for insects, song birds and waterfowl. Before long, waterfowl had the nesting material and open water needed to raise their families alongside the newly arrived frogs and turtles.
Now, after twelve years, this 600 acre wetland is home to one of the state’s largest Great Blue Heron rookeries, shorebirds, song birds, and the list goes on. Its award-winning environmental education center attracts people of all ages, who learn to balance the needs of humans and wildlife for the benefit of future generations. It is interesting how native vegetation and access to water puts in motion the services needed for a thriving wildlife community. It also helps me understand why so many restoration projects fail when we try to bring Mother Nature back in a year and a half. In the business of landscape scale restoration, short-term, small-scale efforts are simply not good investments.
Trail at Jackson Bottom Wetlands. Photo: Michael Nipper
Partnership snapshot: The Jackson Bottom Wetlands Preserve
Designated as an Important Bird Area by the Audubon Society, the Jackson Bottom Wetlands Preserve is a complex mosaic of wetlands, wet prairie, riparian forest and oak woodland located along the Tualatin River on the southwest edge of Hillsboro, Oregon, the largest city in Washington County. Bordered by agricultural, residential and public sector activity, it serves as an important wildlife refuge for resident and migratory birds, deer, river otter, beavers and amphibians. The preserve is part of a vast complex of open space, wildlife corridors, and lowlands that stretches throughout the Tualatin River Basin and is a partnership between the City of Hillsboro, Clean Water Services, and the Jackson Bottom Wetlands Preserve nonprofit organization. Read more about how these partners continue to transform and expand the Preserve here.
Taking Conservation to Scale video:
Good business
“The Tree for All program is a business model that allows partners to align and integrate their resources around a common investment strategy. In a single year, TFA partners planted more than two million trees and shrubs along the creeks and tributaries of the Tualatin River Watershed. Along with those new two million plantings, their investment strategy has resulted in saving ratepayers more than $100 million in the last 10 years, restored over 120 river miles in the last 10 years; created wildlife corridors for fish and birds, and has engaged thousands of volunteers in natural area restoration” – Pam Treece, Director of the Westside Economic Alliance and incoming (January 2019) member of the Washington County Board of Commissioners
“Green infrastructure costs too much!”
“I can’t afford to plant trees because we don’t have the budget.”
“I put the plants in the ground and it sure costs a lot to maintain them.”
These comments are not uncommon, and not surprising, depending on which lens we are looking through. If we take the long haul view; what does it really cost? During my career, I have seen more failures than success when it comes to restoring Mother Nature. Unfortunately, these situations can perpetuate the notion that green infrastructure is too expensive. More times than not we forget that it takes time to bring back the services Mother Nature needs to be successful. Would we move into a new home if it lacked a roof and electricity? Would it be good business if we built that new house but forgot about water and sanitation, then moved on to build another similar house? Would the Great Blue Heron find a welcoming home if there was no water, no food and no nest material?
It is clear that to be successful both humans and wildlife need an environment where natural resources benefits are available and functioning properly. The Tree for All program has been delivering restoration at the landscape scale for almost a dozen years and during this time we have learned that restoration can be a good business move. The lessons we’ve learned have enabled us to create large scale projects which are able to meet multiple objectives, such as the new Wapato Lake National Wildlife Refuge. We have also learned the importance of transformative partnerships, and that green assets actually reduce capital and operational costs over time. Pumps and pipes may seem more straightforward to those who shy away from the maintenance costs of green infrastructure, but the truth is that investments in natural processes become assets over time.
Wapato Lake. Photographer unknown
Partnership snapshot: The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service
The United States Fish and Wildlife Service is a longtime key partner of Tree for All. Since the partnership began, the USFWS has been part of more than 1300 acres of Tree for All projects, including two wildlife refuges. The Tualatin River National Wildlife Refuge (TRNWR), established in 1992, was the first of these. A collective enthusiasm about TRNWR encouraged more USFWS projects to take place here—the most recent being Wapato Lake National Wildlife Refuge (WLNWR). Established in 2013, WLNWR is the newest wildlife refuge in the United States. A unique partnership between Intel, U.S. Fish and Wildlife, the Joint Water Commission, Tualatin Soil & Water Conservation District, Clean Water Services and the Clean Water Institute reflects a shared commitment to protect the water quality of the Tualatin River; provide high-quality habitat for birds and other wildlife; and increase the resiliency of the natural systems we all depend on. The restoration of Wapato Lake National Wildlife Refuge offers an unrivaled opportunity to add over 800 acres to the existing 5,000 acres of near-contiguous Tualatin River floodplain habitat that has already been placed in conservation by a diverse network of collaborative partners working throughout the basin. These partnerships have already resulted in the restoration of over 700 acres of riparian forest to protect the water quality of the River and provide wildlife habitat on Refuge lands and have also infused vital public funding for environmental education programs at the Tualatin River National Wildlife Refuge.
Wapato Lake is the ultimate example of what can happen when community members come together to protect and enhance the natural areas in our watershed. It protects drinking water supplies, encourages watershed-friendly farming practices, provides storage capacity for extreme weather events, provides recreational and tourism opportunities, and benefits soil health. A project like these brings public and private investors to the table These are just a few of the multiple objectives achieved by landscape scale restoration. By making room for these other needs, many new public and private investors come to the table—and research is beginning to show how these kinds of partnerships result in powerful benefits.
Partnership snapshot: The Intertwine Alliance
The Intertwine Alliance is a coalition of more than 150 public, private and nonprofit organizations working to integrate nature more deeply into the Portland-Vancouver metropolitan region. The Intertwine leverages investments in nature by building connections across sectors, organizing summits and forums, facilitating collaborative initiatives, and helping partners build capacity through training and education. In 2017, the Intertwine Alliance and a research team from Portland State University’s Institute of Sustainable Solutions conducted a study to explore the relationship between collaborative partnerships and on-the-ground outcomes. The project focused primarily on Tree for All’s work in the Tualatin River Watershed and found that collaborative partnerships, such as those facilitated by the Intertwine Alliance, enables organizations to more effectively achieve their goals. Read the full report by Rebecca McLain here.
In order to create resilient, thriving landscapes, we have to act on unprecedented scale. It will take new kinds of partnerships, new sources of funding and …
Innovation
One of the first lessons learned during the development of the Tree for All program was the need to innovate. In the early days, pilot projects provided a lot of interesting information. More times than not, if we looked at the cost of a single pilot project and projected the resources needed to go to scale, I’d find myself wringing my hands and wanting to invest in a lottery ticket. Over the course of dozen years we did “strike it rich” by thinking outside the box and reengineering every aspect of project delivery which included planning, monitoring, and financing.
So often restoration planning tries to anticipate Mother Nature’s return for the next 100 years by creating elaborate models and thinking we can actually predict when and where vital services will be available for wildlife. In the case of Tree for All, we learned that focusing on foundational native plant communities was one of the best recipes for bringing back wildlife. Successful native plants populations bring the native insects and other food sources needed by wildlife. In addition, native plants provide the wildlife highways and habitat needed for keystone species like Beaver, Blue Heron and amphibians.
When Tree for All started, the going rate in our region to grow and install a single native plant was in the three-dollar range. Today, that cost is running between 50 and 70 cents. Cost savings were realized by implementing innovative site preparation techniques, slashing administrative costs, finding new ways to contract and distribute native plants, stimulating the private sector workforce, and rethinking how we monitor for success.
Having completed more than 700 projects, Tree for All has been able to transition from project-based monitoring to a system that is able to measure success across broad landscapes. This approach brings great cost savings as we have moved to real-time paperless monitoring and drone technologies.
On the financing front, finding creative ways to weave together diverse funding sources is as much an art as it is a science. We have learned that if we begin projects by cultivating transformative partnerships, it became much easier to find innovative ways to finance large scale projects. Again, the Intertwine/Portland State University research project addresses this point in depth. Once each partner recognizes and values each other’s work, it is truly amazing how quickly resources move into projects. While there is no shortage of interest in identifying innovative financing strategies, we have found that a focus on partnerships is fundamental to success.
Restoration work along streams in the Tualatin River Watershed helps support local business, healthy watersheds and a vibrant community. Produced by Sheepsco:
Summary: Balancing human and wildlife needs for a resilient future
Imagine watching a forestry crew place 30,000 native plants in the ground in a single day along miles of urban and rural streams. This is no fantasy, but the reality that we’re witnessing in the Tualatin River Watershed today. Moving from pilot programs to scale has been a historic journey carried out by amazing transformative partnerships that share a common vision and an understanding that we are in it for the long haul. Success has resulted from thinking outside the box and constantly asking: How do we efficiently provide natural resources benefits for both humans and wildlife?
Sunset over jackson Bottom. Photographer unknown
As we look forward, the Tree for All dream of a resilient and healthy watershed in the midst of rapid urbanization and climate change is quickly becoming the vibrant reality for the wildlife and humans of the Tualatin River Watershed.
There are places that have been designed with water as a key feature—new neighbourhoods in London such as Barking Riverside and Greenwich Millennium Village incorporate and link to water.
The 2018 London heatwave lasted weeks! I know we Brits like to talk about the weather—but honestly, it has been really hot—and it’s unheard of to be able to go for weeks without worrying about bringing a cardigan, umbrella, or raincoat when you step outside your door.
The parks have been full; the ice cream vans have been doing a roaring trade; the tube has been unbearable. My hundred-year-old flat has a beautiful, large bay window in my bedroom, south facing, and the room has been stifling at night, making sleep difficult. I had special glazing put in 4 years ago, when I had the windows replaced, that is supposed to manage the solar gain but still the blinds and windows had to remain shut all day to try to keep the internal temperature lower. We dog owners have had to adjust the daily regime: no walking in the middle of the day, checking the pavement temperature, hugging any shade from trees and buildings. I even have a little paddling pool that I put in the garden with some water in for the dog, much to her initial bewilderment.
Many people this summer have been enjoying formal and informal opportunities to cool down by and in the water in London. We have outdoor lidos dotted across the city, as well as bucolic swimming ponds in Hyde Park and on Hampstead Heath. To the west of London there are swimming spots in the River Thames itself and there is an outdoor swimming club in the Royal Docks, east of Canary Wharf. It was heaven after running around London to slip into the cold, murky green water of Hampstead ladies’ pond where swimmers share space with ducks.
It’s not just the formal outdoor swimming spaces that have been full. We’ve been fascinated to find that a little corner of the River Lee became an impromptu bathing spot for humans in the heatwave, clearly with no thought to things like water quality or personal safety.
Through word of mouth and social media, Shadwell Basin near Wapping has attracted a growing crowd of young people, including my daughter, much to the chagrin of the local authorities. She was chatting with friends about how hot it was and how lovely it would be to find somewhere local outside to swim in the heat and someone mentioned Shadwell Basin. When they got there many other young people were there, jumping in and swimming, sunbathing around the edge.
In neither area was it clear that you shouldn’t swim there. They now have enhanced signage to warn of the dangers of swimming in these spots. [Informal swimming photo folder] In the prestigious development around Kings Cross, the water features have provided children with informal opportunities for play and other parts of the city with water features and fountains have been busy, parents bringing children fully kitted out to play, with towels, swimsuits, changes of clothes and picnics.
As well as these mostly joyous experiences of the heatwave, I’ve been worrying about the wider impacts—in the 2003 heatwave, there were 20,000 related deaths across Europe, with the elderly and vulnerable in cities most at risk. What will the figures be like this year? I’ve been working on themes related to climate adaptation in the urban environment for 11 years, but I’m not sure people (residents, professionals, public officers) are any more aware of how to adapt to extreme heat despite the millions spent on excellent research, for example the suite of projects under the UK Research Council’s Adaptation and Resilience to a Changing Climate programme, 2009-14.
Water is a challenge in extended heatwaves—reservoirs and rivers run low, drinking water has to be carefully managed, often resulting in hosepipe bans and other measures to reduce unnecessary consumption of a precious resource. Water is also a core part of health advice for coping with extreme heat —National Health Service heatwave guidance includes having cool baths and showers and drinking fluids, especially water.
So, a question for us all—if heatwaves and flooding are going to be more frequent and water is therefore at any one time a scarce resource to be conserved, flash flooding to be minimised, and an essential ingredient in dealing with extreme heat—are we doing enough to put water centre stage of urban design, regeneration and management? Are we actually designing new buildings and neighbourhoods with the future climate in mind? For London, this is likely to include more frequent heatwaves and more frequent heavy rain leading to flash flooding. I look at all the new homes being built in London—a high priority to deal with the shortage of affordable homes for families. Evidence of design for a changing climate—multifunctional green and blue areas, sustainable drainage systems, thought about orientation and materials—is scarce. The areas that do introduce these measures stand out as special, for example the London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham and Groundwork project to “climate proof” social housing through sustainable drainage systems, monitored by colleagues in the UEL Sustainability Research Institute.
Many cities are like London, with different types of water bodies, from large rivers to small canals, creeks, ponds and ditches. Many of these water bodies are neglected and unloved, others are hotspots for regeneration, with developers often featuring pictures of water in their marketing materials. The opportunities for making the most of the water, through increased access, quality and enhanced biodiversity are immense. This is especially important in inner-city areas that have more blue space (water) than green space.
Rosie Markwick, a yoga and standup paddleboard (SUP) teacher, runs classes from the Islington boat club, a charity set up in the 1970s to offer water activities for local children. Islington is one of the densest and least green of the London boroughs and the south of the borough has been identified by the local authority as particularly challenging for climate change because of the magnifying effects of the urban heat island and the vulnerability of the local population. The Regents Canal flows through the borough, and the boat club is located on the City Road basin. Rosie teaches a wide range of people, from local 80-year olds to stressed city workers. She has noticed how people very quickly relax and become much more open and engaged when they’re on the water.
The Canal and River Trust, which manages 2,000 miles of inland waterways for British Waterways, including Regents Canal, has recently published independent research showing wellbeing benefits of being by inland waterways. This adds to emerging academic research about the wellbeing benefits of water in urban areas, such as the work by the Institute for Hygiene and Public Health, University of Bonn reseachers Sebastian Vőlker and Thomas Kistemann, and their 2013 research article “I’m always entirely happy when I’m here!” Urban blue enhancing human health and wellbeing in Cologne and Dűsseldorf, Germany, published in Social Science and Medicine.
The 2018 heatwave has shown how water has provided much delight and refuge from the heat across London. But, inevitably, the weather has changed and already the heatwave feels like a distant memory. But notwithstanding the ephemeral nature of this heatwave, it has been instructional for those city makers who will observe and listen. Rather than either ignoring hidden urban water bodies or just seeing them as profit-optimising development opportunities, we should invest in them for their health, biodiversity, recreation, cooling and social benefits.
There are some great examples of things starting to change, led by charities—for example, Thames 21 and the London Wildlife Trust have both been involved in local projects to engage city dwellers in caring for and understanding local creeks and water spots as well as enhancing quality and access. Thames 21 has worked with Oxford University and local communities to identify a whole range of new opportunities for sustainable drainage and constructed wetlands. London Wildlife Trust manages wetlands in London, including Woodbury Wetlands, which is surrounded by a mix of existing social housing estates and new luxury apartments, as well as Walthamstow Wetlands, which I mentioned in my last TNOC essay.
Notwithstanding these positive signs, I would argue there is still a long way to go to optimise the benefits of urban water for people and nature. For example, there are also issues around increased demands for water in a heatwave. Whilst the urban food growing movement is literally blossoming in London, access to water in some of these spots can be difficult—a real challenge for successful cultivation.
In the heatwave, watering regimes have had to be stepped up markedly. My local mini-allotment site has had to get creative in finding a source of water, negotiating access to a water point in the street and running a hosepipe to fill water butts. Other growing sites have had to rely on residents bringing water from home—not a long-term solution.
Should urban designers in cities like London be looking for inspiration in cities like Seville or Cόrdoba, where hundreds of years ago gardens were created as tranquil oases, with water very much at their heart? Is that what has inspired places like Pancras Square, Kings Cross, with it’s flowing water feature? And can such thoughtful design be incorporated in less prestigious spaces where ordinary people live? Or would that be deemed unaffordable?
If such blue spaces can offer health benefits, surely they are worth the investment. Actually, there are places that have been designed with water as a key feature—new neighbourhoods in London such as Barking Riverside and Greenwich Millennium Village incorporate and link to water. It would be interesting to see whether residents are actively engaging with this local water and if it is bringing health and wellbeing benefits.
What would a design process that embeds water look like? There are many questions. Might it involve not only thinking about physical water bodies, their access, their quality, possible uses—for example, could they be swum in? Kayaked? Fished? Lived on? But also, how could water be managed locally for watering green or growing spaces. Is there potential for rainwater harvesting or grey water recycling, to reduce impacts of flooding? To provide delight and tranquillity? To provide local ecological richness and biodiversity? This type of process clearly requires many strands/disciplines to come together, deep partnership working, understanding local people’s needs and desires, thinking at different scales, and understanding what the trade-offs are between activities and functions, such as with regard to pollution or disturbance.
It seems to me that currently many of these questions are either not explicitly considered or are answered in isolation of each other. If we consider the fundamental role that water, and the water cycle, plays in our very existence and the life of the planet, maybe it’s worth the effort to attempt a more complex and comprehensive analysis of how we engage with water in our cities.
Nora Achrati is a voice actress based in Washington, DC.
Dori Legg is an actress currently living in New York City.
Urban-Rural integrated planning 
Slum reconstruction 
Sustainable infrastructure design—from water, energy, material flows, built systems—is the art of seeking solutions that address ecology, engineering and culture as interconnected realms.
Over several hours of intense discussion, a broad range of ideas and issues emerged, for the most part centred around those old ‘staples’: education, infrastructure, funding, policy. But, every now and then, a word or a sentence – a description of a park, an open green space, the village square, a desire? – emerged and although ‘ecology’ as a distinct category wasn’t a specific topic on the agenda, two things struck me again and again as I attempted to moderate the discussions: one, that the question of the nature of African cities is still very much up for grabs and two, possibly more interesting, that the culture, history and role of nature in African cities is hardly ever discussed. In and of, of and in. Two sides of the same, particular coin. 
Disasters are terrible. I always use the image of “I hate you Sandy” painted on a wall somewhere on the Jersey beach, to stress that whatever happens and how bold and big government and private sector can come in, it is still all about the human scale. Bridging the gap between public and private also means bridging the gap between the institutional world and the people, the communities and the informal world. Because there is not only a disconnect between politics and people, there is also a disconnect between professionals and people.
Imagine this scenario; you live in a dense urban community along a vulnerable coastline, a catastrophic event occurs with only 6 hours warning, but since a web of communication exists to locate and reposition people, critical assets and provide alternative places to live and work short term. Issues have been worked out so that the time of recovery is minimized to 24 hours and there has been no loss of life and livelihood. In this community individuals and everyone around them are constantly reminded through notations on the physical surfaces of the city, their environmental history and through this the dynamic nature of where they are standing. Through these simple set of graphic interfaces, that are constantly kept current by real time data from scientists, people are able to learn as they go through their daily lives their risk level in a very subconscious yet concrete way. In the event of a climate related extreme events and conditions, these citizens, when they get critical warnings, via their devices or through media, understand in a visceral way where they are and therefore what they need to do. Because of the level of individual awareness, government and businesses alike have had to agree on a system and plan in the case of sudden and extreme climate related events. Although change is difficult, likely the increase in public and environmental knowledge has resulted in increases cultural and social capital spread across income levels.
Working this way the mechanisms of design and planning are the means to understand actual places, guiding policy and thus funding projects to reflect the way people behave both as individuals and in aggregate. Building soft and hard systems; from signage, to floating communities, new public transit and public spaces, to new places for habitat, wind turbines and water resource management, that help us adapt, model and test new ways of living and producing, are critical to a future of competing priorities and fluctuating risk levels.
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