September 11, 2015: An Event Ethnography of Living Memorials

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

1_Sherwood Island

2_Sherwood Island

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

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

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

3_Jacobi

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

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

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

5_Tribute Park Rockaways_DSC02525

6_Tribute Park Rockaways

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

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

7_Coney Island

8_Coney Island

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

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

9_GRACE Glen Rock

10_GRACE Glen Rock

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

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

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

11_Hometown Memorial_Babylon

12_Babylon

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

* * *

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

On The Nature of Cities

Erika Svendsen

About the Writer:
Erika Svendsen

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

Heather McMillen

About the Writer:
Heather McMillen

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

Novem Auyeung

About the Writer:
Novem Auyeung

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

Rachel Holmes

About the Writer:
Rachel Holmes

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

Michelle Johnson

About the Writer:
Michelle Johnson

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

Renae Reynolds

About the Writer:
Renae Reynolds

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

Setting Out from Bangkok. TNOC Podcast Bangkok to Barcelona 01

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.
Play

Also available at iTunes.

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

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

For about about this series, click here.

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

On The Nature of Cities

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

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

human footprint in northeast
Image courtesy of Eric Sanderson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eric Sanderson
New York City

On The Nature of Cities

Seven Things You Need to Know about Ecocities

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

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

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

  1. Defining an ecocity—what is it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  1. A smart city might not be an ecocity

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

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

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

  1. Biophilic and ecological cities are not necessarily the same

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

  1. Sustainable cities and ecological cities are not the same

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

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

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

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

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

  1. Ecocities die

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

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

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

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

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

Taking sides?

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

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

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

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

Paul Downton
Melbourne

On The Nature of Cities

Sewage Eating Floating Islands: Operationalizing “Urban Ecosystem Justice”

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

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

Launching the Island. Credit: albanyweblog.com

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

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

Urban ecosystem justice

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

Social sustainability

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

Ecological alienation

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

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

Water in cities

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

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

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

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

Warning Sign. Photo: Adam Kaszas

Return to the island

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

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

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

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

Conclusion   

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

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

Scott Kellogg
Albany

On The Nature of Cities

Citations

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kirby Manià and Dimitra Xidous, Executive Editors
Vancouver and Dublin

Sprout cover image by Hannah Harm.

On The Nature of Cities

Dimitra Xidous

About the Writer:
Dimitra Xidous

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

Shaped by Urban History—Reflections on Bangkok

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo: Richard Friend
Photo: Richard Friend

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

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

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

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

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

Photo: Richard Friend
Photo: Richard Friend

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

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

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

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

Photo: Richard Friend
Photo: Richard Friend

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

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

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

Richard Friend
Bangkok

On The Nature of Cities

Shifting the Paradigm: Art and Ecology Unite!

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

Can collaborations between artists and ecologists inspire new ways forward?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lunch at Indivisible Gallery. Photo: Stephen Davis

Art and ecological restoration

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

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

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

Collaborations between artists and ecologists

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

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

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

What can ecologists gain from artists?

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

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

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

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

Toby Query
Portland

On The Nature of Cities

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

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

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christopher Sellers
Stony Brook

On The Nature of Cities

Should Bangalore Aim to Become a Smart City?

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

There is growing recognition that cities, which already house more than half the world’s population, require increased policy and development attention. India’s policy response to the need for sustainable, resilient and low-carbon cities is the Smart City mission. According to the Indian Ministry of Urban Development, the mission promotes “cities that provide core infrastructure and give a decent quality of life to their citizens, a clean and sustainable environment and application of ‘Smart’ Solutions.”

In this conception of a Smart City as the driver of local economic growth, technology and “smart solutions” find repeated mention, while better planning and greenfield development, beyond current city boundaries, are expected to absorb a growing urban population.

The Smart City mission has a very narrow focus, which does not address the risks faced by a city with the size and development trajectory of Bangalore.

The Ministry of Urban Development’s, or MoUD’s, illustrative list of what constitutes Smart Cities has a mixed bag of infrastructure and governance elements (MoUD, 2015). These core elements span adequate basic services, efficient urban mobility, affordable housing, robust IT connectivity, health and education. Sustainable environment, good governance, safety and security of women and children, and citizen participation are thrown in for good measure. The strategy document admits that there are many interpretations for smart cities the world over and, even in India, their implementation and adoption will vary across states and local bodies. Smart solutions that sometimes overlap with these elements include e-governance for a score of basic services, waste management, water management, energy management and others (such as tele-medicine, tele-education, trade facilitation and skills development).

With an initial budget of INR 7000 crore ($US 1.05 billion) in 2014, 100 satellite towns of larger cities are meant to be developed as Smart Cities. Additionally, existing, mid-sized cities are to be developed under the programme. The initial allocation has been hiked by more than two and half times and several incentives have been provided to encourage foreign investment into the programme. The institutional mechanism for implementation is a special purpose vehicle, which would be run like a private company for the duration of implementation, and will have representation from all levels of government.

The one challenge that is featured on the MoUD website, which smart cities apparently face and should address, is how to involve smart people in the planning phase and how to garner city leadership to ensure programme success.

So what’s missing?

A gaping hole in the conception and components of a Smart City is exactly how a special purpose vehicle would enable these wide-ranging elements and solutions with the participation and support of affected communities. Would citizens be engaged when designing smart city solutions? Would participatory governance go beyond issuing death and birth certificates in response to e-requests? Would lakes and urban forestry be revived to provide critical ecosystem services as new infrastructure is instated? Would access to public spaces improve for the underprivileged in our society? Would the new smartness integrate with the history and heritage of many of India’s smaller cities?

Ostensibly not. The ministry has adopted an area-based approach, which means that strategies such as retrofitting, redevelopment, greenfield applications and pan-city endeavours will be applied to pre-determined geographical areas specified by urban local bodies. This spatial conception of cities lacks an understanding of cities as deeply connected social and ecological systems, which may not be conveniently divided into geographical areas. There is limited understanding of how city systems of food, water, energy and waste interact and overlap through resource flows and people movement. Cities’ resource and sink needs extend far into their surrounding regions, which is why a region-based approach is recommended when seeking sustainable solutions. In each document and every articulation of the mission, whether it is smart strategies or smart solutions, there is little evidence of which environmental or economic problems Indian cities need to address and what kind of future such strategies will take us towards. Issues of social cohesiveness, community engagement and cultural identity find no mention.

Pedestrians and commuters negotiate their ways to work on a wintry December morning in North Bangalore
Pedestrians and commuters negotiate their different ways to work on a wintry December morning in North Bangalore. The road will only be paved after stormwater drains are laid by the city water board. Such road conditions are high risk for all categories of users, and this particular road has been inaccessible, to different degrees, for over a year and a half. Photo: Sumetee Pahwa

India Prime Minister Modi’s Smart City vision is an attempt to answer the national call for economic growth, employment creation, world-class cities, better living standards and municipal reform. However, it fails to take cognizance of the global challenges of climate change, poverty, inequality and unsustainable development. These challenges are no longer the purview of national departments, as they manifest in multiple forms within the cities of both the developed and developing world. And furthermore, should cities such as Bangalore, on a very fast growth trajectory, adopt a much broader and deeper vision than the one captured in a smart agenda?

An alternative framework for city development

The United Nations’ seventeen new global goals, called Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), defined by 169 targets, have been formulated after a widely participatory consultation process hosted by the UN. SDGs, post the 2015 development agenda, call for commitment to universal goals and targets. As has been discussed at length on TNOC, for the first time, there is now an urban development goal: Make cities and human settlements inclusive, safe, resilient and sustainable.

Let us consider how the urban SDG Goal 11 frames the developmental challenges faced by cities all over the world, and the propositions it puts forth in the form of dedicated urban targets. Goal 11 emphasizes equitable access to affordable housing, basic services, transport and public spaces for all urban citizens. Integrated planning and management in cities such that cultural and natural heritage are protected, links with national and regional development planning are strengthened, and buildings are designed for resilience, are all goals that find dedicated targets within the urban SDG. Several sustainability concerns are incorporated, including reduction of the ecological footprint of cities, inclusion and resource efficiency. Integrated policies that address climate change mitigation and adaptation, as well as disaster risk management at all levels, are encouraged. Special focus is recommended for the needs of those in vulnerable situations: women, children, persons with disabilities and older persons.

In this conception of the urban agenda, and the subsequent articulation of a global goal into measurable targets, the need for building capacity in urban officials and enhancing their agency in city matters has been left out. Especially in the Indian context, we find that numerous governance challenges exist whereby cities and urban local bodies lack the skills, the resources and the authority to achieve many of the targets specified in Goal 11.

Challenges and risks faced by Bangalore across social, economic and environmental parameters

Bangalore is the fifth largest and one of the fastest growing metropolitan cities in India. The population of the city has grown by more than 40 percent between 2001 and 2011. This has obvious implications for the ability of the ecosystem to provide the range of resources required to support the exponential growth in city population, which is not always accompanied by expansion in city services and infrastructure. Bangalore faces an array of interlinked challenges such as air pollution, water scarcity, urban flooding, food insecurity, waste mismanagement and the loss of urban natural capital. As the principal city in Karnataka, attracting international and regional migrants, Bangalore has followed a development pathway marked by disappearing and dying lakes, numerous gated communities, and high levels of social and economic inequity.

The city faces numerous risks to its future development as its population and geographical expanse increase. Encroachment of lakes, natural flood plains and drainage channels due to uncontrolled urbanization has resulted in urban floods during extreme precipitation events (Poonacha et al., 2015). Public infrastructure, housing and transport networks in flood prone areas are exposed to numerous risks, as are marginalized households located in low-lying areas. Bangalore’s drainage system was designed for a smaller and less dense city, while at the same time, rainwater infiltration into the ground has decreased due to a rise in built up and paved areas.

Ironically, the city also faces reduced availability and regular access to quality of water supply. The city relies on Cauvery River, 100 kilometers away, for half of its water needs, and on extraction of ground water for the remaining half. The Karnataka State Climate Change Plan estimates that total rainfall could reduce by as much as 10-20 percent by 2050 in the region, deepening the water stress experienced by the city.

Fishing boats straddle Rachenahalli Lake, across from new residential developments in North Bangalore
Fishing boats straddle Rachenahalli Lake, across from new residential developments. For years, lakes in Bangalore have performed livelihood support (fishing, agriculture) and ecological (species habitat, micro-climate control) and bio-remediation functions as part of Bangalore’s social ecological system. Lakes also functioned as water reservoirs for local residents until the Cauvery River became the primary source of drinking water for the city. Photo: Sumetee Pahwa

In a city of stark socio-infrastructural dichotomies, high rise air conditioned glass office complexes, private residential enclaves and ‘gated communities’ contrast with poorly, or under served, dense informal settlements and slums. A large number of migrants are drawn to the city in search of improved livelihood options. For first generation migrants, informal settlements or slums often provide an entry to the city. However, such settlements are often located in unauthorized areas, and therefore have limited access to safe water supply or sanitation networks (IIHS, 2014). In the absence of basic service provision, households rely on poor quality ground water and resort to open defecation, thereby increasing their exposure to health risks. Rising prices of essential commodities such as fuel, electricity and food also affect poor households’ ability to recover from health and economic impacts. Climate change is expected to contribute to these impacts through extreme rain events and heat island effect in the city, and a drying trend in northern parts of the state, which will reduce food productivity and induce further migration.

New migrants to most urban areas in India are dependent upon the marginal work available within the informal economy, characterized by very low wages and high job insecurity. First generation migrants often work as casual labourers in the construction industry, one of the lowest paying and least secure sectors (Krishna et al., 2015). The number of people employed in informal sectors is far greater than those in the formal sector (Mahadevia, 2008). Bangalore also has a high proportion of people who are illiterate, or are literate but have not completed primary school. This translates into a challenging situation whereby a large cohort of 20 to 29 year-olds are entering the workforce with very low levels of education and literacy (IIHS, 2014).

Smart or smarter?

In pursuing “smartness,” will Bangalore be able to address the challenges it has accumulated over thirty years of unsustainable urban growth? Would it, instead, be pursuing smartness if it were to adopt an integrated social ecological frame? If yes, what does it require to become a sustainable, smart, socially and ecologically integrated city?

Large and complex challenges of providing bulk infrastructure to service a rapidly expanding urban population and managing a morphing urban geography in the context of climate change will require a more nuanced approach, and much longer engagement with practitioners, city leaders and city residents. City development strategies need to be informed by a comprehension of cities as systems where citizens draw resources from their urban ecology via a network of transport, energy and communication infrastructure, and are exposed to locational, disaster and climate risks. At the same time, cities have been transforming over the years. Natural systems such as the lakes of Bangalore and the drainage channels that connected them and enabled their functionality as reservoir, habitat and cleanser, have been replaced by ill-designed drainage infrastructure that proves inadequate during extreme events.

The Smart City mission has a very narrow focus, which does not address the risks that a city of the size and on the development trajectory of Bangalore faces. The pursuit of smartness as defined by the Smart City Mission may help achieve better traffic management and extend IT services to underserved sections of society. However, if a large proportion of the society is not literate, or lacks basic services in their settlements, or faces employment insecurity, smarter solutions will be required to take citizens towards sustainable well-being.

A lone crow sits atop a well-mixed garbage and mud pile along Dasrahalli Road in Bangalore
A lone crow sits atop a well-mixed garbage and mud pile along Dasrahalli Road, where bulk infrastructure work is underway. Photo: Sumetee Pahwa

What is required is an understanding of how the city as a system is more than its parts—lakes are not islands to be isolated from a water network and expected to function as mere places of recreation; housing has to be more than affordable and enhance a community’s well-being through productive common spaces; widened roads don’t just hyper-connect the city center to an international airport, but also end up fragmenting markets and habitations on either side of them; a metro track may fast-track the daily commute of a few workers, but often at the cost of urban forestry which took more than a century to establish. The smart agenda attempts to separate water supply from waste and sanitation, health care from lake restoration, and energy supply from air pollution in order to roll out private contracts and somehow arrive at a smart city.

Bangalore is better off channeling the intelligence of its citizens towards community-led, locally embedded initiatives, in response to particular societal and environmental challenges. But for that to happen, a lot will need to change—both in the way that city governance institutions are designed, and in the way that city residents conceive their roles to be in current and future management of the city’s social and natural resources.

Sumetee Gajjar
Bangalore

On The Nature of Cities

References

Indian Institute for Human Settlements (IIHS) (2014). Climate and Development Knowledge Network (CDKN) – Future Proofing Indian Cities, Final Urban Diagnostics for Bangalore.

Krishna, A., Sriram, M. S., & Prakash, P. (2014). Slum Types and Adaptation Strategies: Identifying Policy-Relevant Differences in Bangalore. Environment and Urbanization. 26, 568 – 585.

Mahadevia, D. (2008). Metropolitan Employment in India. Inside the Transforming Urban Asia: Policies, Processes and Public Actions, New Delhi: Concept, 56-93.

MoUD, 2015 “What is Smart City” Ministry of Urban Development, Government of India. URL: http://smartcities.gov.in/writereaddata/What%20is%20Smart%20City.pdf accessed on 21 November 2015

Poonacha P., Solomon D., Bendapudi R., Rahman A., Basu R., Badiger S (2015) The Regional to Sub-national Context. In: Revi, A., Amir Bazaz, Jagdish Krishnaswamy, Ramkumar Bendapudi, Marcella D’ Souza, Sumetee Pahwa Gajjar (eds.). Vulnerability and adaptation to climate change in semi-arid areas in India (pages 49-90).  Working Paper, ASSAR PMU, South Africa.

Should programs in architecture, urban design, and landscape architecture require a certain minimum level of learning about the fundamentals of ecology? Why?

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.
Every month we feature a Global Roundtable in which a group of people respond to a specific question in The Nature of Cities.
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Hover over a name to see an excerpt of their response…click on the name to see their full response.
Barbara Deutsch, Washington
All professionals contributing to sustainable design projects should have an understanding of the importance of ecology and its basic principles to achieve optimal results.
Paul Downton, Adelaide
Cities need to be designed as ecosystems, yet architecture’s most influential culture heroes have betrayed open antagonism to nature.
Martha Fajardo, Bogota
The habitat professions’ programs need to understand the basic principles and processes of city as a system.
Noboru Kawashima, Bogota
Landscape Architecture is work of creating artificial nature. It is a man-made environment. But we cannot aim too low in landscape architecture just because it is not “real” nature.
Norbert Müeller, Erfurt
Although there is a growing concern about sustainable urban design there are still major backlogs both in theory and in application.  
Kaveh Samiei, Tehran
There were some cultural and logical problems that emerge from misunderstandings about the relationship of humans and nature — core viewpoints that have traditional and modern roots of human dominance on nature and resources as materials for consumption!
Barbara Deutsch

About the Writer:
Barbara Deutsch

Barbara Deutsch is the Executive Director of the Landscape Architecture Foundation, and has diverse experience from the for-profit and nonprofit sectors.

Barbara Deutsch

Absolutely!

By definition landscape architects design for natural processes, natural resources, and people so a thorough understanding of ecological sciences is essential.

Now more than ever, clients and government agencies have specified interests in sustainability. All professionals contributing to sustainable design projects should have an understanding of the importance of ecology and its basic principles to achieve optimal results. An understanding of natural processes, such as the hydrologic cycle in an urban context, is also critical to designing, building and maintaining high-quality urban ecosystems.

Landscape architects understand the city as a system and are well-positioned to “translate” — or facilitate a greater understanding of ecology among a full design team by integrating and applying the sciences with the design process. Landscape architects should also have enough knowledge of ecology to “know what they don’t know,” and know when to engage a botanist, soil scientist, ecologist or other specialist.

Beyond designing for ecological processes, landscape architects and others must be prepared to communicate these concepts and goals to clients, agencies and municipalities: those who will commission or incentivize exemplar sustainable design projects. The Landscape Architecture Foundation is helping practitioners make the case for more sustainable design through its Landscape Performance Series, an online interactive set of resources to show value and provide tools for designers, agencies and advocates to evaluate performance and make the case for sustainable landscape solutions.

Urban Ecological Design was the central focus of my studies at the University of Washington’s Department of Landscape Architecture. Though ecology is not specified per se in the landscape architecture accreditation standards, natural systems, the principles of sustainability, and ecosystems are all key components of landscape architecture programs and central to students’ knowledge and values. Tools such as the Landscape Performance Series, as well as SITES, can augment the curriculum requirements to help practitioners both design for ecological function and understand and promote the ecological benefits of their work.

Paul Downton

About the Writer:
Paul Downton

Writer, architect, urban evolutionary, founding convener of Urban Ecology Australia and a recognised ‘ecocity pioneer’. Paul has championed ecological cities for years but has become disenchanted with how such a beautiful concept can be perverted and misinterpreted – ‘Neom' anyone? Paul is nevertheless working on an artistic/publishing project with the working title ‘The Wild Cities’ coming soon to a crowd-funding site near you!

Paul Downton

Ecology is about the relationship of organisms with each other and with their environment, so all those that design and manipulate the environment should have a minimum level of learning about the fundamentals of ecology. Buildings and cities are constructed ecosystems even if they’re not designed as such.

They need to be designed as such, yet architecture’s most influential culture heroes have betrayed open antagonism to nature. In 1925 arch-Modernist guru Le Corbusier praised cities as an assault on nature. In 1986 I heard an imperious Zaha Hadid confess hatred of nature in a conference keynote. For all his stylistic skills, like most of his profession Richard Gehry is unlikely to be remembered as a champion of green design.

Urban design and planning is about creating urban environments in which coherent relationships exist between its elements, yet I have seen city planners reduce that idea to an insistence that buildings share the same eaves heights in the name of ‘contextualism’. The destructive impact of our built environment is exacerbated by ignorance of how its impacts come about and that ignorance runs deep, especially in architecture and urban design. It is vital to regard the built environment in terms of process and place rather than objects in space and it makes no sense to place the care of living systems in the hands of people who don’t have a basic understanding of natural processes, yet in the world of design the power of the image trumps reality and facilitates a kind of environmental double-think in which the word ’sustainable’ is routinely applied to projects that are ecological nonsense.

All programs related to the built environment need to contain a minimal level of familiarity with the fundamentals and language of ecology to ensure such nonsense does not continue.

Drawing by Paul Downton
Drawing by Paul Downton
Martha Fajardo

About the Writer:
Martha Fajardo

Martha Cecilia Fajardo, CEO of Grupo Verde, and her partner and husband Noboru Kawashima, have planned, designed and implemented sound and innovative landscape architecture and city planning projects that enhance the relationship between people, the landscape, and the environment.

Martha Fajardo

The landscape the place we live in, is our most important life support. Population increase is pushing the limits of the land to a critical point of rupture. The complexities of the current issues, the impact of rapid urbanization; the management of resources; the after-effects of disasters, both natural and manmade. Soil is being made less fertile; water is drying up; trees are being felled; animals and people are being made less viable. Inequity and poverty thrive while the land is put into a state of alienation. Here lies the land of possibility; a biophysical territory to be nurtured with well-informed anticipation and evaluation; a transforming landscape approached thorough impact assessment, visionary planning and sensitive management.

Collaborative processes demand experienced professionals, teams and leaders that stand for for analysis, planning and/or design. Therefore, programs must require the application of landscape ecology and conservation biology principles to the strategic design of urban infrastructure; training for ways to structure and guide the flows of organisms, materials, and energy that pass through a city in ways that support the characteristic biodiversity of a region. Here the fundamentals of ecology embrace the integration of landscape issues: disturbance, fragmentation, landscape manipulation, fundamental ecological processes, composition and structure, and environmental influences.

Landscapes positively contribute to the complexities of the contemporary city, to a more equitable distribution of ecological and environmental resources, and to the creation of better futures across all regions of the world. Landscape architecture, as a very ancient discipline and practice, carries ecological knowledge of generation after generation and has demonstrated a significant capacity to react and to adapt.

The habitat professions’ programs need to understand the basic principles and processes of city as a system. Happily, landscape architecture and allied design disciplines and practices are nowadays developing better capacity to facilitate dynamic adaptive processes; contributing to a transition from a first to a second phase of ecological design.

LID 2B
LID — Low Impact Development: A Design Manual for Urban Areas introduces general audiences to Designing landscapes for urban storm water runoff—a primary source of watershed pollution. Credit: University of Arkansas Community Design Center’s images from ” Low Impact Development: a manual for urban areas (LID)” University of Arkansas Community Design Center, Fayetteville, AR Client: Arkansas Natural Resources Commission and the U. S. Environmental Protection Agency http://uacdc.uark.edu ASLA 2011 award of excellence
LID
Credit: University of Arkansas Community Design Center’s images from ” Low Impact Development: a manual for urban areas (LID)” University of Arkansas Community Design Center, Fayetteville, AR Client: Arkansas Natural Resources Commission and the U. S. Environmental Protection Agency http://uacdc.uark.edu ASLA 2011 award of excellence
Noboru Kawashima

About the Writer:
Noboru Kawashima

Noboru Kawashima is a Japanese biologist, urbanist and landscape architect, living in Colombia as Grupo Verde Ltda Vice-president.

Noboru Kawashima”

Our human lives are dependent on productions from natural resources: foods, energies, industrial goods, constructions and everything.

The natural resources are treated in cycles of extraction from the earth, transportation, processing, trading, consumption and going back to the earth. For example, foods: cultivation from the fertility of the earth, transportation to market and trading, cooking, eating and the organic materials go back to the earth. These cycles are very complicated and cross each other and with many other cycles such as energy cycles, industrial cycles, commercial cycles, social cycles, and so on.

Many times these cycles are not complete, at least in a short term, or are interrupted. There are environmental costs when the cycle is not closed, such as when there is no re-cycling and no sustainability in the use of renewable natural resources. For example, a sewage system is very good to sustain sanitary conditions in urban area, but the organic materials do not come back to the earth of cultivation, and so there is the interruption of the cycle.

It is estimated that the percentage of world urban population will rise up to 80% in 20 years. The difficulty is that urban areas are far from the places of extraction of natural resources: far from cultivation fields, far from waters of fishing industry, far from mining sites, far from oil wells, far from water power plants, and so on. So, the most of urban inhabitants, day by day, will have less chance to recognize how their lives are dependent on the natural resources and less chance to know the importance of establishing and sustaining cycles of renewable natural resources.

Landscape Architecture is work of creating artificial nature. It is a man-made environment. But we cannot aim too low in landscape architecture just because it is not “real” nature. You can see in a green area the living things growing, flowering, fruiting and dying. You can touch the soil in a garden. In this way you will feel in your daily life the importance of soil, and recognize our dependence on natural resources.

From the view-point of natural resources the duty of architecture, urban design, landscape architecture, and urban planning programs is to:

• Create urban environments that minimize the interruption of cycles of natural resources.

• Create urban environments so that inhabitants may recognize their inter-dependence on natural resources and the importance of sustainability of the cycles of natural resources.

In these senses, architecture, urban design, landscape architecture, and urban planning programs must require a certain minimum level — or more — of learning about the fundamentals of ecology.

Norbert Mueller

About the Writer:
Norbert Mueller

Norbert Müller is vegetation ecologist and Professor in Landscape Management and Restoration Ecology at the University Applied Sciences Erfurt, Germany. His main fields in research and lecturing are conservation biology, urban biodiversity and sustainable design. Since 2008 he is president of URBIO (http://www.fh-erfurt.de/urbio).

Norbert Müeller

The main challenges for life on earth for this century are urban population growth, climate change and loss of biodiversity. Urban landscapes are using 75% of the global resources, are producing 80% of the greenhouse gas emissions, and are main drivers of biodiversity loss. For the future it will be essential to reduce the urban ecological footprint and make our towns and cities more sustainable. The main responsible planning disciplines to meet these challenges are architecture, urban design, landscape architecture and urban planning.

Therefore it is important for professionals working in these disciplines to a have a certain minimum level of learning about the fundamentals of ecology. Today, many programs at schools and universities offer courses in ecology and their specifications — especially plant, vegetation, and animal ecology as well as climatology, hydrology and soil ecology. Also urban ecology, the ecological discipline which examines the interactions between the abiotic and biotic environment in urban areas, is more and more included in programs. Although there is a growing concern about sustainable urban design there are still major backlogs both in theory and in application — for example, even now we do not have standardized tools for designing sustainable urban green spaces. Therefore, future research and education must focus not only on fundamentals of ecology but also on design methods how to apply ecology for more sustainable urban design and planning.

A recent opened online survey by the network URBIO on knowledge gaps and research priorities for urban planners and urban stakeholders stated the following 5 questions as most important:

  • What are the ecosystem services offered by a particular landscape?
  • How can ecosystems in a given city mitigate the vulnerability of cities in time of climate change or after natural hazards?
  • What is the social and economic value of conserving biodiversity and ecosystems?
  • How can we integrate ecological design and tools into strategies for land use planning and management?
  • How to set up a strategic policy to integrate biodiversity in the city?

I want to invite all readers of this blog to participate at this online survey to find out further knowledge gaps in the understanding of cities and how design them more sustainable.

About the Writer:
Kaveh Samiei

Kaveh Samiei is an architect and researcher in built environment sustainability.

Kaveh Samiei

Applied disciplines such as architecture, landscape architecture and urban design, all are interdisciplinary fields that we categorize as environmental design disciplines. An architect works as a connector of different fields such as design, art, engineering, environment, psychology, and so on. Thus, yes! Architecture as one of the main disciplines of the built environment requires a minimum level of learning about ecology and environment. In fact, every construction imposes itself onto nature and alters the ecological systems and function; nature works as an integrated whole. On other hand, designing urban landscapes and ecological planning without considering the role of architectural design and building blocks is an abortive attempt! Although landscape architecture and urban design students may take courses in “Plant ecology” and “Urban ecology”, landscape architecture is a new field in Architecture and Urban Planning schools in Iran and students can enter this program only in graduate levels. “Climatic design” and “Human, nature and architecture” are the only courses that architecture students in Iran currently must take at the undergraduate level!

Therefore, three years ago I began to teach “Ecological architecture” in “ARCH V”, a final design studio for undergraduate architecture students at the University of Semnan, School of Architecture and Urban Planning. I found out that we have to introduce fundamentals of ecology and sustainability before entering key subjects of design; some students can’t understand why we require discussion of sustainable design! “Theoretical foundations of architecture” was a free content course in which teachers typically spoke about different and diverse subjects; later I decided to utilize this course for teaching “Fundamentals of ecology” and in following semesters students could apply their comprehension of ecology in designing ecological residential buildings. Probably I taught that course to architecture students for first time in Iran!

There were some cultural and logical problems too that emerge from misunderstandings about the relationship of humans and nature — core viewpoints that have traditional and modern roots of human dominance on nature and resources as materials for consumption! So without shifting minds, we can’t go ahead. After three times teaching these courses, many students, even some students in year two and three, became interested and curious in ecological and sustainability issues! Now, under my supervision, six students are studying ecological approaches to design through their final thesis. Also, in collaboration with my students, I’m working on new methods of learning ecological design by doing a comprehensive research project about architecture education with an emphasis on sustainable, ecological design; I hope we can disseminate the results in near future.

Shrink-ing Times Square

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

1. What’s the matter with Times Square? 

Several years ago, Helle Søholt, CEO of Gehl Architects, said that New York would be the most sustainable city in the world if only it fixed its streets. Million Trees NYC is one effort in that direction, as is the CitiBike bike share programme and its corresponding—if slowly-expanding and inconsistently enforced—infrastructure of protected bike lanes. But it is New York’s overall design of ‘complete streets’ that has probably been the most impactful on its sustainability profile. For years, much of Manhattan’s open space was indisputably dominated by the private car. Nowhere epitomized this better than Times Square, where pedestrians famously had to weave in and out of active vehicular rights-of-way to avoid total stoppage on the narrow sidewalks. Then, in 2009, New York decided to experiment with the pedestrianization of the area. The 2010 decision to make this permanent vaulted NYC into the vanguard of sustainable streets.

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New York’s Times Square before (left) and after (right) the replacement of a number of vehicular lanes with a pedestrian plaza.

In 2015, with the plaza paved and old problems solved, new controversies are on the front page: unscrupulous hucksters and unclothed demonstrators (a return of some of the louche elements suppressed by the previous mayor, Michael Bloomberg). With the final touches of the repaved pedestrian plaza barely in place, the current Mayor (Bill de Blasio) is calling for the plaza to be removed and cars returned. A number of officials, including the City Council Speaker; the Borough President; the New York Times architecture critic; the head of the NGO, Transportation Alternatives; and others in the field of urbanism have essentially asked whether the Mayor is out of his mind. Nevertheless, de Blasio still appears to be acquiescing to the lone voice of his Police Commissioner that the redeveloped space is simply ungovernable.

2
Times Square’s pedestrian plaza and an unexpected encounter with Las Desnudas.

Whence the drastic change? Since the installation of the plazas the empirical evidence boasts reduced pedestrian injuries and vehicle collisions (ironically, one of the aims of the current Mayor’s impressive Vision Zero), increased pedestrian traffic and increased sales and commercial rents. With such success, why would he throw it all away? Assuming that his position is not entirely capricious, we might also ask whether there is something deeper at issue. During his election campaign, Mayor de Blasio faced a right-wing critique that his pro-equity platform would return New York to the ‘bad old days’ of crime-ridden subways, drug addict-filled parks, and prostitute-frequented streets, and despite his virtual dismantling of the dreadful stop-and-frisk policy, his choice of police commissioner Bratton (and Bratton’s continuance of draconian ‘broken windows’ policing) suggest that he is still fighting the nemesis of the ‘soft on crime’ liberal label.

The problem is, that fight is getting in the way of one of the most empirically successful sustainable streets initiatives in New York’s history. For many New Yorkers, the specter of its sudden removal is unimaginable. At the same time, several years ago, many of us would never have dreamed of (as transformational a change as) the pedestrianization of Times Square. But then again, going back even further—two or three —few probably imagined a crime-free Times Square (Disney notwithstanding). Yet that, too, happened.

Taken as a whole, the various changes in and around Times Square begin to suggest a chronic pattern of reactionary responses to some of the most visible crises of the time. A series of high-profile pedestrian deaths preceded Mayor de Blasio’s Vision Zero, which since 2014 has led to lower speed limits and redesigned sidewalk curbs, including in Times Square. New York’s loss of the title of top ‘world commerce center’ to London and loss to the state government on instituting ‘congestion pricing’ (which London had successfully premiered) preceded ex-Mayor Bloomberg’s 2010 efforts to pedestrianize Times Square. And a violent crime peak while ex-Mayor Giuliani was District Attorney preceded his mayoral run, following which he cracked down on illicit activity in Times Square in 1994. The question is, could New York even dream of managing all of these challenges simultaneously? As Richard Sennett wrote earlier this year, ‘the way forward lies in urbanists stepping out of our professional confines, drawing on other disciplines, no matter how amateurishly.’

Let’s head to psychology for a moment.

2. Is it about us?

Psychologists refer us to the ‘miracle question’. It is usually phrased as ‘what would a state of perfection look like?’ and it prompts the subject to envision an ideal state of improvement that is disconnected from the status quo and any intervening impediments. However—and somewhat ironically—few subjects are motivated to ask the question unless they are acutely aware that they are already doing very badly. Behavior change often starts at the bottom. Before a subject reaches the lowest point he or she may be in a ‘purgatory of indifference’, from within which it may be difficult to recognize dysfunction. Realizing that one is seriously off course from one’s life vision, there is motivation to rediscover an internal sense of purpose. This, in turn, may provide the incentive for maintaining those improvements over time; a virtuous cycle, if you will, but not an automatic one.

New York, like many cities, does have a wavering uncertainty about how to manage public space and balance spontaneity and control, an uncertainty into which Times Square’s hucksters and Desnudas may have tapped. But perhaps they have not tapped deeply enough to motivate the city to do more than tackle its symptoms as they flare up. As a result, a fear of returning to the ‘bad old days’ seems to have subsumed the recently—if shallowly—solved problems of pedestrian injury. It is also not uncommon for a sitting mayor to erase the legacy project of his predecessor (megalomania, if you like). But does the sudden push to eliminate the pedestrian plaza also reflect a collective, self-destructive tendency? Decades ago, Rem Koolhaas suggested that Manhattan, the ‘capital of perpetual crisis’, had always been obsessed with destroying and remaking itself, in a form of collective delirium, and that it revels in its resulting ‘culture of congestion’. Does it reflect amnesia about the city’s recent past of heightened pedestrian hazards? Paranoia about its far past of runaway crime? Or just hysteria about topless women (perfectly legal in New York City, by the way) in general?

Perhaps, like so many New Yorkers, Times Square needs a shrink—that is, a psychiatrist. Its symptoms suggest the need for a paradigm shift toward a culture of sharing public space that, as city leadership changes, can be sustained over time.

3. How can we sustain behavior change? 

The general principles of behavior change—what motivates, how to maintain it over time—also apply to more complex group situations. The city is a sociospatial construct, co-created between people and place, each shaping the other. Indeed, culture and behavior concretize and coalesce in public space like nowhere else. Do behavior change principles also apply to Times Square and New York: its residents, their values, the leaders they elect to represent them, the policies those leaders institute to address their priorities, the police they appoint to enforce them, the influence of the police on the behavior of people, and so on?

We believe so, but with two main differences. First, where there is hierarchy, there is a gap between decision making and those experiencing its consequences; this requires a correspondingly strong communication strategy. And second, more people means more divergent priorities; this requires a strategy for balancing them. Group therapy can help. It transforms one’s peers into ‘mirrors’ that provide increased clarity about one’s own and others’ values and priorities. The mutual vulnerability this generates often increases the intent of the group to learn and improve, rather than protect and regress. And this dynamic is key to effectively addressing deeper issues rather than superficially treating the symptoms of group dysfunction: this is the cultural paradigm shift we seek.

Over time, however, behavior change is vulnerable to relapse. The conflicting priorities and short-term electoral cycles of cities only exacerbate this tendency. A maintenance plan can help, particularly where earlier motivation has disappeared. The technique of motivational interviewing, developed by clinical psychologists William Miller and Stephen Rollnick, gives some guidance on sustaining behavior change over the long term. It works by eliminating conflicting motivations that are inconsistent with the subject’s deeper values. Unless such ambivalence is resolved, behavioral relapse remains a serious risk. Motivational interviewing has five stages: precontemplation, contemplation, preparation, action, and maintenance.

As change is a process rather than an outcome, progression through the stages is not always linear. In that sense, periodic maintenance may be the most critical stage. How does it work? Psychologists cite three key factors. First, social support, which carries the decision maker through the detours of the change process. Second, public announcement of the plan to change, which encourages accountability. And third, the creation of an escape plan early in the change process, which preemptively anticipates threats and prompts appropriate coping strategies, improving its long-term prognosis.

4. Three cities’ change trajectories

Can behavior change interventions positively influence sustainable urban improvement? And can they bring attention to invisible solved problems as much as visibly unsolved ones, particularly in light of electoral cycles and short-term memory? How does the experience of other cities speak to this? Let’s have a look.

Curitiba

That the city of Curitiba features very high on last year’s inaugural The Competitiveness of Cities, published by the World Economic Forum, will not surprise anyone. Curitiba also ranks at the top of the Latin America Green City Index sponsored by Siemens. For many, the city’s name is synonymous with sustainability. Less talked about is the significant obstacles the city overcame and whether its formerly dire sustainability situation might have motivated its current ‘best in class’ status. Four decades ago, Curitiba’s exceptionally high population growth and declining landfill capacity yielded an unmanageable non-organic waste surplus. (In motivational interviewing terms, one might call this the city’s precontemplation stage.) This was most acute in the city’s burgeoning hillside favelas. Here, there were so few streets that garbage vehicles could barely penetrate the built fabric to clear its growing refuse piles, the runoff from which was contaminating adjacent water bodies. As vermin and disease spread, the city debated how to act. (This suggests the contemplation stage.)

4
Curitiba’s ‘Lixo Que Não E Lixo’ (Garbage That Is Not Garbage) programme in which informal collectors exchange sorted recyclables for local produce.

These rock-bottom conditions prompted the city to take action that ultimately led to a low-cost, world-leading waste management system. Its communication strategy was to educate children to be the agents of change who would encourage other residents to separate their garbage (reasonably tagged as the preparation stage). This Garbage Purchase program encouraged neighborhood associations to manage waste collection containers at the peripheries of hard-to-access favelas, with the incentive that each bag of sorted garbage yielded one bus ticket (clearly the action stage). There were early complications with this arrangement, but the city levered a new challenge—in the form of the 1991 cholera epidemic and its agricultural surplus—to strengthen and sustain its original improvement in the form of the Cambio Verde program, which matches sorted recyclables with local produce (arguably part of the maintenance stage, even if unorthodox). To date, Curitiba has a nearly 100 percent recycling rate.

Kitakyushu

Kitakyushu is another high performer, but one that actively touts its dramatic rise from environmental catastrophe several decades ago. In the 1960s, the city developed into one of the largest industrial cities in Japan. Lacking environmental safeguards, its adjacent Dokai Bay became so contaminated from industrial wastewater that it was soon referred to as the ‘Bay of Death’ after one study showed that even the bacteria normally endemic to saltwater bodies could not survive there (perhaps the precontemplation stage). The air fared no better. Skies were said to be filled with coal dust and ‘seven colours of smoke’ from red iron oxide particles, which alerted the public to the gravity of the situation (contemplation). Today, however, Kitakyushu bills itself as the ‘world capital of sustainable development.’

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Kitakyushu’s surreal-looking Dokai Bay in the 1960s, when the city had become an industrial powerhouse but before environmental safeguards had been put in place.
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A contemporary view of Kitakyushu’s Dokai Bay.

How did they do it? First, the city prepared for large-scale change by capitalizing on many residents’ firsthand experience of the pollution to motivate and align interest groups to a common goal then communicated their purpose to increase public understanding and support (preparation, clearly). Then it acted by instituting voluntary pollution agreements with the private sector, setting stringent new pollution reduction targets, dredging the bay, creating pollution surveillance centres and building a model eco-town (most certainly action). Kitakyushu maintained momentum over the long term with a second phase plan focused on the new goal of reaching zero-emissions/zero-waste status through improvements in renewable energy and green space (maintenance, in a variation from Curitiba).

Copenhagen

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Copenhagen residents assembled in the 1970s to demand the return of protected bike lanes.

Also at the very top of the European Green City Index, Copenhagen is a model for non-motorized transit in cities worldwide. But its trajectory is more circuitous. By the mid-20th century, urban cycling culture was widespread. But as incomes and car ownership rose in the 1960s, the city experienced a sharp modal shift toward driving (precontemplation). Traffic worsened and car parks mushroomed; even Copenhagen’s Strøget, now famous as a completely pedestrian street, was filled with cars. Change had occurred over a sufficiently quick period that the marked increase in street collisions and air pollution were perceptible. A number of protests catalyzed the eventual reintroduction of the balanced streets of Copenhagen’s pre-car era (contemplation moving into preparation).

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Cycling in Copenhagen in the 2000s, after its resurgence in the 1970s.

Copenhagen took advantage of the oil crisis of the 1970s to introduce Car-Free Sundays (preparation moving into action). In the 1980s, however, the city made a number of proposals to bisect its periurban lakes with arterials connecting the city centre to its suburbs. This clear danger had the effect of motivating continuous pro-cycling advocacy over the next several decades, during which time a permanent network of pedestrianized streets and protected bike lanes grew (action). This change, which has been sustained through today, is in large part the result of reawakening consciousness of and pride in a historical culture of sustainable urban transport. And the cultural reversion has been instilled as a daily commuting practice by half of its residents, across all social strata (maintenance). Recently, the city has even assigned 50 police to ensure that ‘cycle karma’ (courteous cycling behavior) is maintained (further maintenance).

5. What do we need to do in New York? 

Can we apply these cities’ successful experiences to Times Square? All three show that doing badly is an excellent initial motivator and can vault a city to the top of the pack. All three have managed to maintain behavior change over time in ways that at least roughly validate Miller and Rollnick’s motivational interviewing model. And all three now enjoy visibility at the top of several high-profile urban sustainability and performance indices. To secure continuous improvement over many short-term electoral cycles, these cities actively anticipated future threats and mined their cultural memory for retrievable opportunities. All of the above could help New York actively address its conflicting priorities and shift its public space culture.

New York comes in third in the Siemens North American Green Cities Index; first in the subcategories of land use and transport (undoubtedly reflecting its density and public and non-motorized transit infrastructure). Density and transport infrastructure require the appropriate complement of public space, such as Times Square, to function viably, but the rankings may constitute a negative incentive if these are seen as ‘mission accomplished’ and attention shifts elsewhere. Indeed, the renewed focus on ‘broken windows’ policing of public space suggests that the design priorities of the last administration have taken a back seat to the policing priorities of the administration before that. It is as if Times Square has zig-zagged through the stages of behavior change with three short-circuited cycles of preparation into action, each lacking the necessary contemplation and maintenance stages.

Times Square is not a failure of planning and design, or lacking in sustainability metrics, and certainly not suffering from an underequipped police force. On the contrary, it is a failure to address the deeper conflicts that public space embodies. New York may agree to disagree on the small stuff—what Sennett refers to as ‘difference and indifference’—but it must come to a broad agreement on big values, values such as justice and obscenity, which underlie ‘the right to the street’. Unless it does, the over-reactionary behavior will continue and the physical fabric of Times Square will likely suffer anti-human consequences.

If Times Square were to get a shrink, s/he would undoubtedly first say ‘the answers are within you’. Within whom, though? The public, the mayor, and the police force represent a promising first step. The paradigm shift we seek will require all of them to undergo a behavior shift; one that would benefit from a motivational interviewing intervention if it is to last. What would that look like?

The public

The general New York public is most responsible for actively cultivating the values and priorities (i.e. resolving the ambivalence) underlying public space culture. Too much of New York has lazily acquiesced to increased security at the price of decreased freedom (e.g. stop-and-frisk), in part because most of the public doesn’t see such policies as the Faustian bargain they are until they are directly targeted in the street. Vision Zero has directly benefited a majority of New Yorkers as well as tourists; however, those benefits may not be obvious to those who commute in private cars (nor even to pedestrians once they step into a cab). These members of the public may see the Times Square pedestrian plazas as little more than an obstruction, and though their attitude and behavior is out of sync with the majority of the city, they are still part of—and have an outsized impact on—daily urban function.

These issues might be handled best through better precontemplation and contemplation, which would help the public understand that change is necessary and then help it resolve its ambivalence toward core public space issues. What might the public contemplate? For starters, why do we consider a bare female nipple obscene, but not a toddler killed by an SUV that fails to yield to it on a crosswalk? How is it just for 25 percent of those using the street (from within a car) to occupy 75 percent of its area? Do we really want to arrest people for actions that merely shock our sensibilities (and have we considered how that might that backfire)? As Sennett puts it, are ‘isolation and segregation better than the risks entailed in interaction?’ ‘[C]ommunities have to decide […] [b]ut this is a decision which…should result after the experience of…exposure to difference rather than flight from contact.’ Such a process must also proactively deal with the person who is paranoid about crime, hysteric about nudity and narcissistic about parking his SUV in a protected bike lane.

The Mayor

Mayors are heavily incentivized by the prospect of being reelected by the public. This is not inherently bad, but their zeal to prove themselves strong leaders should not necessarily mean erasing the successes of their predecessors. Mayoral priority setting would benefit from a strengthened process of contemplation. Much of the Times Square pedestrian plaza’s benefits contribute directly to reducing the risk of pedestrian injury and death, which are overarching aims of Mayor de Blasio’s own signature effort, Vision Zero (which even revived and won a decades-old battle with New York State to reduce the speed limit throughout New York City from nearly 50 km/to 40 km/hr [30 to 25 mph]). But Vision Zero needs to lead a wider, long-term cultural shift, rather than simply establishing a new law and set of design precedents. If it does not, it may die an early death in the hands of de Blasio’s successor.

De Blasio would also do well to contemplate New York’s long term cultural legacy. From its genesis, the city was the cosmopolitan, tolerant ‘New Netherland’. The continued viability of Times Square as ‘crossroads of the world’ may depend on de Blasio exercising his moral force to explain these values to visitors, many of whom may be less open to encountering the unexpected—Desnudas, for example—in public space. (Bloomberg, his predecessor, once dismissed criticism of a mosque being built near ground zero by saying ‘whether you like a mosque or don’t…you don’t have to go […] within four blocks of the World Trade Center…there’s [also] porno places…I mean it’s a vibrant community, it’s New York.’ Or, as Sennett puts it, ‘[c]osmopolitanism is stimulation by the presence of others but not identification with them.’) If cities anywhere have any hope of accommodating heterogeneous groups of people, then Times Square needs to continue transcribing the ideals contained in New York’s DNA.

The police

Rather than the Mayor, though, it is the police that regularly interact with the public. Though the NYPD advertises ‘courtesy, professionalism, respect’ as its motto, how many members of the police force share those values? Officer Frascatore’s recent body-slamming of James Blake—one of a long string of abuses that have gone unpunished by Bratton—suggests that the advertisement seeks to compensate for the very attributes the NYPD lacks. Though the police remain exempt from city residence requirements, they must still have respect for the values of those actually living here. Some form of group therapy might help them overcome their defensive posturing and to listen to what security and quality of life really mean for the resident public. But Police Commissioner Bratton and his force cannot be part of the change process until they start enforcing laws as they are: key aspects of Vision Zero, such as the right-of-way law, are still widely unenforced, while legal acts, such as toplessness, continue to be punished.

Bratton continues to argue that ‘broken windows’ policing preempts more serious crime down the line, but action without contemplation or preparation is rarely effective in the long term. Making something unpleasant illegal does not make it disappear, much less address its deeper causes. The NYPD also needs to reconsider the justice in catching all guilty at the price of harming many innocent and end its quota system, which incentivizes arrests. Though this may be difficult in a post-9/11 era, the appalling policing situation to which it has led in this country is another ‘rock bottom’ opportunity for 180-degree behavior change. To start with, the NYPD would benefit from contemplation of the values behind proposals by the City Council to decriminalize certain low-level public space offenses—such as drinking alcohol and riding a bicycle on the sidewalk—which they currently oppose. Finally, adequate preparation would help them enforce these progressive new laws once they are adopted.

Times Square must allow for the possibility of appropriation by an unintended use or it will never evolve as public space must. ‘It is possible to contrive places and spaces which allow for the gradual evolution and opening up of rituals of behavior, so that people experience both form and change.’ Opening up the rituals of behavior will not be easy (and it certainly won’t happen within cars), but until we do, the Times Square pedestrian plaza may not have sufficient cultural support to ultimately stick. And until the average New Yorker regards cars hitting pedestrians as (preventable) collisions rather than (unavoidable) accidents, Vision Zero may also be vulnerable.

Fixing Times Square’s underlying dysfunctions might appear to be daunting. But why can’t we handle them? Other cities have handled much more (and with smaller budgets). Why shouldn’t the public space of Times Square serve as a catalyst for solving multiple systemic dysfunctions? After all, Lefebvre wisely reminded us that all social relations are merely hypothetical until they are spatialized. It is not a question of whether New York can tackle its biggest issues through public space: it is an imperative that it must.

Andrew Rudd
New York City

On The Nature of Cities

With inputs from Stephanie Rudd-Weigleb, LCSW, LCAC, Assistant Manager at Midtown CMHC of Eskenazi Health, Indianapolis.

Shutting Down Poletti—An Urban Environmental Victory

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.
To truly learn the lessons from shutting down the Poletti power plant, we must confront environmental injustice and replace isolation with community. Among other things, that means electing politicians committed to social justice.
In 2013, the New York Power Authority razed the Charles Poletti Power Plant in Astoria, NY. In doing so, Power Authority removed what local elected official Michael Gianaris had characterized as a “symbol[] of pollution that haunted [the] neighborhood”. The characterization was an apt one. The Poletti Plant had for years been the single-biggest polluter in New York City. In 2000, the Poletti plant alone spewed 263,376 tons of pollutants into the airshed—more air emissions than the rest of the city combined. Not surprisingly, the surrounding community was part of New York City’s asthma alley: a band of elevated asthma rates that stretches from the Bronx through Queens. The plant posed a particular risk to the thousands of children in Astoria’s three major public housing projects, including Astoria Houses—largest public housing project in the United States. One local leader claimed that, as a result of the pollution, birds would not nest in Astoria. The story of shutting down the Poletti is a tale worth telling, and a potential template for successful environmental justice advocacy.

Beginning operation in 1977, the 885 megawatt facility was named for New York’s 46th Governor Charles Poletti. If there is anything in a name, the Poletti facility had an auspicious one. Charles Poletti graduated from Harvard Law School, served on the New York State Supreme Court, and been elected New York’s Lieutenant Governor alongside Governor Herbert H. Lehman. Poletti had the distinction of being the first Italian-American governor in the United States (albeit serving only 29 days to complete Lehman’s term after Lehman joined the World War II effort). During World War II, Lieutenant-Colonel Poletti was in charge of restoring essential public services in occupied Italy. After the war, New York Governor Averell Harrimann appointed Poletti to the New York State Power Authority. So, when the Astoria generating facility was named in his honor, it had a lot to live up to. Sadly, the facility was far less impressive than its namesake. Indeed, by the time Charles Poletti died in 2002, New York Power Authority was mired in litigation with angry neighbors bent on shutting the dirty, polluting facility.

The Poletti plant served the state and local government; generating electricity to run schools, public hospitals, government offices and New York’s extensive subway and electric commuter train system. However, the toll it imposed on the surrounding community of Astoria was immense. The Poletti Plant ranked among the dirtiest plants in the United States.

Source: http://scorecard.goodguide.com/env-releases/cap/ranking.tcl?facility_id=36081-PANY
Source: http://scorecard.goodguide.com/env-releases/facility-trend-detail.tcl?tri_id=11105NWYRK31032&category=total_prw

In 2002, the year NYPA agreed to shutter the facility, the Poletti emitted more than 78,000 pounds of sulfuric acid, and that was a 78% decrease from 1998 when the plant emitted more than 358,000 pounds of pollutants.

That year, the Poletti also released 38 tons of small particulates (PM2.5), 44 tons of larger particulates (PM10) 1311 tons of sufur dioxide, 78 tons of volatile organic compounds, and over 2000 tons of nitrous oxides.

Despite this immense pollution load, New York Power Authority proposed to add a new 500 MW facility alongside the Poletti plant. Astoria was already home to 60% of New York City’s generating capacity and the local community objected to an additional polluting facility in their neighborhood. Their legal strategy was innovative, involving a coalition between Natural Resouces Defense Council, a national environmental group, New York Public Interest Research Group, a New York environmental group, and a community NGO called the Coalition Helping Organize a Kleaner Environment (CHOKE). Joining with local politicians, and public housing leaders, the coalition intervened in the administrative permitting process and challenged the issuance of a “certificate of environmental compatibility and public need”—a legal prerequisite for the new facility. The coalition argued that the community was already overburdened, and that the additional particulate pollution from the new, albeit cleaner facility would jeopardize public health and environmental safety.

While that proceeding was ongoing, another environmental justice group was attacking New York Power Authority from a different angle. In 2001, the Power Authority announced plans to install eleven additional natural gas turbine units around New York City. This plan was nominally in response to the rolling blackouts that California had suffered that summer (which were later revealed to have been caused by Enron’s market manipulations, not an actual shortage of generating capacity). Each of the proposed new units could generate 44 MW of power, and the majority of the units were to be placed in pairs at multiple sites around New York City. Thus, the paired units could together generate 88MW of power. Under New York Law at the time, any facility capable of generating 80 MW or more was deemed a “major generating facility”, a label that triggered a host of public hearings and certification requirements (called an Article X application). However, the Power Authority obtained an exception by promising that each pair would be configured to generate only 79.9 MW of electricity—just below the 80 MW threshold.

The Power Authority then concluded that there would be no negative environmental impacts from this project, and that the cumulative impacts of the proposed eleven turbines would be insignificant.

UPROSE, an environmental justice group, sued, alleging that NYPA failed to adequately consider the environmental impacts of the plan. Although UPROSE lost at the trial level, the appellate court overturned the decision, and found that there were potential environmental impacts sufficient to require an environmental impact statement. In particular, the court required NYPA to assess the impacts from PM2.5—small particulate pollution that can cause or worsen respiratory and cardiovascular disease.

The anti-Poletti coalition used the UPROSE decision to its advantage, persuading regulators to order a hearing on particulate matter associated with the Astoria facility. This administrative ruling gave the coalition leverage that they used to strike a deal. In exchange for a withdrawal of coalition objections to the new 50 MW plant, the Power Authority committed to a six to eight year timetable for shutting down the dirty Poletti Plant, converting to the cleanest fuel available, investing in the community, and reducing the Poletti’s operation during the interim. So, the dirtiest plant in New York City was replaced with a facility reputed to be “one of America’s cleanest”. Perhaps learning from poor Poletti’s tarnished name, the replacement facility was simply called Astoria I.

In the years since Poletti shut down, the air quality in Astoria has improved markedly. Particulate pollutants have plummeted.

Asthma hospitalizations are down well below the average for New York City.

American Lung Association. Source: http://www.stateoftheair.org/2015/states/new-york/queens.html?referrer=https://www.google.com/
Source: https://www1.nyc.gov/assets/doh/downloads/pdf/data/2015chp-qn01.pdf

A cleaner environment has taken a toll on the community in a different way. Gentrification is rife, with property values increasing 75% in the years since the Poletti Plant was shuttered. Long-time residents are beginning to find themselves priced out of the neighborhood they fought to improve.

The saga for shutting down Poletti served as inspiration for Bina’s Plant, Book 2 of the Environmental Justice Chronicles soon to be released by the Center for Urban Environmental Reform.

Cover from the forthcoming Environmental Justice Chronicles, by La Greca and Bratspies.

I wish I had a brick from the Poletti. I would display it in my office as both a celebration and a reminder. Environmental justice victories are rare enough that they need to be savored, but it is vital that the benefits of those victories redound to all citizens, and that those who achieve those victories are not pushed out of their neighborhoods.

So what lessons does shutting down the Poletti offer for other similar campaigns? First, collaboration is key—local groups must lead the way, but they need resources and support from state-wide and national groups. Second, it helps when local politicians are fully on board. With the campaign to shut Poletti, elected officials joined the lawsuits, and used the platform of their office to advocate for environmental protection.

That sounds so simple. Yet, too often, institutionalized racism is a barrier to achieving the kind of cooperation that was so successful in the Poletti campaign. De facto segregation and racialized voting can leave poor and minority communities isolated in their battle against pollution in their neighborhoods. Air quality in those communities can stagnate or even decrease, even as rest of the city improves. For example, even though New York City now has the cleanest air since monitoring began, asthma rates are still unacceptably high in parts of the Bronx and Manhattan, with black and Latino/a children hardest hit.

Child asthma in Harlem, compared the rest of New York. Source: https://www1.nyc.gov/assets/doh/downloads/pdf/data/2015chp-mn11.pdf
Child asthma in Mott Haven and Melrose, The Bronx, compared the rest of New York. Source: https://www1.nyc.gov/assets/doh/downloads/pdf/data/2015chp-mn11.pdf

We can and must do better. To truly learn the lessons from shutting down the Poletti, we must confront environmental injustice and replace isolation with community. Among other things, that means electing politicians committed to social justice. National environmental groups must also do their part to confront their past disengagement with issues environmental justice. Fortunately, this kind of rethinking is already starting to happen.

Rebecca Bratspies
New York

On The Nature of Cities

Signals and Snapshots from Semaphore: Musings on Design Guidelines for Urban Fractals

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

The fractal idea revisited in an attempt to make the concept clearer on a day-to-day, more visceral basis.

semaphore-flag-codes3In my first blog for TNOC I outlined my concept of an ‘urban fractal’ and noted my fascination with the idea that “one might be able to identify patterns in urban systems that could provide a systematic model for developing cities that can always and simultaneously incorporate the essential characteristics of ecologically sustainable urbanism—and that this might be applicable across the spectrum from eco-village to metropolis.” I described an urban fractal as “a network that contains the essential characteristics of the larger network of the city” and that “Each fractal will possess nodes, or centres, and patterns of connectivity that define its structure and organisation, and it will exhibit characteristics of community associated with living processes.”

The ‘essential characteristics’ of ecologically sustainable urbanism most certainly have to do with physical structures and infrastructures that deliver energy and water efficiency, low-to-no waste regimes, clean air and biophysically healthy environments but those are relatively easy to describe. The hard bits are to do with the requirement that each fractal “will exhibit characteristics of community associated with living processes”. It’s hard because communities and living processes are messy, squishy, fluid, tricky to define and full of people who may have their own ideas about how to make their community.

For some time I’ve been wanting to flesh out the idea of urban fractals so that non-specialists might find it more readily understandable and to reinforce the message that this concept is not about making arcane geometric patterns but is about the patterns that manifest in the tapestry of activities and relationships that make up daily life. It’s personal and it’s political.

Urban fractals can be described in terms of acceptable metrics and there are superb analyses of the fractal nature of city form and development (notably by Salat et al  and Batty and Longley) but these invariably discuss the workings of urban life in formalistic terms and, of necessity, resort to jargon. I don’t think most citizens affected by these things would make much sense of the language that professionals employ to discuss them. Too often, planning processes tend away from reification and towards generalities and abstraction and unintended alienation. As both an urban theorist and a real person, I have to admit that this preoccupies me. It preoccupies me because when one’s rhetoric is all about community engagement, and claims that an urban fractal is “a particular type of cultural fractal”, I think it should be accessible to non-specialists and, well, ‘ordinary’ citizens.

A place called Semaphore

This blog is thus an attempt to describe some of the ‘essential characteristics’ of urban fractals in a way that non-specialist might find acceptable and accessible. Based on my own experience of the neighbourhood I’ve lived in for the past three years, it describes parts of the urban fractal idea using the example of a place called Semaphore, in South Australia. It is part photo-essay but the images are not generic, they are specific to a particular place. The same could be done for any neighbourhood as a way to find its fractal threads.

Snapshots of an urban fractal 

side one
Semaphorians, mostly human. All photographs © Paul Downton, except those used with permission from Stefan via Stuart Gifford (see KEY)
side one KEY 10cm
KEY Semaphorians, mostly human 1. Paper Shop (newsagent) proprietor Jimmy (Liu Jiantao) – a place of communication. 2. The remarkable ceiling of Sarah’s Sister’s Sustainable Café. 3. Anna, who runs the absolutely essential Post Office with husband Neale – more communication. 4. Laura, barber who runs The Cutting Room with husband Jarrett. 5. Racks of vinyl in Mr V – yet more communication. 6. Setting out chairs on the pavement (sidewalk) for The Corner Store café. 7. Racks of magazines in the Paper Shop. 8. Mr V – he can get you any music from anywhere in the world. 9. Saturday morning cyclists are pretty serious in sunny Semaphore. 10. High winds bring wind surfers, who get high on the wind. 11. Musicians at Sarah’s Sister’s.* 12. Cafés line both sides of Semaphore Road – the ‘high street’ of the town, spine of the urban fractal. 13. Sarah’s Sister’s and a promotional bicycle.* 14. The central grassed and treed strip down Semaphore Road – main street – is a popular picnicking place. 15. Under the jetty, protesting with Friends of the Earth against the nuclear stupidity represented by Fukushima. 16. Fishing is popular and worthwhile on Semaphore jetty. 17. A nice sense of co-existence settles along the jetty when the fish are biting and the birds are especially friendly… 18. Sarah’s Sister’s hosts music, talks, art, events – as do other Semaphore establishments.* 19. Young green parrot explores its owner in the Pets and Garden store. 20. A barrel of succulents outside the Pets and Garden store. 21. And a Kombi garden ornament… 22. Semaphore BBQ chickens where the chips (fries) are gluten-free. 23. Stuart Gifford discusses fresh produce – a vital part of his entirely vegetarian menu. All photographs © Paul Downton, except *used with permission from Stefan via Stuart Gifford.

There are any number of characteristics that might be used to define an urban fractal but to try and keep the list reasonably manageable I propose the following:

15 characteristics of urban fractal

For these to become attributes of an ecocity or ecopolis, each characteristic has to be adjusted accordingly:15 characteristics of ecocity fractal

 

Semaphorian shelter
Semaphorian shelter. All photographs © Paul Downton
KEY Semaphorian shelter 1. Container ships regularly visit the nearby Port Adelaide – and fishing continues off Semaphore’s jetty. 2. The Library, ice cream shop, boutique, and Returned Servicemen’s League club, with a Mexican restaurant and the Timeball on the grassy knoll around the corner.  3. Old, antique and restored furniture can be bought in Semaphore Road. 4. ‘Hard rubbish’ is a bit of a South Australian institution, when unwanted junk goes out on the pavement for collection by the local council – or whoever gets to it first. 5. The Post Office (open 6 days a week), Froot juice bar, and one of the fish and chips shops. 6. IGA, the smaller of the two friendly supermarkets – the monopolistic major supermarkets have not invaded yet. 7. El Toro Spanish restaurant/café, and the Pink Fizz Style Lounge and Powder Room. 8. Beach Fitness and BBQ Chickens – a Semaphore combination. 9. The Odeon cinema – a rare survivor showing latest movies at very reasonable prices – and a much-valued institution. 10. Beach fashion, health food, and three places to eat – fusion, Japanese, Chinese. 11. And a noodle bar. 12. From the left – The Cutting Room, a sort of hole-in-the-wall barber shop for both sexes, one of Semaphore’s optometrists, Journey to Everest Himalayan restaurant, and a flower shop. This whole block is scheduled to be demolished and replaced and there is growing sense that the replacement won’t retain the friendly charm of this set of quite disparate but very convivial businesses. 13. Ambrosia Café and Giftware – another gluten-free haven for coeliacs like this writer. 14. Roses boutique, the RSL, Zapata’s Mexican and the TimeBall. 15. Bakery and one of the four or five cash dispensers in the main street. 16. New York Dreams… 17. A Russian-themed gift shop and one of the banks. 18. Greek restaurant and the dry cleaners happily co-existing. 19. Solar panels are appearing all over the place – South Australia has the highest take up of solar power in the country and is the biggest wind power generator. The sculpture is ‘Midden’ by Deb Sleeman ‘a repository of detritus accumulated from a culture, often over a milennia’ piled with Semaphore icons and imagery. 20. A church looking very smart with its added solar panels.  21. One of the pharmacies, delivering great service at low prices. All photographs © Paul Downton
KEY Semaphorian shelter 1. Container ships regularly visit the nearby Port Adelaide – and fishing continues off Semaphore’s jetty. 2. The Library, ice cream shop, boutique, and Returned Servicemen’s League club, with a Mexican restaurant and the Timeball on the grassy knoll around the corner. 3. Old, antique and restored furniture can be bought in Semaphore Road. 4. ‘Hard rubbish’ is a bit of a South Australian institution, when unwanted junk goes out on the pavement for collection by the local council – or whoever gets to it first. 5. The Post Office (open 6 days a week), Froot juice bar, and one of the fish and chips shops. 6. IGA, the smaller of the two friendly supermarkets – the monopolistic major supermarkets have not invaded yet. 7. El Toro Spanish restaurant/café, and the Pink Fizz Style Lounge and Powder Room. 8. Beach Fitness and BBQ Chickens – a Semaphore combination. 9. The Odeon cinema – a rare survivor showing latest movies at very reasonable prices – and a much-valued institution. 10. Beach fashion, health food, and three places to eat – fusion, Japanese, Chinese. 11. And a noodle bar. 12. From the left – The Cutting Room, a sort of hole-in-the-wall barber shop for both sexes, one of Semaphore’s optometrists, Journey to Everest Himalayan restaurant, and a flower shop. This whole block is scheduled to be demolished and replaced and there is growing sense that the replacement won’t retain the friendly charm of this set of quite disparate but very convivial businesses. 13. Ambrosia Café and Giftware – another gluten-free haven for coeliacs like this writer. 14. Roses boutique, the RSL, Zapata’s Mexican and the TimeBall. 15. Bakery and one of the four or five cash dispensers in the main street. 16. New York Dreams… 17. A Russian-themed gift shop and one of the banks. 18. Greek restaurant and the dry cleaners happily co-existing. 19. Solar panels are appearing all over the place – South Australia has the highest take up of solar power in the country and is the biggest wind power generator. The sculpture is ‘Midden’ by Deb Sleeman ‘a repository of detritus accumulated from a culture, often over a milennia’ piled with Semaphore icons and imagery. 20. A church looking very smart with its added solar panels. 21. One of the pharmacies, delivering great service at low prices. All photographs © Paul Downton
S Pigface at the Timeball Reserve
S Pigface at the Timeball Reserve

It’s the only town in the world named after a flag-waving communications system . Write a letter addressed simply to Semaphore, and there is no other destination it could be headed to (although whether modern, machine-based postal sorting systems can handle that level of simplicity is a moot point). On a reserve close to the foreshore, Semaphore boasts one of the world’s remaining 60 or so timeballs, still standing, still signalling the need to synchronise our chronometers if we want to find our longitude at sea without GPS.

Until it’s occupied, a town, village or city is not alive. Though its buildings, streets and squares may resonate with the marks of human manufacture it remains as dead as an archaeological dig, its timeball frozen until its empty vessels are filled with people doing all the messy, amazing things that people do to bring urban structures to life. Technology doesn’t make cities. People make cities. All the technology in the world can’t guarantee that things will perform as planned, act as advised or deliver as prescribed. The most advanced aircraft in the world can still be flown into a mountain.

Invisible people

I keep coming back to the realisation that the things that make all the difference, the things that make it all work, don’t show up in plans at all. The blueprints for our cities don’t show people. The professionals involved in the making of our built environment rarely embrace the engagement of the wider community in their planning processes. A lot of architects prefer that their buildings are photographed without people in the shots.

Then there are all the non-human species that help make up the populations of our cities and towns. For the most part they are ignored or regarded as a nuisance or even an enemy. Yes, I know that there are now a lot more design professionals who understand that trees and landscaping deserve more important consideration in their plans than that of merely providing decorative finishes to streetscapes or making generic green space, but I’m not convinced that they are yet in the ascendant—proof to the contrary remains elusive. And there is so much more to non-human occupation of our urban systems than that.

Semaphore – between the hills and the sea
Semaphore—between the hills and the sea. All photographs © Paul Downton
KEY Semaphore – between the hills and the sea 1. There are at least 13 dogs on the beach in this picture. According to research described by Drs Robert and Brenda Vale in ‘Time to Eat the Dog’, each dog has the environmental impact equivalent to an SUV. Our embrace and manipulation of nature invariably produces distortions. 2. Avian rush hour. 3. The foreshore. 4.The topography and geography is legible in spite of, and sometimes with the aid of, the built environment. In this view, looking east along the jetty to the main street of Sempahore, the rise of the dunes on which the settlement was founded is clearly visible, and rising around 800-1,000 metres, the nearby Mount Lofty Ranges form a backdrop to the town.  5. Fog and mist are rare and confined to wintery days, and change the perspective as nothing else can. 6. The elements are visible. Within a hundred metres of the main street, the subtle and surprising and continual transformations of nature can be seen on the beach. Here, the smooth sand surface has become textured with micro-mountains – each about one centimetre high – sculpted by the wind. All photographs © Paul Downton
KEY Semaphore—between the hills and the sea 1. There are at least 13 dogs on the beach in this picture. According to research described by Drs Robert and Brenda Vale in ‘Time to Eat the Dog’, each dog has the environmental impact equivalent to an SUV. Our embrace and manipulation of nature invariably produces distortions. 2. Avian rush hour. 3. The foreshore. 4.The topography and geography is legible in spite of, and sometimes with the aid of, the built environment. In this view, looking east along the jetty to the main street of Sempahore, the rise of the dunes on which the settlement was founded is clearly visible, and rising around 800-1,000 metres, the nearby Mount Lofty Ranges form a backdrop to the town. 5. Fog and mist are rare and confined to wintery days, and change the perspective as nothing else can. 6. The elements are visible. Within a hundred metres of the main street, the subtle and surprising and continual transformations of nature can be seen on the beach. Here, the smooth sand surface has become textured with micro-mountains – each about one centimetre high – sculpted by the wind. All photographs © Paul Downton

Very few of the human population of a city are ever asked directly about their needs and demands; some take advantage of electoral processes and other ways to influence decision-makers but true plebiscites are rare. The non-human population has no voice or representation at all apart from departments of the environment and sundry under-funded activists. In the absence of Dr Dolittle, who can present a voice for the animals? We have to make do with environmental campaigners and ecologists! The insights and information provided by them needs to be built into design and development programs for our cities and urban systems; think in terms of creating design guidelines for non-human species. No ecocity urban fractal can be complete without them. This blog only begins to hint at the wealth of life that can be found in an unassuming non-ecocity urban fractal—imagine what might be there if we were shaping our neighbourhoods with non-human species given equal weight to us.

Marielle Anzelone's planned pop-up forest in Times Square, New York City. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/popupforest/build-a-popup-forest-in-times-square-nyc
Marielle Anzelone’s planned pop-up forest in Times Square, New York City. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/popupforest/build-a-popup-forest-in-times-square-nyc

Urban fractals are about describing society and its relationship with the environment. Thus they are inevitably about society, culture, politics and, to my own surprise, an acknowledgement of the importance of the people who are the social glue, the people who are cultural catalysts and make us laugh and cry and think, and the much maligned people who stir the pot of politics.

Although it has a strong sense of identity, Semaphore has no autonomy as a political entity. It has been subsumed as a suburb within the City of Port Adelaide Enfield, which is a relatively recent creation that incorporates previously separate council areas and has boundaries which reflect political expediency rather than any sense of place. As Jayne Engle and Nik Luka remind us: “Cities must be seen holistically as containing overlapping and nested neighborhoods.” Neighbourhoods are getting noticed. In Amsterdam, as the city’s compact centre begins to suffer from too much pedestrian traffic (in Australian car-centric cities we can only dream of such a thing) neighbourhoods are being rediscovered as a funky new tourist destinations. This reinforces the idea that the liveliness of cities is not only found in their centres but is part of their whole fabric, manifest in the local communities of neighbourhoods. We’ve known how to make neighbourhoods intuitively for generations, now there’s increasing interest in figuring out what defines and makes a neighbourhood work – and refining the concept of the urban fractal is part of that quest.

Community by numbers?

How do you make community? You can’t really prescribe it, even if products like the Green Star – Communities rating tool developed by the Green Building Council of Australia (GBCA) do an excellent job of melding business and environmental concerns with developer interests in a way that incorporates ‘stakeholder engagement’. Developed “in close collaboration with the market, including all three tiers of government, public and private sector developers, professional services providers, academia, product manufacturers and suppliers and other industry groups” the tool will assuredly help create better developments than might otherwise occur. But a cynic might argue that it is also a product of how curiously neutered political life is at the civic level. It is more about cautious market research than it is about stirring the body politic to new heights of creativity and imagination. It is nicely ordered stuff. But surely, there’s more to real life than that?

Of course, there’s probably an algorithm for it all, but if we are going to rely on any kind of professionally distanced or centralised systems to identify the patterns that inform the algorithms that shape the spaces that house the neighbourhood then we abdicate the imperatives of real community that cause people to talk to each other and explore the myriad possibilities of relationships and actions that are nascent in human society. Community, like a sense of place, is an emergent property of place, circumstance and behaviour and a computer algorithm or rating tool can’t force it into existence. Sub-cultures and communities of interest, be they chambers of commerce or knitting circles, are the grit that can catalyse the production of neighbourhood pearls. Almost any situation involving some level of conflict or difficulty can catalyse the coming together of people that begins community, and so can spontaneous mutual aid, where people cooperate to help each other out because each person benefits in some way from that cooperation. It doesn’t have to be dramatic—“The people who live along the beachside street walk each others dogs, have street parties and collect their neighbours’ bins”—and whether it’s based on self-interest or altruism really doesn’t matter if the result is “We’ve become friends and it makes it easier because everyone looks out for each other” (‘Friends sharing and caring on Arthur St’ p.3 Portside Messenger 25 March 2015 ).

Neighbourhoods are increasingly recognised as a key reasons in selecting a home
Neighbourhoods are increasingly recognised as a key reasons in selecting a home

The community that I know, the fractal that supports me, is one with a main street that has almost every shop and service that Chérie and I need on a daily basis. The butcher, the barber, the newsagent, the multi-cultural cafés, the post office, the small, friendly supermarkets, the pub, the pharmacies, the takeaway Chinese joint, the record store that still sells real records, all get a visit on a regular basis; the local service station, the dry cleaner where they remodel clothes, the shoe shop, the optometrist, the physiotherapist, banks, they’re all within easy walking distance; and when the grandchildren come around there’s a playground, the foreshore and the beach. And there’s much more, including churches, schools, dentists, a sweet shop (candy store), pet and garden store, sports grounds, meeting halls, and a community garden. And there’s the legendary RSL (Returned Servicemen’s League) club with cheap curries, live music and a remarkable history.

My neighbour brought me gluten-free muffins morning as I wrote this essay.

This is but a sample of what this neighbourhood can provide. Properly speaking, it is a small town. It has a strong sense of neighbourhood. It’s the sort of place where informal discounts are common, pay tomorrow that’s OK is acceptable, where an expectation of honesty is the default condition. It’s a place where people still seem to trust each other. Even the troubled and damaged citizens living on welfare are treated like the human beings they are, rather than statistics or worse. And all the time there is a strong connection with nature, with the ever-changing sea always visible right down the end of the main street. This place is alive.

How does one design for this to happen? Is it possible?

Stuart Gifford’s streetscape drawings
Stuart Gifford’s streetscape drawings

Someone else’s perception of this urban fractal will be different. There will be shared dots in the picture but connected to form a slightly different pattern. The network of connections is very unlikely be the same for any two Semaphorians but the effect of completeness and general daily experience will be very similar. The range of possible patterns of connection is enormous (I’d love a statistician work out a few figures because quoting numbers always lends an air of authority to this sort of thing – offers anyone?) and this is part of what underpins the perception of rich diversity in a well-used place. And isn’t that true of ecosystems generally? The larger the number of potential destinations, the more potential there is for forming different connections and the richer and more diverse are the observable patterns of behaviour.

Semaphorians, non-human. All photographs © Paul Downton
Semaphorians, non-human. All photographs © Paul Downton
CAPTION Semaphorians, non-human 1. Gulls are common and rule the beach and foreshore, but they don’t rely on humans to feed them as the beach still provides plenty of fresh food in the form of shellfish, crabs and fish.  2. Drying its feathers, a cormorant rests on one of the jetty’s lamp-posts. 3. A Wagtail perches briefly on an anti-erosion fence in the dunes. 4. Swallows are plentiful once spring arrives. 5. A young bird rests on a fence by the dunes. 6. Cormorants line up in the mist. 7. A garden fountain cools this young bird’s tail feathers. 8. Indigenous honey-eaters enjoy the imported sweetness of Schlumbergera bridgesii. 9. An indigenous Adelaide Rosella enjoys the Mulberries imported by Europeans – and originally from Asia. 10. Swallowtail butterfly in a Semaphore back garden. 11. Copulating butterflies. 12. An extremely small jumping spider pretends to be a speck of dirt. 13. Paper wasps are a hazard in the garden – but manageable. Their sophisticated structures remind us that it is not only humans who build shelter. 14. A wagtail on the garden table. 15. When you look closely, we share our lives with any number of small, beautifully decorated bugs. 16. This tiny translucent spider is crawling across the lens of a pair of spectacles. 17. This much larger orb spider makes large, strong webs that appear overnight and can be quite unnerving to walk into… 18. Dead crabs are quite common on the beach, providing food for gulls, mostly. 19. Some kind of seaweed. 20. I think these are cuttlefish eggs. 21. A piece of ocean floor fauna washed up on the beach and kept in a jar of water for a while. 22. The garden pond is a small, manufactured ecosystem that supports a lot of life, including this Bug-eyed Black Moor. 23. A striking, puffy fish, no more than 6 inches (15cm) long, washed up after a storm. 24. With a body length of more than 8 inches (20cm) this was a striking stick insect to find on the pavement (sidewalk) in the local street. 25. Native Kangaroo Apple growing in a Semaphore garden. 26. This tiny wader was running around the littoral zone at a phenomenal speed. All photographs © Paul Downton
CAPTION Semaphorians, non-human 1. Gulls are common and rule the beach and foreshore, but they don’t rely on humans to feed them as the beach still provides plenty of fresh food in the form of shellfish, crabs and fish. 2. Drying its feathers, a cormorant rests on one of the jetty’s lamp-posts. 3. A Wagtail perches briefly on an anti-erosion fence in the dunes. 4. Swallows are plentiful once spring arrives. 5. A young bird rests on a fence by the dunes. 6. Cormorants line up in the mist. 7. A garden fountain cools this young bird’s tail feathers. 8. Indigenous honey-eaters enjoy the imported sweetness of Schlumbergera bridgesii. 9. An indigenous Adelaide Rosella enjoys the Mulberries imported by Europeans – and originally from Asia. 10. Swallowtail butterfly in a Semaphore back garden. 11. Copulating butterflies. 12. An extremely small jumping spider pretends to be a speck of dirt. 13. Paper wasps are a hazard in the garden – but manageable. Their sophisticated structures remind us that it is not only humans who build shelter. 14. A wagtail on the garden table. 15. When you look closely, we share our lives with any number of small, beautifully decorated bugs. 16. This tiny translucent spider is crawling across the lens of a pair of spectacles. 17. This much larger orb spider makes large, strong webs that appear overnight and can be quite unnerving to walk into… 18. Dead crabs are quite common on the beach, providing food for gulls, mostly. 19. Some kind of seaweed. 20. I think these are cuttlefish eggs. 21. A piece of ocean floor fauna washed up on the beach and kept in a jar of water for a while. 22. The garden pond is a small, manufactured ecosystem that supports a lot of life, including this Bug-eyed Black Moor. 23. A striking, puffy fish, no more than 6 inches (15cm) long, washed up after a storm. 24. With a body length of more than 8 inches (20cm) this was a striking stick insect to find on the pavement (sidewalk) in the local street. 25. Native Kangaroo Apple growing in a Semaphore garden. 26. This tiny wader was running around the littoral zone at a phenomenal speed. All photographs © Paul Downton

Schlumbergera bridgesii

Schlumbergera bridgesii

The energy of a place like Semaphore comes from people who live and work there and maintain the luxuries and necessities of daily life. The future of a place like Semaphore is determined, in part, by its history, and the course of history is disrupted by people who have dreams or despair of how it might turn out. Ordinary people are rarely ordinary. The Semaphore Workers’ Club was the home of Australia’s strongest Communist Party for many years (and arguably still is). Under the cloak of normalcy, visions stir. Operator of tills, cookers, kitchen sinks and the iconic small business of Sarah’s Sister’s Sustainable Café, Semaphorian Stuart Gifford is one who constantly tears that cloak in response to such stirrings. His drawings of the main street of Semaphore capture something of its diversity and richness of place. The industrial past of Port Adelaide is barely a mile away from Semaphore and is, in some ways, its Siamese twin. Knowing this, Stuart’s drawings of how the Port could transform into an ecological city give more than a few clues as to how Semaphore itself might be trained to develop into the kind of place that might survive this era of catastrophic climate change.

The streetscape sketches are by Stuart Gifford from a few years ago. Some of the names have shifted or changed but I think that the general effect and sense of the diversity of the place comes through beautifully. Drawing by Stuart Gifford, used with permission
The streetscape sketches are by Stuart Gifford from a few years ago. Some of the names have shifted or changed but I think that the general effect and sense of the diversity of the place comes through beautifully. Drawing by Stuart Gifford, used with permission.

Musings on design guidelines for non-human species

When we design and build environments for particular human purposes—a school perhaps, or a sports facility—we draw on the expertise of people we are familiar with and their requirements in order to write an appropriate brief. The same should apply when we want to build in a way that actively supports, rather than merely tolerates, the needs of other species. The equation is a simple one, the basis of straightforward programming:

IF we want A, THEN we have to have B

IF we want X, THEN we need Y.

There are examples: the specification of particular species of flora to attract particular species of fauna to assist in maintaining biodiversity.

Non-human species do sometimes get consideration in urban planning and management; in this case the City of Port Adelaide Enfield seeks help in trying to protect coastal biodiversity.
Non-human species do sometimes get consideration in urban planning and management; in this case the City of Port Adelaide Enfield seeks help in trying to protect coastal biodiversity.

The hard thing is to find a way to give the other species priority. From their point of view, there is precious little evidence to date that we have done anything other than seek to eradicate or diminish the environment on which they (and ultimately, we) depend. A major cultural shift is needed and it needs to be a shift that does not rely on monetised values of nature for its legitimacy. The market is slippery and unfair and gives very high value to things and processes that create massive environmental (and social) damage. In the perverse world of the market, whether free, controlled or clandestine, the last tigers, elephants—you name it—are being killed because they are so valuable in monetised terms. As the number of dodos diminished, they were valued ever more highly by the market. The cultural shift has to be one that recognises the intrinsic value of other species, not their price in the market place.

Humans adopt their own priorities as they continually change the environment for all species and ecosystems
Humans adopt their own priorities as they continually change the environment for all species and ecosystems

In the same way that everyone is a distinct individual, every community is unique. It is special within itself, but like every living system on the planet it dies or thrives in response to objective conditions and the level of nurture it can obtain from its environment. As our species has grown ever more invasive and manipulative, so those objective conditions have become increasingly dependent on human behaviour. Unknowingly, or with intent, we play god. That play takes place on the world stage and threatens the viability of the global biosphere, and it takes place in living rooms and backyards whenever we make a choice about how we obtain our energy, water and daily bread. And however individual those choices may seem, we are inescapably social creatures so they are always the result of feelings shared and exchanged, the communing of minds and the dance of personalities.

We know from experience that the world is susceptible to our collective action and that action is grounded in community. It is there, for good or ill, that we make things happen. Semaphore may not be an ecological city, but like many small communities around the world, within its fractal essence, it bears the seeds that could grow one. But for those seeds to grow, there needs to be some effective planning at the neighbourhood scale.

Long-distance seasonal visitors, like this Pacific Gull, make Semaphore their home and meld with the edges of its ecology
Long-distance seasonal visitors, like this Pacific Gull, make Semaphore their home and meld with the edges of its ecology

“Neighborhood plans should contain a practical utopian vision for the neighborhood within the larger city, which is translated into medium-term policies and programs but also actions that can be taken on a short-term timeframe”, write Jayne Engle & Nik Luka. This doesn’t really exist in Semaphore. The closest it gets is local government planning and that happens at a level of scale which is outside that of the Semaphore fractal. There have been local business organisations that had some impact on creating events (the Semaphore Street Fair still runs annually) and there have been some attempts by small groups of interested locals to organise events to bring together and catalyse neighbourhood energy, notably through the auspices of Stuart Gifford’s café, but there is no effective organisation that can claim to be undertaking planning for the neighbourhood based on any kind of vision of what Semaphore might become. In this, Semaphore is not unusual, but to gird our loins for the battle with climate change and ecological instability that’s now rising on the horizon like a tsunami, every neighbourhood urban fractal needs to be planning for itself, working out how to turn its social energy into an effective force for positive change so that the patterns that make daily life functional, fun or fulfilling can continue.

Rising seas are an uncomfortable fact and will have to be factored into any serious plans for the future
Rising seas are an uncomfortable fact and will have to be factored into any serious plans for the future

In the long term, to continue this thought experiment further—if Semaphore were to evolve into an ecocity urban fractal it would need to exhibit the characteristics of a fully-featured ecopolis [see my first blog and the box] in order to possess the resilience and autonomy required for surviving climate change and the 7 metres of sea level rise that would transform it into an island.

This is a work-in-progress.

Paul Downton
Adelaide

On The Nature of Cities

Signs of Depressed Urban Economies

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.
As our walk enters Europe, we see the small things that signal lackluster economic growth and a sense of helplessness and hopelessness in many small villages, towns and cities.
It has been raining all afternoon in Megali Sterna, a village in the north of Greece, and, from the empty and closed café we have been sitting in for  hours, it looks like the rain will continue into the evening.

We scan the neighborhood for a dry place to pitch our tent, a daily part of our Asia-to-Europe walk.

No one is around to ask for help; it’s a summer afternoon, and people are resting in their homes. The rain encourages them to stay inside.

We find an old school, abandoned for years, it seems. The walls and roof are intact, but shattered glass from the long-forgotten windows is splayed all over the floor, classroom doors are missing, toilet bowls have been yanked out of bathrooms and dripping rain water falls into puddles pooled in the hallways. We use a few tree branches to sweep away the dust in a small corner that will be our home for the night, the only option we have today.  We stare at the red graffiti scribbled on white walls and names of kids etched into the left-behind chalkboards.

Map of our walk so far: Greece, Macedonia, Albania, Montenegro, Bosnia and Herzegovina

A short while later, a boy about 12-years-old sporting a hooded sweatshirt strolls through the school hallway. We hear the rap music from his phone before we see him. He glances into the classroom where we are camping. I wave. He nods.

A few minutes later, two teenage girls pass through the same hallway. We hear them chatting before they reach the classroom. We wave and say hello in Greek. They return the greeting, and keep strolling through the school. We hear them giggle as their footsteps fade on the dirty concrete floor.

Tent old school (white walls with red graffiti). We camped in this old school in Megali Sterna, Greece to escape the all-day rain storm. Local teenagers pass through its dilapidated halls and rooms because the few park benches were wet, and there was nowhere else to go.

It doesn’t take long before another group of pre-teens and teens finds us. There are few young people in this village, and word has spread that tourists are sleeping in the old school.

A group of five young women from 10 to 17 years old enter the classroom. The boy with the sweatshirt and his friend will join the group a bit later.

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” asks one of the older teens in excellent English.

“Thank you for asking. Yes, we are fine. It’s been raining all day, and this was the only dry place we could find to sleep in tonight. Is it okay that we sleep here?” I say, half-asking and half-telling. Our tent is already up, and unless the police come and tell us to leave, we know we’re here until tomorrow’s first light.

“It’s okay that you stay here. It will rain during the night,” she says. “The rain has made all the park benches wet, so we hang out in the school.”

The school, which was used by their parents and grandparents, has been closed for years, her whole life, at least, she tells us. The village children are bused to  schools in other towns, but the ruined building we are all gathered in still serves a purpose, a sad one at that.

“It’s better to hang out here than to stay inside our houses all day,” another young lady says, shrugging her shoulders at the normalcy of being in this run-down place. “There’s nowhere else for us to go.”

This “nowhere else to go and nothing else to do” concept follows us through our last stretch of Turkey, into Greece and deep into the Balkans. It shows up as abandoned buildings used by children and young people who have no parks to play in or when their parks are not well maintained. It also shows up in adult circles in the form of bars, cafes, and betting places where men stay for hours sipping their beverage of choice and hope lady luck puts a bit of extra cash in their pockets.

The “regular” tourist passing through these regions by car or bus may never notice these things. It seems like a normal thing that people sip coffee or rakija, ouzo, or other distilled liquors some part of the day. It is waved off as part of the country’s culture. And the falling apart facades fade into the wide landscape where wheat fields have been cut and rolls of hay are waiting for a tractor to haul them into a farmhouse.

To us, walkers who have traveled about 13,000 kilometers by foot over more than 2.5 years at a snail’s pace of three kilometers an hour, the increasingly noticeable presence of these overlooked village, town and city aspects take on a different meaning. They are signs of depressed economies, and resonate with a sense of helplessness and hopelessness.

Where the kids go

While many of the places we walk through have manicured gardens, playgrounds where kids can climb and jump, and nice parks and cafes to sit in, there are many other places that catch us off guard.

In the mid-size town of Burrell, Albania, for instance, we take a rest on the steps of what by all counts looks to be an abandoned apartment building, something built in the 1960s when square functionality was the design trend among architects. Its better days are far behind it, and the chipped paint, broken glass and gray lobby vestibule make us think the building has been out of use for years, maybe decades.

But, then we hear it. The sound of young people talking, and the echo of billiard balls colliding. They are confusing sounds in the context of decay.

Some of the children, most of them about 10-12 years old, find us and, with bright-eyed curiosity, quiz us about our walking journey. When they run out questions, they tell us they are going back inside to play.

We walk off as the crack of a new game of billiards begins.

A few weeks later, in Podhum, Bosnia and Herzegovina, memories of our night in the old Greek school return.

Dark picture with window of light caption: In Podhum, Bosnia and Herzegovina, the walls of the basement of a still-functioning school are riddled with bullet holes, which we believed may have been from the war in the early 1990s. Despite its eerie feel, young people seem to be comfortable here. The graffitied names of boys and girls scribbled on all the walls, the chip packages and energy drink cans strewn about and the pile of cigarettes butts give us the impression of  teens who want to hide their smoking habit from their parents, and have few other hangout options.

Pouring rain forces us to stay in a dry but creepy auditorium, the small basement room of a school that seems to still be in use and where classes may start in the coming days. The gate door barely hangs on its hinges. Some of the heart symbol graffiti about who loves who dates back to the mid-1980s, and we speculate that the bullet shells lodged into the walls are reminders of the war that swept through the former Yugoslavian countries in the 1990s.

The room is littered with water bottles, soda and energy drink cans, and potato chip packages. The pile of cigarette butts in one corner make us think young people come here to hide their smoking habits from their parents, or, like the young people in the Greek village we met, they have nowhere else to go, especially on cold and rainy nights in this rural, hilly area. A distant thought clouds over: could this place be a stopover point for refugees and migrants escaping from Syria, Afghanistan, Pakistan and North Africa? It’s a very real possibility as parts of our European walk parallels theirs.

The number of abandoned buildings we see during this leg of our journey these last several months raises bigger questions. What’s really going on here in this part of the world is one of the things we keep asking ourselves.

Where the men go

Sometimes the answer is right in front of us, sitting at one of the many bars and cafes we can’t help but run into.

Very frequently, the bars and cafes we have passed from Çanakkale, Turkey to Bihac, Bosnia and Herzegovina are filled with an intergenerational mix of men. The old men are usually farmers or pensioners living on a budget; the young men typically in their 20s are mostly unemployed. They all drink the same thing: Coffee, beer, and raki/rakija (the name and spelling of this hard liquor changes as we move through each country, but it’s always present).

“I lived in Germany for a while, and made a lot of money. But, I was sent back here, and now I have nothing. No savings, no job, nothing,” an Albanian 20-something-year-old tells us during another rainy afternoon when we are trapped inside a smoky bar where Latin American Spanish music is the choice beat from their YouTube TV connection. “What am I going to do? There’s no work in this country. I come here (to this bar) every day. I’m here all day. These guys are like my family.”

We glance around the room and have mixed feelings about these men. The resignation about their lot in life is evident on their faces. But, we are not ones who dole out pity.

“Why don’t you create work? There must be something that can create a better economic situation here,” I say, almost pleading.

The young man tells us what many others tell us in every country we walk through: The government doesn’t work; the politicians are corrupt, and people don’t have any chance to make money. He says the only job he may get is cutting trees deep in the forest, and that’s not appealing work. He wants to go back to Germany and get a job translating Albanian, German and English, but he needs certificates he can’t afford unless he takes the work as a lumberjack.

It is a cycle that feeds the helpless and hopelessness bubbling just below the surface, and shadows the easy-going conversations we have in places where hospitality to visitors is a underlining principle.

The increasing number of sport betting places, usually attached to the bar and cafes where men hang out, doesn’t help matters.

Sidewalk and signs of betting places caption: There are no shortages of places to bet throughout Turkey, Greece and most of the Balkan countries we have passed. They are often attached to the cafès where men go to drink Turkish-style coffee, beer and the local version of rakija, raki, ouzo or other distilled liquors; in many places, they are located a few doors down from money transfer shops, where family members living abroad send money to relatives back home.

“Ninety-nine percent of the men watching this match have money on the game,” observes our host in Bitola, one of  Macedonia’s few cities, swirling his finger around 360 degrees pointing to the World Cup soccer match being broadcasted on every television in every café and restaurant along the main pedestrian street. “Everyone says they have no money. But there is always money for coffee, alcohol, cigarettes, and a bet on the game.”

Our host in Thessaloniki, a big Greek city off of our walking route that we visited for a few days, mentions something similar.

In Greece, a country that was hard hit in the last recession and whose people are struggling with European Union imposed economic austerity measures and  high unemployment rates, betting places recently became legal, and they are popping up everywhere, our host explains. Often during our walk, we notice a handful of betting places just a few meters away from each other on the same street, and sometimes they are near money transfer shops where people receive cash from relatives living and working abroad.

“It’s another way to prey on the poor. People earn little money, and they think if they win a few Euros, that will help them out of their hole. But, they never win,” he says, shaking his head at the illogical behavior capitalism fuels.

This is the push and pull we feel as we walk.

When we have the good fortune to find people who speak enough English and are willing to have more thoughtful conversations with us about their lives and dreams, they tell us what they want. They want a bigger house, a car (or another better, higher-end car), another television, nicer clothes, and, yes, better education and life opportunities for their children, who they hope will make enough money to take care of them when they are old. The story is the same almost everywhere we go, from Asia to Europe.

But, who really has access and resources to turn this wishful thinking into reality? How viable is this line of thinking in the near-term? And further into the future.

Will the children who listen to rap music or play billiards in destroyed buildings be the ones to turn their local economies around? Will the young guy who hangs his hope on getting out of wherever he lives and earning paycheck in another country come back and build something the generations after him will benefit from? Will governments create initiatives to help their people living both in cities and rural areas do more than survive?

We walk on mulling over these questions and inventing philosophical possibilities for the people we meet along the way.

Signs of depressed urban and rural economies blur our vision. It’s a long road ahead for all of us, for the people we meet who want something more than they have and for us the walkers who have learned to live with less. One step at a time often feels too slow for such a big undertaking.

Jennifer Baljko
Bangkok to Barcelona

On The Nature of Cities

 

 

 

Simulation Models Are Fantastic Tools for Engagement

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

A lot of recent discussion around urban planning, resilience, and sustainable cities has included ideas about community engagement. How do we get the public more engaged in urban planning in ways that are effective — that honors good design, evidence-based science and community desires? Having decided that community engagement is a good idea doesn’t make it easy. My friend and colleague PK Das of Mumbai has been involved in a lot of public engagement around the expansion of open spaces, and he said something insightful. One the one hand, plopping a big plan with an elaborate drawing down in front of an audience is not exactly engagement — in fact, it can easily be a buzz kill. On the other hand, when I asked Das what for him was the biggest difficulty, he responded: “As a professional, it is resisting the temptation to try an control the proceedings; I need to relax and be a participant.”

So there it is. How can we meld expert opinion (plus facts and science) and non-expert opinion (just as valid, but different) in a way that honors and includes both?

CharretteI am very excited about engagement exercises that use simulation models as tools to get people talking not just about their opinions, but about the consequences of their opinions. Incorporating simulation models explicitly into community dialogues is an approach to this. That is, individuals or groups can sit down with a computer simulator of, say, how green infrastructure performs in storm water capture. The people can arrange green roofs, or parks, or street trees on the landscape and the model calculates for them how much storm water has been captured using their design. The science and expert knowledge are built into the inner workings of the simulator (the “black box”). Individuals can try out their designs and social ideas using the model as context, and have the model give some feedback about the how their ideas would work on the ground. Their ideas are taken out of the realm of unverified opinion and placed in a context in which their function, output, and outcomes can be compared. You might still prefer one type of design to another, but its performance could now be part of the decision mix.

Mannahatta 2409

A fantastic new example of such a simulator is now available in a testing phase (“Beta”) version. It is called Mannahatta2409 and is an outgrowth of Wildlife Conservation Society ecologist Eric Sanderson’s work to reconstruct what Manhattan island looked like in the year 1609, the year the Dutch arrived. Mannahatta2409 is forward looking. You can take any section of today’s Manhattan and redesign it, putting it parks, bike lanes, green roofs, streetcar lines, wind arrays, landfills, bigger buildings…almost anything. You can specify the consumption behavior of the residents in your simulation: average New Yorker, average American, “Eco-hipster”, etc.

Want to retreat from the shore and install barrier beaches along the periphery? OK. Want to compare street trees to parks in their storm water capture? Get to it. Want to fill Central Park with solar panels? Sure — great for carbon footprint, bad for biodiversity (don’t worry, eliminating Central Park as a public space means you won’t be Mayor of New York for long).

ManahattaScreenShotYou redesign Manhattan, block by block, to your specifications and then the “black box” of the simulator calculates a variety of key sustainability statistics, such as energy use, carbon, water flow, biodiversity, human population size, etc. You can register at the website and make your own designs (or “Visions”) or just check out others (there is a library of them). Warning: there is a bit of a learning curve, but investing some time, with patience, is fascinating and greatly rewarding. The creators have plans to continue improving it, including things like learning “competitions” to find to best and most productive design ideas.

For example, Eric Sanderson created a Vision of the 14th Street corridor in lower Manhattan (the northern boundary of Greenwich Village). Using a combination of parks, trees, street cars, and bioswales, Sanderson redesigned the yellow zone in the image above to have higher population density and yet to require dramatically less energy. Sure, it’s a hypothetical exercise, but one that has enormous potential to demonstrate what is possible when we rethink how cities are put together.

Eric did this Vision on his own, but imagine gathering groups of neighbors to discuss neighborhood redesign. Or using it with students as an education tool (as the Manahatta team hope to do). Or…you get it, the potential applications are vast.

Check it out. Do this:

  1. Go to https://mannahatta2409.org/ (Note: it doesn’t work on Safari)
  2. Select “Existing Visions” and a popup presents a list of Visions that have already been created.
  3. Scroll to the right (with the right arrow); find and click on “Terra Nova 14th Street”, a redesign of the east to west length of 14 Street in lower Manhattan
  4. A box appears in the upper left; click on the little “i” button to see some information about the Vision.
  5. Click on “Environmental Performance” and then “Show Details” to see how the design (the orange bar in the histogram) performs compared to the current design of the street in 2010 (brown bar), and the how the place was in the year 1609 (green bar).
  6. Notice that this design has more people (higher density buildings) but emits dramatically less carbon and flushes zero storm water. Beware: no automobiles!

Note: A direct way to get to this Vision is https://mannahatta2409.org/?vision=9510.

Lidra storm water simulator

A group of engineers and storm water experts including Franco Montalto have produced a focused tool for storm water planning called Lidra (the site is still under construction). The thematic scope is more proscribed than Mannahatta2409, but it is geographically unlimited. Like Mannahatta2409, Lidra is a black box. However, Lidra focuses on models of storm water capture by various types of green infrastructure such as street trees, bioswales, green roofs, etc.

As a participatory planning tool, the idea is this. A neighborhood group convenes after having installed an infrastructure map of their area in Lidra. The group then can discuss how their want to design their neighborhood from a green infrastructure (GI) perspective, placing the various types of GI down in space: a green roof here, a bioswale there. The model then calculates and outputs the total storm water capture potential of the design and how much it would cost to build and maintain.

StudyAreaDoes one person in your area want to invest everything in green roofs, while another thinks street trees are the answer? The model can help place the consequences of these alternatives in context (at least from a storm water perspective), making their relative outcomes easier to see, digest, and decide upon. Sure, there would still be decisions to make that are outside the scope of Lidra — aesthetics, access, equitability, and so on — but the model helps take at least some of the guesswork out of the process.

Participatory planning is difficult enough. Why not strive for apples to apples comparisons whenever possible? Simulation models such as Lidra have enormous potential to help.

ScenariosOutputAll models are wrong — some are useful

There is a famous adage about models: “All models are wrong; some of them are useful.” The designers of Mannahatta2409 and Lidra have created tools that model various key elements of sustainable cities, and which allow you (or groups) to test drive designs and see how they perform, to compare them. They’re not perfect — they are not meant to be, they are for focusing on elements of a system — and it isn’t exactly “real life”, but as any thoughtfully and comprehensively created models do, they provide tools to think, compare, and come to a better understanding of how sustainable cities might be put together. They can take a little of guesswork and unvarnished opinion out of the important but difficult work of participatory planning.

These specific simulators are amazing accomplishments. And, I think approaches like this are a key element to the future of thoughtful and productive public engagement in urban planning.

What will it take to get more tools like this into participatory planning? I believe it will be key to get scientists and planners talking actively with each other about exactly what is needed as outputs of participatory planning events. I often hear people wonder how scientists and practitioners can work together. Working side by side to build participatory planning tools with foundations in science and data has enormous potential.

David Maddox
New York City

On The Nature of Cities

 

Singapore through the Eyes of a Young Planner in Manila

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

How has Singapore created itself as a “city in a garden”? I’m from Manila, and have recently returned from a week-long educational trip hosted by the Young South East Asian Leadership Initiative (YSEALI). The workshop was entitled Urban Planning and Smart Growth. It brought together sixty young leaders across the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN) to learn from Singapore, and from each other.

The idea that resonated with me the most was the urban planning initiative to transform Singapore from a “garden in a city” to a “city in a garden”.
This experience was eye-opening. As a young planner living in a metropolitan area that favors a built-up environment, I always viewed green spaces as isolated areas for beautification, or as something held aside until a developer decides to use for more profit. Singapore showed me that my everyday normal could be so much more.

Let me tell you how this experience lifted my hopes for Manila, and why young planners from the Southeast Asian Region could do the same for their cities

The entirety of Singapore’s City in a Garden at the Urban Redevelopment Authority.
Photo: Ragene Palma

The week was filled with lectures in the morning, and field trips in the afternoon. Module after module, session after session, we exchanged perspectives and information from every country. We talked about livable cities, addressing topics such as transport issues, industrial growth, housing, and community engagement. We studied each component from an urban planning perspective. We took photo after photo of gardens, green spaces and waterways. We marveled at how a river could be so clean, and how it could ferry us so fast; at the gardens that grew on roof-tops, on building facades, and in every nook and corner the Singaporean urban planners could find. Through the lens of a camera, we attempted to capture the form of the entire city-state.

Most importantly, we learned how Singapore has managed to bring it all together.

A sky garden. Photo: Ragene Palma

Metropolitan areas across the ASEAN region all share the struggles of urbanization. Workshop participants talked about congestion, the lack of sidewalks, the kinds of public housing our governments offered to our citizens. We compared our cities with each other, asking who had the worst traffic. Metro Manila’s commute time, in my experience, takes three hours to travel twenty kilometres. (It is not a distinction to be proud of.) Singapore’s worst traffic, on the other hand, was only a short ten-minute delay at the extravagant Orchard Road. Vientiane, Chiang Mai, Ha Noi—we all experience these problems. As urban planners we are all still learning. Among us all, was the same desire to bring our newly discovered knowledge from Singapore back to our home countries.

Over the course of the week, I collected a litany of “aha” moments that captured my imagination—from intangible heritage preservation to controlled climates and recycled energy. However, the idea that resonated with me the most was the urban planning initiative established to increase the livability and sustainability of Singapore, and transform it from a “garden in a city” to a “city in a garden”.

Urban planners from advanced countries may scoff at my delight in something as basic as planned green space. Garden cities, the idea of a utopian city in which people live in harmony with nature, and on which the vision of Singapore was based, have been around since Ebenezer Howard proposed the model in the late 1800s. Singapore adopted its own original Garden City initiative in 1963. But for someone from a developing country which equates progress with more cement and zero-down payment car purchases, seeing the actual implementation of a concept that we’ve only studied is striking.

When asked in an interview about my favourite aspect of the workshop, my response was “All the greens. I want to bring all these greens back home.”

Nature is respected and well integrated into daily life. Photo: Ragene Palma

Every single day, I suffocate in the city of Makati. There are trees, but only because they are part of a privatized landscape. There are parks, and I am thankful for these open spaces, but they are only a temporary relief from the congestion and car emissions of the city. The two-minute relief of crossing a hundred-meter-long park ends all too quickly in a traffic jam. Sadly, these problems are the norm for developing cities.

On this, my first visit to Singapore, the lessons about landscape design began right outside the airport, with the sight of avenues lined with shrubs and flowers. I was overwhelmed with emotion, with inspiration, and mixed incredulity. On the first day of tours, it pained me to see how the “future” I envisioned for our local planning in Metro Manila already exists, far beyond what I imagined it could be. Singaporean planners are already talking about building sky cities and pushing beyond their present innovations. It is difficult to envision such advances in urban planning when the eradication of poverty is one of the biggest concerns among many of the ASEAN representatives. I kept telling myself, “This is how we should be doing it.” I kept telling my lungs, breathe here, while you can.

The second day of tours inspired me to strategize on how I could teach local planners across our 7,000 islands about the greenery strategies of Singapore. Could we actually require our estate developers by law to put biowalls on our building designs? How could we successfully maintain plant life when temperatures in the Philippine islands sometimes hit 50°C? So many of these thoughts played on my mind.

An example of a garden on a facade. It is as if the buildings sprout leaves. Photo: Ragene Palma

By the third day touring Singapore, I could not believe the things my eyes were seeing. It was as though it was all too perfect and beautiful to be true. It was almost inconceivable to me that these urban environments are Singapore’s reality. However, for the young representatives from the ASEAN region recreating the amazing urban environments we discovered in Singapore in our home nations would be difficult given the weight and challenges of the city planning burdens we have at home.

So, what can developing countries and congested cities take away from the success that is Singapore?

The natural environment and the built-up environment are not a dichotomy.

They can co-exist, and they can be integrated.

Whenever I do land-use workshops with local planners, the map is filled with red and yellow areas. These are the commercial and residential zones. Green areas are isolated, and meticulously measured, on the chance that they will someday be developed into future malls, or more condominiums.

Additionally, green areas are zoned. Parks are given little attention and thought with regard to design. The colonial plaza is typically designated as public space. The church, the government center, and any open areas that remain from the three hundred years under Spanish rule serve as public space today. Ask a Filipino where the public space is, and he will direct you to the plaza.

The innovation of Singapore reinventing itself as a city in a garden challenged not only the concept of green zones, but also the idea of exclusive-use zones in its entirety. Inclusion was the key strategy. By bringing diverse races together in one building, infusing leaves with windows and walls, putting the workplace and schools within biking or elevator distance, communities thrived.

In the same way, gardens were not just included in the city as green spots. Gardens were integrated, both horizontally and vertically, in every zone. By reimagining all potential space as green space, and integrating greenery into all zones the trend of planners wedging small gardens into the city was reversed. Now it appears as if the city is placed within a huge garden.

Plants thrive on the built up environment. Photo: Ragene Palma
Malls, homes, workplaces, and greenery everywhere you look. Photo: Ragene Palma

“It’s not about aesthetics, it’s about valuing life.” – Damian Tang

From the perspective of planners, architects, and developers, green spaces are included in the urban landscape because they are pleasing to the eye. Open green spaces increase land value, bring in more money, and serve as an asset, upon which we can capitalize. This limited perspective is a potential problem.

Planners recognize that incorporating green space is both pleasing and ideal, but why this is so has to do with more than just the economic benefits. In Singapore, they found the value of green space to strongly improve the quality of life of their residents. Parks, nature reserves, waterfronts, and even the presence of fish in water bodies played a role in transforming polluted slums to thriving, innovative communities. The role that green space played was so prominent in the lives of the people, that their target today is to have at least 90 percent of their households be within 400 meters of a park by 2030 (from Sustainable Singapore Blueprint, 2015). The proximity of nature to one’s life has such high value.

A river can be the source of life for the people; the Singapore River was transformed from a polluted state to one of the most iconic attractions in Asia. Photo: Ragene Palma

We can see the lesson of valuing life in how much we value our rivers and estuaries. Waterbodies in developing countries’ urban centers are polluted, foul-smelling and dangerous. When we can use water bodies for transport and tourism and be proud of their history and condition, we transform them from our personal, domestic garbage cans into a natural resource to be valued and respected.

This is the same mistake we make when we constantly excavate and build without provisions for land management and future developments. It is the same mistake when we cut down trees for infrastructure and do not replace them with new trees. It is the same mistake that we care not about emissions and the heat we bring to our air, which has reduced our wildlife populations. We have driven living things away from their natural habitat. Unfortunately, we do not value life.

We are a part of nature, so why treat nature differently? Separately? Why do we evaluate it in terms of money instead of in terms of having an inherent value that benefits life?

Urban and environmental planning is about improving the quality of life, and yet, our efforts for development undermine that very objective. To create livable, sustainable, healthy cities, we must elevate the the importance of green space to the level of other planning concerns and seamlessly integrate green spaces into our plans.

When we value life we feel a connection with living things around us. An example is this pigeon management initiative along a heritage street. Photo: Ragene Palma

Piling on the livable layers

In the very dense hearts of cities, we have to learn how life can be brought in to revitalize the urban environment. In Singapore, they increased vegetation from 36 percent in 1986 to an impressive 47 percent in 2007. Even with this success, they continue to question how to maintain it. Some of Singapore’s green design strategies include:

(1) Understanding the ecosystem and habitats where cities thrive.
(2) Add layers that make the city livable. Examples of layers that incorporate space and improve livability are nature reserves, parks (coastal, riverine, heritage), and pocket parks. Other layers include urban greens, such as vertical biowalls and green rooftops.

Green strategies in revitalizing an area can also feature Kevin Lynch’s elements of a city: streetscapes, corridors, and edges all echo how vegetation can define an area and imprint memories on people’s minds. Most importantly, a city has to be planned with social touchpoints, where citizens can interact with nature—vegetation, water bodies, and animals.

Taking the cue

There is this massive responsibility that falls upon a young planner’s shoulders in bringing these ideals to life in an already congested metropolis.

I asked a young Singaporean planner how a developing country could improve its urban centers. How could we possibly transform cities and address so many problems? She replied: “Start small”. It doesn’t have to be a flashy masterplan, it doesn’t have to be too grand.

Philippine urban planners can start by creating a baseline of green spaces in cities; by reviewing land use plans and finding areas to incorporate mixed uses, by standing up to irresponsible conversion, by campaigning for more livable environments, and by putting the value of life before anything else.

Nature parks are within walking distance from all communtieis. Even socio-economic support infrastructure like this walkway provide breathing spaces. Photo: Ragene Palma

In Silent Spring, the book that launched a global environmental movement, author Rachel Carson said, “The history of life on earth has been a history of interaction between living things and their surroundings”. This is a good reminder to young planners. All the more, because of the challenges we face in the developing ASEAN cities. Hopefully, in my lifetime, I’ll be able to say I helped improve the livability of Metro Manila by creating more green spaces. Hopefully someday, I’ll be able to write about the beauty and livability of my home, thanks to the lessons learned in Singapore with the rest of our neighboring countries.

Ragene Palma
Metro Manila

On The Nature of Cities

 

 

Singapore’s Life in the Trees

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.

Roadside trees are not merely roadside trees. Roadside trees are living condominiums, packed with other organisms. They are functioning communities, complete with food chains, predators and prey, nutrient capture, nutrient cycling and recycling, and an organisational hierarchy. They extend their influence vertically upwards, horizontally and downwards. They are ecosystems in their own right.

IMG_3798
Roadside trees in Singapore.

Naturalists who have access to the riches of the true forest tend to be rather dismissive of the tree community along roadsides. It is a community that is obviously impoverished, consisting of a few hardy, widespread species that are not threatened, and do not need conservation assistance. Yet where would we be without those roadside trees? Biologically, a lot poorer. One of the extraordinary features of Singapore, for a visitor from other cities in the region, is the sound of Hill Mynas and Racket-tailed Drongos in suburban gardens; the sight of Honey Buzzards in trees along the main shopping street of the business district; or roosts of Long-tailed Parakeets close by one of the busy railway stations. The Mynas and the Parakeets are birds of the primary lowland rain forest, where they live in the tree canopy. Elsewhere in the region they have often been trapped out by the caged bird trade, or have simply found the vegetation within cities impossible to use as habitat. In Singapore, these birds find plenty of tall trees and they really don’t care that much what happens on the ground beneath them, whether it involves a pedestrian walkway or a group of joggers. What they need is the fruits in the canopy, and in Singapore, what they need is what they get.

In the rain forest, of course, everyone knows about complexity, hierarchies, interactions, communities and guilds. But the same is also true of the trees planted out in the urban environment, except that they have received less attention from community ecologists.
Bringing the trees to our roadsides

In the good old days of traditional biology teaching, final year students taking their ‘spot’ quiz at the National University of Singapore would inevitably be faced with one small, featureless, orange-green organism. Some years it would be presented by the examiner as a dry powder, sometimes as a liquid sludge, or occasionally attached to its natural substrate on tree bark. This is Trentepohlia, a genus of 36 species of chlorophyte algae. It grows on the bark of many roadside trees in Singapore as an orange scurf, and on the trunks and foliage of trees in the rain forest. It is also one of the algae known to form symbiotic associations with fungi, i.e., lichens. As species of algae and species of fungi combine to form further species of lichens, this becomes an interesting case in which the total diversity is greater than the sum of its parts.

In Singapore there are roughly 2.9 million roadside trees, planted by the National Parks Board and the town councils and tracked and managed individually along the nation’s 6,000 kilometers of roads. In a tiny city state, a high density of roads is inevitable, and the road surfaces together with the planted road reserves and central dividers make up about 12 percent of all land.

These managed trees are made up of some 600 species; this means that planted tree alpha diversity (simply, the absolute number of species present) is not far off the tree diversity of the rain forest in our nature reserves, where there are roughly 2,145 native plant species, of which roughly 700 are trees. In the rain forest, of course, everyone knows about complexity, hierarchies, interactions, communities and guilds. But the same is also true of the trees planted out in the urban environment, except that they have received less attention from community ecologists.

Trees as fundamental building blocks

Singapore has been pursuing the idea of a garden city since 1965, a concept that has now been tweaked to become “A City in a Garden.” Until the 1970s, tree species were chosen mostly for providing shade. Another layer of consideration was added from 1979 onwards, with species chosen for the colour of their flowers and variety of foliage. To these have been added considerations of maintenance, suitability for birds and butterflies, avoidance of unsightliness or risk (for example, slippery fruits falling on public walkways), and structure. Roadside plantings no longer consist only of trees, but include shrubs, palms, subcanopy trees and emergent trees to make a complex 3-D green environment. This extends upwards (to rooftop and vertical greenery), inwards (to indoor planting, with examples in Changi Airport and in offices in the central business district), and downwards (for example, beneath flyovers).

At one time cleanliness and neatness were prized, manicured vegetation was the order of the day, and that meant epiphytes – plants growing on other plants – were unwelcome. That situation began to change with the deliberate strapping onto branches of selected ferns, notably Birds-nest Ferns, Asplenium nidus. With that step, it was no longer normal practice to discourage epiphytes, and other species began to proliferate simply because they were undisturbed. The high rainfall in Singapore (around 2,400 millimeters per annum) and typically high humidity helped these species to thrive.

Pigeon Orchid IMG_2098
Pigeon Orchid.

Another major internal management change was the orchid conservation plan of the National Parks Board that has reintroduced thousands of native orchids onto trees. Whether they are self-propagating clones or not, orchids around the city tend to flower in synchrony: the Pigeon Orchid, Dendrobium crumenatum, is a classic case in which mass flowering occurs nine days after a critical low temperature night. Bulbophyllum vaginatum is another gregarious flowering orchid whose blossoms can light up the boughs of an entire row of trees.

The trees that epiphytes inhabit have been termed “phorophytes” (plant-bearers), and their inhabitants include epiphytes, hemi-epiphytes, climbers and epiphylls. But this is only the beginning of complexity. Within the trees are wood-borers and creatures living beneath the bark. Spotted Wood Owls use the Birds-nest Ferns as nesting sites (these ferns are truly named); ants form colonies amongst the ferns’ spongy root-mass and forage throughout the tree while tending aphids and scale insects. Within the tree, a cavity provides a niche for fungi, nematodes, bats, beetles and small centipedes, woodlice, termites, ants and colonies of bees and wasps. In the leaves of the tree are leaf-miners, in the shoots are viruses causing ‘witches broom,’ and on the twigs are galls.

Below ground, mycorrhizal associations between tree roots and fungi are hidden until a rainy spell encourages a mass appearance of mushrooms beneath the tree. Might a first estimate be one species of fungus per species of tree? Mulching of trees might introduce fungi other than the mycorrhizae.

Then we have the pollinators and nectar feeders – birds, bees, butterflies and bats. Fruits are being eaten and dispersed by a range of vertebrates. Inside figs, fig wasps are completing their frantic lives. Even before they have dropped from the tree, fermentation of overripe fruits has been initiated by bacteria and additional fungi. Above a flowering Alstonia tree, a swarm of tiny flying invertebrates attracts a feeding flock of swiftlets. The swiftlets and the nesting owls have specialised internal and external parasites, some of them unique. The termites parading up and down the trunk are bringing in yet more organisms, and carry their own specialised intestinal flora that helps break down cellulose. The levels of diversity go on and on.

Bulbophyllum vaginatum (5)
Bulbophyllum vaginatum, a flowering orchid.

Such a diversity of life dependent on trees has been known and studied everywhere that trees grow – but usually not on roadside trees in cities. In Washington state, west of the Cascade Mountains, Richard Pederson (1991) (of the US Forest Service) found that 39 species of birds and 14 species of mammals depend on tree cavities for their survival. East of the Cascades, 39 bird species and 23 mammal species depend on these ‘snags.’ Pederson (1991) and Bottorff (2005), of Washington State University, found that in total, more than 100 species of birds, mammals, reptiles and amphibians need snags for nesting, roosting, shelter, denning and feeding (45 species alone forage for food in such trees). In North America, hollow snags and large knotholes are used by many species of mammals, such as squirrels, martens, porcupine and raccoons.

Zack, George and Laudenslayer (2002) compared the density of snags, snags formed into cavities, and cavity-nesting bird use at two sites in northern California – one site with large trees and large snags because of protection from logging, and the other where a century of logging had left few large trees and snags. Total snags were three times more numerous in the protected forest, and use of cavities by nesting birds was 15 times greater (2002). Clearly, roadside trees, whether in North America or in Singapore, cannot be allowed to grow in so unregulated a way that snags and cavities reach a maximum. Public safety is a major driver of roadside tree management. Yet the diversity in Singapore proves that even regularly pruned and managed trees can support a high number of epiphytes, and that these are the foundation of a complex plant and animal community.

The diversity of trees, with differing shapes and bark textures, helps to support high diversity of epiphytes. In a geometric progression, the epiphytes then provide multiple niches within living and decaying tissue, roots and leaves, for the huge range of fungi, insects, birds, butterflies, and other organisms in the city. If the community is fractured by the removal of epiphytes, many other organisms suffer. Once epiphytes are tolerated or, even better, encouraged, the community flourishes.

What are the epiphytes?

In a recent study, student Ng Qi Qi (2015) from the National University of Singapore surveyed more than 12,000 trees of 306 species and found 81 species of epiphytes growing on them. The top 17 species of epiphytes (in the broadest sense) were:

Ferns

Pyrrosia piloselloides
Davallia denticulata
Asplenium nidus
Pyrrosia longifolia
Vittaria ensiformis
Drynaria quercifolia

Mistletoes

Dendrophthoe pentandra
Macrosolen cochinchinensis

Climbers

Passiflora suberosa
Epipremnum aureum
Mikania micrantha
Paederia foetida
Epipremnum pinnatum
Tetracera indica

Orchids

Dendrobium crumenatum
Grammatophyllym speciosum
Cymbidium finlaysonianum

Some of the biggest epiphytic surprises in Singapore are examples of plants that really shouldn’t be epiphytes at all. Oil palm (Elaeis guineensis) and banana (Musa esculenta) have been seen growing where they were never designed to be, probably distributed by birds or civets. Dragon fruits (Hylocereus undatus and H. polyrhizus) are also a visual surprise.

The roadside tree in Singapore most often bearing at least one species of epiphyte is Albizia saman, followed by Tabebuia rosea and Pterocarpus indicus. Phorophyte species with reticulate or longitudinally fissured bark have a higher proportion of trees with at least one epiphyte found on them. Rough bark seems to be more favourable for supporting the formation of epiphyte communities; intuitively, irregularities in bark provide niches for seeds to lodge, for roots to penetrate, and for nutrients and moisture to gather. The three species of trees mentioned can therefore be seen as keystone species in supporting a roadside epiphyte community: not only the presence of trees, but the selection of suitable trees is important.

It is common to find many different species of epiphytes on a single tree species, and even on a single individual tree. However, Zotz and Heitz (2001) have suggested that, unlike in other plant communities, challenges such as interspecific competition and herbivory do not seem to be an issue for epiphytes. This means that the epiphyte community, including that on roadside trees, functions in somewhat different ways from the biological community within forest. It is therefore of intrinsic scientific interest. Some factors that influence the structure of epiphyte communities include the size of the supporting tree, its bark type, and water availability. In the Americas, Gentry and Dobson (1987) found that wet forest had an epiphyte diversity 500 times greater than that of dry forest. They compared this with the diversity of herbs and lianas, which were only twice as diverse in wet forest as they were in dry forest (where the epiphytes were mostly orchids and bromeliads).  The epiphyte community on roadside trees should be of interest and concern because of the relative exposure of roadside trees to open, drying conditions as well as vehicle emissions and urban heat island effects.

Root fungi 131120141765
Root fungi.

Concerns for the future

Singapore, like other countries in Southeast Asia, is vulnerable to the prolonged droughts initiated by El Niño years. These place huge stress on epiphytes and the living communities they support. In the same Singapore study mentioned above, Ng Qi Qi found that during the February 2014 drought, Vittaria ensiformis was the species most vulnerable to death by drought, followed by the poorly adapted climbing herbs Passiflora suberosa and Paederia foetida (study year). Orchids have adaptations to resist drought, such as pseudobulbs and large root masses: the two large orchids Grammatophyllum speciosum and Cymbidium finlaysonianum came through the 2014 drought successfully.

Morphology and water stress adaptations are likely to be the reasons behind the different extirpation rates of these plants during drought (Ng 2015), while the type of tree they were growing on did not seem to have much effect. The size of the supporting tree also did not seem to have an impact on the survival rate of epiphytes during drought, except for one of the mistletoes.

Nevertheless, microclimate will continue to be a concern, and 3-D planting in place of serried ranks of military roadside trees is likely to be a factor in maintaining humidity and buffering drying winds. Pruning, removal of risky branches, and repairs to wind-created snags as a result of branch snapping, will all have to be considered.

Now, back to the students’ infamous Trentepohlia. For any student who bothered to talk to seniors, this was actually a shoo-in question. But perhaps students should not have taken the identification too literally. A study of lichens and green algae on bark of trees within two tiny patches of Singapore’s rain forests (Neustupa and Skaloud, 2010) has revealed at least 57 species, not one of which was in the genus Trentepohlia! Most of them could not be identified beyond the level of genus. In all likelihood, there are plenty more algae and lichens out there to be identified. And this is not just an abstruse and pointless exercise. Trentepohlia odorata is one of the commonest algae growing on the external walls of buildings in Singapore, responsible for significant costs in building maintenance and redecoration.

To repeat the message with which we started: roadside trees are living condominiums, packed with other organisms. They are functioning ecosystems, with food chains, predators and prey, nutrient capture, nutrient cycling and recycling, and an organisational hierarchy. Where would we be without those roadside trees? Biologically, we would be a lot poorer.

Geoffrey Davison and Lena Chan
Singapore

On The Nature of Cities

References

Bottorff, J. 2005. Snags, coarse woody debris, and wildlife. Snohomish Co. Extension Service, Washington State University. http://snohomish.wsu.edu/forestry/documents/SNAGS.pdf

Gentry, A.H. and Dodson, C.H. 1987. Diversity and biogeography of Neotropical vascular epiphytes. Annals of the Missouri Botanical Garden, 74: 205–233.

Neustupa, J. and Skaloud, P. 2010. Diversity of subaerial algae and cyanobacteria growing on bark and wood in the lowland tropical forests of Singapore. Plant Ecology and Evolution, 143: 51–62.

Ng, Q.Q. 2015. Effects of drought on vascular plant epiphytes in Singapore. Thesis, B.Env.Sci., Dept. of Biological Sciences, National University of Singapore.

Pederson, Richard J. 1991. Managing Small Woodlands for Cavity Nesting Birds. USDA Forest Service, Pacific NW Region. 6 pages. http://www.woodlandfishandwildlife.org/

Zack, S., George, T.L. and Laudenslayer, Jr., W.F. 2002. Are there snags in the system? Comparing cavity use among nesting birds in “snag-rich” and “snag-poor” Eastside pine forests.  USDA Forest Service Gen. Tech. Rep. PSW-GTR-181. Pp. 179–191.

Zotz, G. and Hietz, P. 2001. The physiological ecology of vascular epiphytes: current knowledge, open questions. Journal of Experimental Botany, 52: 2067–2078

Singing in the Noise

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.
By examining how wildlife responds to their urban ambient environment, can we develop a better understanding of how to create cities that are healthier for people too?”

Urbanization not only changes the landscape structure due to land cover change, fragmentation of natural habitats, and creation of artificial habitats, it also changes the physical patterns of the environment: temperature, wind currents, rain patterns, light levels, or noise levels. For example, urbanization increases average temperature by between 3°C and 5°C, in comparison to nearby rural or natural areas, because of the lack of green areas and the excess of concrete and sealed structures that capture and keep the heat during the day. This phenomenon, the difference in temperature among adjacent areas or urban and non-urban, is called the heat island effect.

Urbanization also increases light levels at night, potentially changing the natural rhythm of activity of animals, such as periods of sleep and wakefulness. Higher light levels are also a cause of poor sleep quality among people in cities. Wind currents and rain patterns change more in cities with tall buildings. Tall buildings serve as barriers against the wind close to the ground, but increase the wind speeds at the building’s top; producing surface wind currents that are slow in some areas and fast in others, and higher winds moving outside the city area push out the rains, too.

Figure 1. House Wren (Troglodytes aedon) male singing inside a house garage in San José city, Costa Rica. This species inhabit from forest edges to urban gardens and parks. Photo: Mauricio Calderon/fotonaturaleza.net.

And cities are noisy places due to automobile motors, industrial motors, and people. The majority of these sounds occur at low frequencies below 5,000 Hz (humans hear between 200 and 20,000 Hz), and affect the sound communication of animals that produce vocalization below 5,000 Hz such as: insects (e.g., crickets), amphibians (e.g., frogs and toads), birds (e.g., robins, wrens, pigeons, sparrows, or owls), and mammals (e.g., squirrels, monkeys, and wolves). If this noise level means we must talk louder when conversing with a friend on the street or by cell phone, we need to be concerned with how the noise pollution levels we are produce affect the animals that inhabit or survive in or around urban environments. Some species can adapt and survive the effects of noise pollution, however others will probably be extinct from cities because they cannot communicate effectively, although they have the right habitats to survive.

All of these ways in which cities alter the environment also affect how people and animals behave. Here I just want to address the effect of noise on animals’ sound communication, including examples of how noise produces changes in the behavior of animals and changes to the characteristics of songs that they produce either spontaneously or over time. It is important to understand how animals adapt or avoid those noise levels, because it could give us information on how we are changing the noise environment in the cities and if those changes might affect us too.

The study of the noise pollution on animal communication gained much attention in 2003 when Hans Slabbekoorn and Margriet Peet published their investigation titled “Birds sing at a higher pitch in urban noise” in the journal Nature. They showed that Great Tits (Parus major) that inhabit urban areas sing songs with higher minimum frequency and the value of this frequency increased when noise levels increased. In terms of a human voice, this is analogous to a city dweller with a deep voice (e.g., bass, baritone, or alto range) speaking with a higher voice (e.g., tenor or soprano) to be heard over the increased city noise levels, because deep voices are less effective in communicating with other people. This pattern of singing at higher song frequencies also occurs in different species such as crickets, toads, and several bird species; in cities around the world and even in aquatics environments where boat motors are abundant. This effect of singing at higher frequencies could be problematic in animal communication, particularly for animals that cannot increase the minimum frequency of the songs, rendering them unable to communicate with other individuals of their species and reducing the probability of reproducing or defending their territories.

One response to avoiding the effect of noise pollution without changing the frequency is to increase the song volume (song energy amplitude), this phenomenon is called the Lombard effect, and anyone that has been to a concert, party, or meeting with music played at high volume does this to communicate with those around us. As we know from experience, to speak at a higher volume than normal for an extended period of time produces fatigue and reduces the quality of our voice. Animals experience similar fatigue when they sing at a higher volume in cities in order to communicate. For animals to compensate for the excess fatigue they must eat more to recuperate their energy, and decrease the amount of daytime singing, as compared to places with lower noise pollution.

Noise pollution also affects animals’ behavior in ways not necessary related with singing characteristics. For example, vigilance behaviors increase because animals are not able to detect predator presence due to ambient noise interference. Increased vigilance behaviors also decreases time available for feeding, reducing the energy intake, affecting the wellness of the animals, and reducing the reproductive success and survival because of lower energy levels and higher stress levels. Animals also change their singing activity associated with noise pollution. They shift the singing activity to hours where noise pollution is lower, for example before or after traffic peaks, or more volume on weekdays than on weekends. Additionally, other diurnal animals sing at night to communicate and avoid the daytime noise pollution. All of these changes probably also affect success of communication because singing at unusual time periods may affect the transmission of the sounds from the sender to the receiver due to wind currents or turbulence that increase the song degradation at closer distances. Singing at night may also reveal the position of the singer to predators increasing the probability of predation.

Figure 2. Sonogram (visual representation of a sound) of a House Wren (Troglodytes aedon) song. The song at the left is the song at low pollution noise levels and at the right is the same song at high levels of noise pollution. The difference in the minimum frequency between both songs is the distance between the red line and the bottom of the song in the right song.

As we see here, noise pollution affects the song characteristics (frequency and energy) of animals inside cities, reducing the probability of communicating effectively with other individuals of the species. Additionally, noise pollution also affects the animal behavior reducing the time invested in feeding or producing song at unusual time periods. As humans living in cities, we are also affected by noise pollutions but our understanding how this affects us is limited to medical diagnosis of sick people. However, if we can develop a relationship between animals’ response to noise pollution and the occurrence of human sickness associated with higher levels of noise pollution, we can suggest corrective measures to reduce the noise pollution and positively affect both animals and humans that inhabit cities.

Furthermore, to know how animals are changing their songs to survive in or around cities could give us a better understanding of the capacities that animals have to modify their songs (this phenomenon is called plasticity, and we as human use it constantly to imitate other voices or to speak in a loud room), that in the end may result in changes of songs throughout time.

Luis Sandoval
San José

On The Nature of Cities

A picture of a dead black butterfly surrounded by yellowed leaves on concrete

Sistine Blue

Many voices. Greener cities. Better cities.
I have been allowed to look into reality, into its sacred nature. I have been reminded that it is not something hidden. We have mostly forgotten that. But on that evening, I can see that the sacred nature of reality is the most visible thing.

[*]I’m on my way home from an errand one early June evening. As I walk, I look down on the granite-slabbed sidewalk. At its margin, a row of slender catsears raise their yellow heads towards the fading sky. They look a bit like skinny dandelions (who they are related to), as though they were a dried-out version of their juicy cousins, decorating the arid summer of Berlin.

As I am trodding down the sidewalk, my mind wanders back to last autumn. The catsears had long transformed their blossoms into little globes of hairy parachutes, and the wind had blown them away one by one, each carrying a tiny seed into an unknown destiny.

I remember the dry autumn leaves curled on the granite slabs. A single butterfly sat there in the fallen foliage. From above, his folded wings appeared black. They looked like the wilting leaves, with their slightly irregular outline, a blackness into which my gaze sunk.

That autumn day, I almost hadn’t noticed the butterfly. I’d almost stepped on it. He was easy to miss in his resting position among the foliage. Touching him, I noticed that he was still alive. I picked him up, and he slowly opened his wings. And there it was, the purple, orange, white, and blue, forming four eye-like dots, all the glory of a peacock butterfly’s wings.

A picture of a dead black butterfly surrounded by yellowed leaves on concrete
Peacock butterfly on the sidewalk, 2022
Photo: Andreas Weber

I put him behind a stone, knowing that he would die here because he hadn’t yet found a frost-free space to overwinter and was already too weak to fly. When I put him down, he flapped his wings another time. Again, I caught sight of the splendor opening among the withering and dying as if it was not of this world.

I nod to the catsears as I resume my walk home. There are no butterflies around them.

In the evening, I walk to the woods, into the Grunewald Forest close to the city center. I feel that the catsears have transmitted a calling, that the shadow image of that dying butterfly tells me to go and find life. To go and sit with life.

A picture of a path through the forest with dappled sunlight streaming in
Grunewald forest, Berlin (close to S-Bahn station Heerstraße), 2023 Photo: Andreas Weber

I walk through the scattered trees, soaked in the milky light of a mid-summer evening. The dog is eager to get here, too. I’ve followed her across the arterial road and the railroad bridges. I have dropped my work, even though the knowledge that I still have a lot on my to-do list is making my neck a bit tense.

The dog wanders in the direction of the old oak, the tree of life in that section of the forest, determined, sniffing and scenting left and right, unperturbed by thoughts. I follow.

At this hour there are hardly any bird voices. I hear the muffled scolding of a thrush behind the trees. Somewhere from a hollow tree, the chicks of titmice call for food. The air is motionless. It holds the last traces of the sweet perfume of blossoming black cherries.

The oak stands there waiting for us, as it has patiently waited for everything for five hundred years. It reaches with its arms into the late evening light, as though it pulled it down to the earth, and distributed it among the beings. The air is reddish, a softly embracing substance in which we all move together.

On the way back, I spot a large insect in the distance. The animal is flying circles around a weathered tree stump next to the sandy path. I walk faster. Something special is taking place here. My heart is pounding.

As I get closer, I hear the buzzing. Its rising and falling pitch reminds me of the low notes of a viola. From a few meters away, I see semi-transparent wings drawing brownish streaks in the air. Stag beetle, it flashes through my mind. But no. The shape of the flying creature is too long. Maybe a large ichneumon wasp? What is this?

I move closer. Whatever it is, I am encountering a huge insect, here, in this unspectacular forest, whose ground is so plowed through by wild boars that hardly anything grows below the trees. A huge, unknown insect in the apricot-colored light of the summer sunset. It seems that the creature has manifested out of it, somehow has crystallized from the sun falling obliquely through the branches.

The animal flies in circles around the tree stump. Then it bumps against the wood with a whirring sound and falls on its back in the sand. I hear the soft underwings rustle. When the insect rises again, I recognize the species. I am very close now, not more than two feet away. It is a gigantic longhorn beetle, Ergates faber, one of the biggest European insects. The nervous animal is easily as long as my little finger. A creature like from the tropics. But the animal is native to Central Europe. Indeed, it was once common here.

The beetle now runs ponderously over the sandy ground. He follows the edge of the tree stump in a circle. His body is of a deep lacquer brown. He moves frantically, the clubbed antennae vibrating, the abdomen pulsating. Then he pauses, jerkily unfolds the two leathery top wings, pulls out the membranous hind wings from beneath, and takes off whirring.

He flies two awkward circles around the not quite knee-high stump with an increasing and decreasing hum, collides again with the wood, crashes, rustling, humming. Scrambles to his feet. Runs around. I hear the sand softly crunching under the steps of his tiny claws. Then he pumps again, unfolds his wings, buzzes away, circles through the trees, curves back, circles around the stump again, carried by his wings of finely pleated, delicately veined, brownish-transparent silk.

While I let myself sink into the admiration of this magnificent being, a trace of anxiety sneaks into my feeling and starts to grow. What is going on here? Why does the animal fly so frantically around the dead wood, crawl up and down so manically, seem so aimless in its frenzy? It does not look like healthy behaviour. The joyful surprise of my encounter gives way to concern.

Has the longhorn beetle been poisoned? Has he become disoriented and psychotic, the consequences of modern pesticides that spread uncontrollably even outside the fields? Have I met the last Ergates in the Grunewald Forest? A creature whose presence makes my heart beat up to my throat, and yet which has already been consigned to death? Has this meeting the same quality as last autumn, when I found the dying peacock butterfly?

Only then do I see the other. The second longhorn beetle sits in a hollow of the sandy path next to the stump, motionless, the head bent down. At the end of the abdomen, an elongated spur protrudes from under the closed wing covers. It gently vibrates, an advancing appendix of stretching yellow skin. I touch the animal lightly with my fingertip. The insect retracts the abdominal process. I don’t understand what is happening here, until all at once a light dawns on me: Of course, the female!

And at this moment the male is already on top of her. At first his head points in the wrong direction, then he turns in a flash and presses his abdomen onto the appendage protruding from her rear end, clasping her body with his segmented legs. The beetle has made it. I see two Ergates mating. I can’t believe my luck.

Now I know why I had to walk through the forest this evening, spend such a long time among the trees, on foot, in spite of all the time pressure. All worries have disappeared from my brain. They have been replaced by happiness, by the happiness of a speechless presence.

It is a happiness that cannot be expressed in words because it does not belong to me alone. Rather, I am entering into a bliss that already exists ― the bliss of this couple who make love under the silk rustle of chitinous skins.

The bliss that surrounds me is even more than the happiness of the two longicorn beetles alone, their eagerness to finally unite. It is the happiness of the world to prove fruitful in an experience that manifests as touch, bump, buzz, whirr, as a liquid commotion in the flicker of the summer evening. It is a happiness of the world into which I dive like into a moving ocean, where delight manifests itself in the thousand figures of multiform water.

My heart continues beating hard for a long time after I have left the two beetles and walk home. I so intensely hope that the female Ergates will be allowed to lay her eggs undisturbed, that the larvae will be allowed to hatch, that they will be able to transform into fresh adult beetles in a couple of years after they have patiently been munching the soft wood of their wooden housings. My heart is beating with joy and fear and wonder.

I have been allowed to look into reality, into its sacred nature. I have been reminded that it is not something hidden. We have mostly forgotten that. But on that evening, I can see that the sacred nature of reality is the most visible thing. It is manifest in every chitinous scale, every crackling tarsus, every grinding mandible, every grain of sand, every particle with which the space fills in the desire for touch. The sacred nature is life, and it is death — and because it is death, we want to forget it, we allow the insects of our earth to disappear.

When I am back close to my place, walking on the granite-slabbed sidewalk, another memory comes back to my mind.

I suddenly remember that later last autumn I found a second peacock butterfly. It lay dead on the sidewalk. His inner wing was half unfolded, looking at me with one single eye. I looked back into the white of its iris, which was framed by a trace of the most intense blue, an unearthly, celestial blue. It was Perugino’s blue from the Sistine Chapel in Rome.

In Perugino’s painting in the famous church, we can see Christ handing over to Peter the key to the kingdom of heaven. I remember that on this autumn day, in a Berlin neighbourhood, a few withered leaves lay scattered beside the dead butterfly.

His eye in its impeccable Sistine blue was looking upwards to the pale sky while his body was imperceptibly fading away, already nothing but a piece of wilted summer foliage, a fruit, overripe, and long fallen.

Andreas Weber
Berlin

On The Nature of Cities

[*] This essay is based on chapter 5, “Imago”, from my upcoming book Essbar sein. Versuch einer biologischen Mystik. Klein Jasedow: thinkOYA, 2023.