Routledge Handbook of Urban Public Space: Use, Design, and Management 2022045469, 2022045470, 9780367611637, 9780367611644, 9781003104421

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
Preface
List of Contributors
1 Introduction: The Use, Design and Management of Urban Public Space
Part I: Emerging Types of Public Spaces
2 Ecological Restoration Parks: An Emerging Type of Public Space in China
3 City Beaches: Enlivening Marginal Spaces in Germany
4 Pedestrian Plazas: A New Type of Neighborhood Space in New York City
Part II: Recreation
5 New Opportunities for Women's Recreation in Public Space in Tripoli, Libya
6 Cruising in Urban Parks: Gay Intimacy in New York and Boston
7 Private Sound Environments in Urban Public Space: Headphone Use in Parks in New York
8 Parkour: Loosening Public Urban Space in Finland
Part III: Commerce
9 What Commerce Can Do: The Case of Streets in the US
10 Little Damascus: A Thriving Commercial Passageway in Sixth of October City, Egypt
11 Using and Negotiating Public Space: Street Vending in Taiwan
12 Getting a Spot on the Street: Street Vendors' Access to Public Space in Bogotá, Colombia
13 Food Truck Rallies: Communal Eating in Public Space in the U.S.
Part IV: Protest
14 The Life and Death of Tahrir Square: From Protest Platform to Roundabout
15 City of Protest: From Exterior to Interior Public Space in Hong Kong
16 Displaying and Contesting State Power: The Story of Taksim Square and Gezi Park, Istanbul
Part V: Living
17 Inhabiting the City Without Shelter in Santa Cruz, California
18 Living on the Streets of Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo
19 Using Public Space to Escape Violence and Social Exclusion in São Paulo, Brazil
Part VI: Celebration
20 Parades in Manhattan: Transforming Public Space
21 Space and Sound: Celebrating and Protesting in Berlin
22 Joining the Party in Downtown Brooklyn
Part VII: Research Methods for Studying Public Space
23 Recording Diverse Uses of a City's Public Spaces
24 Using Archival Sources to Study Mass Behavior in Public Space
25 What is the Question? Answer the Question
Index

Citation preview

“This extremely smart and astute collection will be a valuable resource for anyone who delves into the complex subject of the use, design and management of urban public space worldwide. This timely and rich collection of theories and practices crisscrosses disciplines, spaces, scales, contexts and times. Combining classic, contemporary and forward-looking views of the public realm, it offers fresh perspectives on important elements and key topics of urban public space. This outstanding handbook will be of great interest to scholars, practitioners, policymakers and students of space and place.” — Tigran Haas, Associate Professor of Urban Planning + Urban Design, School of Architecture and the Built Environment, KTH Royal Institute of Technology, Stockholm “Franck and Huang take us on a world tour of public spaces, first, globally across five continents and second, typologically, exploring stories of how places have emerged and how they are used and managed. Some are big in scale and transformative – both permanent, such as China’s new ecological parklands, and ephemeral, including Manhattan’s street parades. Others are small in scale and local in impact – from the pitches (and struggles) of street vendors in Bogotá to the sites (and displays) of Finland’s Parkour traceurs. As successive chapters reveal, these range from joyous to tragic venues for the full diversity of everyday urban life; lives and spaces that are always important, as is the act of bringing them together into this must read collection for public space researchers.” — Matthew Carmona, Professor of Planning and Urban Design, The Bartlett School of Planning, University College London, UK “With the pandemic lockdowns, police brutality on the streets and attacks on Asians in North American cities, public space today faces a renewed crisis. In light of these challenges, it seems counterintuitive that the editors of this volume, Karen A. Franck and Te-Sheng Huang, argue that public space is alive and well. But in many ways, they have a point. With a global view that includes cases across eleven countries and five continents, the book reminds us of the wide range of public space uses that reflect people’s creativity and engagement despite the challenges they face. This impressive, encyclopedic volume demonstrates that public space is made alive and well through the direct engagements of citizens, including acts of political resistance and everyday acts of play and gathering. These struggles and engagements are ripe for new scholarship and investigation.” — Jeffrey Hou, Professor of Landscape Architecture, University of Washington, Seattle, WA, USA “Public space is arguably one of the most used but least understood elements of our built environment. That is perhaps surprising, given that we all make so much use of public space in our everyday lives – from recreation to political protest. It is both this familiarity and the sheer variety of public spaces that makes understanding them so challenging. With this book, Karen A. Franck and Te-Sheng Huang have met this challenge with clear research and analysis and many examples of what actually takes place in a variety of public spaces and even in a variety of countries. Public spaces that are successful meet social needs. There is no single best way of doing that as Franck and Huang demonstrate with the many chapters they have collected for this edited volume. The placemaking practitioner, the place researcher and the general reader have much to learn from this handbook. — David Burney, Academic Director, Urban Placemaking and ­Management Program, Pratt Institute, Brooklyn, NY, USA

“In The Routledge Handbook of Urban Public Space: Use, Design, and Management, Karen A. Franck and Te-Sheng Huang define public space broadly and include essays about public spaces in many different countries around the world. This handbook will be useful to citizens and leaders in local organizations, city planners, policy makers and urban design educators – and their students who will find instruction about research methods in the concluding chapter. As the founder of Body Conscious Design, which advocates for design at all scales that puts humans first, I especially appreciate the essays that attend to the senses in addition to vision – sound, smell, texture, temperature – in their discussions of public space”. — Galen Cranz, Professor of the Graduate School, Department of ­Architecture, University of California, Berkeley, CA, USA “At first glance, you might say, ‘Oh no, not another book about urban public space!’ However, upon looking more closely you would recognize how it differs from its predecessors in several ways. It is tightly organized around five kinds of activities that take place in urban public space in different cities around the world. Both the content of the book and its organization into thematic sections encourage the reader to consider each chapter individually and in connection to other chapters. All the chapters are based on careful empirical research that employed a variety of methods. In the final chapter the editors, Karen A. Franck and Te-Sheng Huang, compare two basic approaches to conducting research: one that is highly systematic and the other that is more open-ended. This chapter will encourage critical thinking about the best ways to conduct research. The book considers the continually evolving nature of urban public space globally and does so in a thoughtful manner, providing a valuable contribution to the existing literature. The editors have created a new lens that can broaden our way of conceptualizing and critiquing urban public space. The book underscores our need to question the spatial imaginary of what ‘should’ take place in urban public space – where, when and by whom. It will be a valuable contribution to existing research and a helpful guide to novices and experienced researchers alike.” — Lynn Paxson, University Professor and Professor of Architecture ­Emerita, College of Design, Iowa State University, Ames, IA, USA “With wide ranging, original contributions based on empirical studies from eleven countries on five continents, this handbook emphatically demonstrates that urban public spaces are ‘alive and well’. By supporting many functions – from commerce to celebration, recreation to protests – urban public space not only enhances the healthy functioning of cities but, equally importantly, enhances the quality of our lives on the increasingly urbanizing planet. People-centered urban design requires that we continuously improve our understanding of the changing needs and preferences of urban dwellers in different parts of the world. This handbook is both important and easily accessible. It will guide academia and practice in urban design by deepening our understanding and appreciation of the challenges experienced in urban public places across the world as continuing climate change impacts our cities and our lives.” — Taner Oc, Editor, Journal of Urban Design (Routledge); Emeritus Professor, University of Nottingham, Nottingham, UK; Honorary Professor, University College London, London, UK

Routledge Handbook of Urban Public Space

Is it truly the “­end” of public space? This handbook presents evidence that the answer is “­no”. In cities in different parts of the world, people still use public space to pursue activities of their choice. The book is divided into seven sections. The first section presents three emerging types of public space. Each of the subsequent five sections focuses on a type of activity: recreation, commerce, protest, living and celebration. These sections are international in scope, presenting cases of activities in Brazil, China, Colombia, DR Congo, Egypt, Finland, Germany, Libya, Taiwan, Turkey and the U.S. The closing section, composed of three chapters, presents research methods for studying public space. Graduate students, faculty members and researchers in social science, architecture, landscape architecture, geography and urban design will find the book useful for understanding, studying and designing urban public space. Karen A. Franck is Professor Emerita from the Hillier College of Architecture and Design at the New Jersey Institute of Technology in Newark, New Jersey. While teaching graduate and undergraduate students there, she also served as Director of the Joint Ph.D. Program in Urban Systems sponsored by NJIT and R ­ utgers-​­Newark. She took particular pleasure in advising Ph.D. students. Research conducted by many of them appears in this handbook. Karen’s own research interests have spanned several topics: alternative housing (­New Households, New Housing, 1989), building and place types (­O rdering Space, 1994) and the design process (­Architecture from the Inside Out, 2007 and Design through Dialogue, 2010). She pursued her interest in public space with Loose Space (­2007), Memorials as Spaces of Engagement (­2015) and this volume. Karen holds a Ph.D. in Environmental Psychology from the City University of New York. ­Te-​­Sheng Huang has been working in the Baltimore County Department of Planning in Towson, Maryland since 2020. He is now the Lead Planner of the Eastern Sector, one of the three sectors of the county. From 2014 to 2017, he was an assistant professor in the School of Architecture at Feng Chia University in Taiwan. He also ran a small architectural firm and

was responsible for the design of a pavilion in Taichung Folklore Park and the revitalization of the Rainbow Village in Taichung City. T ­ e-​­Sheng holds a master’s degree in Architecture from Cheng Kung University in Taiwan and a Ph.D. in Urban Systems from the New Jersey Institute of Technology and R ­ utgers-​­Newark. For his dissertation, T ­ e-​­Sheng studied the design, management and use of privately owned public spaces in New York City, finding that they are not as exclusive as commonly believed.

Routledge Handbook of Urban Public Space Use, Design, and Management

Edited by Karen A. Franck and ­Te-​­Sheng Huang

Cover image: ­Te-​­Sheng Huang First published 2023 by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 and by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 selection and editorial matter, Karen A. Franck and ­Te-​­Sheng Huang; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Karen A. Franck and ­Te-​­Sheng Huang to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress ­Cataloging-­​­­in-​­P ublication Data Names: Franck, Karen A., editor. | Huang, ­Te-​­Sheng, editor. Title: Routledge Handbook of Urban Public Space: Use, Design, and Management / edited by Karen A. Franck and Te-Sheng Huang. Description: New York, NY: Routledge, 2023. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022045469 (­print) | LCCN 2022045470 (­ebook) | ISBN 9780367611637 (­h ardback) | ISBN 9780367611644 (­paperback) | ISBN 9781003104421 (­ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Public ­spaces—​­Social aspects. | Public ­spaces—​­Design. | Land use, ­Urban—​­Social aspects. | City ­planning—​­Social aspects. | Sociology, Urban. Classification: LCC HT185.R69 2023 (­print) | LCC HT185 (­ebook) | DDC 307.1/­­216—​­dc23/­eng/­2 0220928 LC record available at https://­lccn.loc.gov/­2 022045469 LC ebook record available at https://­lccn.loc.gov/­2 022045470 ISBN: ­978-­​­­0 -­​­­367-­​­­61163-​­7 (­hbk) ISBN: ­978-­​­­0 -­​­­367-­​­­61164-​­4 (­pbk) ISBN: ­978-­​­­1-­​­­0 03-­​­­10442-​­1 (­ebk) DOI: 10.4324/­9781003104421 Typeset in Bembo by codeMantra

Contents

Preface x List of Contributors xii 1 Introduction: The Use, Design and Management of Urban Public Space Karen A. Franck and ­Te-​­Sheng Huang

1

PART I

Emerging Types of Public Spaces

23

2 Ecological Restoration Parks: An Emerging Type of Public Space in China Han Yan

25

3 City Beaches: Enlivening M ­ arginal Spaces in Germany Quentin Stevens 4 Pedestrian Plazas: A New Type of Neighborhood Space in New York City Hanife Vardi Topal

39

54

PART II

Recreation 67 5 New Opportunities for ­Women’s Recreation in Public Space in ­Tripoli, Libya Fathia Elmenghawi 6 Cruising in Urban Parks: Gay ­Intimacy in New York and Boston John Bezemes

69 85

vii

Contents

7 Private Sound Environments in Urban Public Space: Headphone Use in Parks in New York Chathurthi S. De Silva 8 Parkour: Loosening Public Urban Space in Finland Lieven Ameel and Sirpa Tani

99 111

PART III

Commerce 125 9 What Commerce Can Do: The Case of Streets in the US Vikas Mehta 10 Little Damascus: A Thriving Commercial Passageway in Sixth of October City, Egypt Amira Mostafa Badran 11 Using and Negotiating Public Space: Street Vending in Taiwan ­Te-​­Sheng Huang 12 Getting a Spot on the Street: Street Vendors’ Access to Public Space in Bogotá, Colombia Ana Maria Vargas 13 Food Truck Rallies: Communal Eating in Public Space in the U.S. John Jones

127

141 153

166 179

PART IV

Protest 193 14 The Life and Death of Tahrir Square: From Protest Platform to Roundabout 195 Mariam Abdelazim 15 City of Protest: From Exterior to Interior Public Space in Hong Kong Tom Verebes 16 Displaying and ­Contesting State Power: The Story of Taksim Square and Gezi Park, Istanbul Zehra Betül Atasoy

viii

208

222

Contents

PART V

Living 235 17 Inhabiting the City without S­ helter in Santa Cruz, California Cory Parker

237

18 Living on the Streets of Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo Kristien Geenen

249

19 Using Public Space to Escape Violence and Social ­Exclusion in São Paulo, Brazil Daniel Jupp Kina and Lorraine van Blerk

263

PART VI

Celebration 279 20 Parades in Manhattan: Transforming Public Space Karen A. Franck

281

21 Space and Sound: Celebrating and Protesting in Berlin Banu Çiçek Tülü

299

22 Joining the Party in D ­ owntown Brooklyn Maryam Hosseini

312

PART VII

Research Methods for Studying Public Space

327

23 Recording Diverse Uses of a City’s Public Spaces Sverre Bjerkeset and Jonny Aspen

329

24 Using Archival Sources to Study Mass Behavior in ­Public Space Johann Sagan

345

25 What is the Question? Answer the Question Karen A. Franck and ­Te-​­Sheng Huang

361

Index 379

ix

Preface

Is public space alive and well? It is this question that inspired us to undertake the job of compiling this handbook. That said, we must acknowledge that we never intended this guiding question to be an empirical one, that is, one that would require research to discover whether or not public space is alive and well. Instead, our twin goal, from the beginning, has been: to present empirical research conducted in different countries and to focus on different kinds of activities in order to demonstrate that the answer to our guiding question is “­yes”. Editors of other books about urban public space have taken the opposite point of view to ours. A prominent case of answering “­no” to the question of whether public space is alive and well is Michael Sorkin’s edited book: Variations on a Theme Park: The New American City and the Death of Public Space. That title also makes the editor’s opinion clear and the chapters demonstrate various ways in which public spaces are indeed “­dead” or under threat. We have followed different paths to arrive at our interest in public space. While Karen was completing her Ph.D. dissertation in the Environmental Psychology Program at the Graduate Center of the City University of New York, she was a research associate in the office of the architect and planner Oscar Newman, author of Defensible Space. There, she learned about how design features of outdoor space in public housing influence crime, fear of crime and residents’ attitudes toward the spaces adjacent to their homes. In 1991, she started teaching in the College of Architecture and Design at the New Jersey Institute of Technology (­N JIT) in Newark. Later, she directed the Joint Ph.D. Program in Urban Systems sponsored by the New Jersey Institute of Technology and R ­ utgers-​­Newark. She has served as the dissertation advisor to 14 NJIT students in that program, including ­Te-​­Sheng and many of the contributors to this handbook. Among the books she has published are two about public space: Loose Space: Possibility and Diversity in Urban Life, edited with Quentin Stevens and Memorials as Spaces of Engagement: Design, Use and Management, ­co-​­authored with Quentin Stevens. After ­Te-​­Sheng graduated from the Urban Systems program, Karen collaborated with him on a number of journal articles about public space. Karen retired from NJIT in 2020. She plans to write another book about public space. This one will be about the historical and current design, use and management of the pavements of streets and sidewalks. With Han Yan, she wrote a paper on this topic for the 2018 annual conference of the American Association of Geographers. ­Te-​­Sheng received his Bachelor of Science in Architecture from Feng Chia University in Taichung City, Taiwan in 2002. During his architecture education, he noticed that the space around residential buildings seemed to be ignored, intentionally or unintentionally. This stimulated his interest in how this space could be designed to enhance the relationship between buildings and their surroundings and to support social activities. In 2005, he ­received his Master of Science in Architecture from the National Cheng Kung University in x

Preface

Tainan City, Taiwan. Between 2005 and 2008, ­Te-​­Sheng worked in an architecture firm. After moving to the U.S., T ­ e-​­Sheng entered the Joint Ph.D. Program in Urban Systems. For courses Karen taught in that program, he observed various privately owned public spaces in Newark and New York. These course papers subsequently led to journal articles he ­co-​ ­authored with Karen that appeared in the Journal of Urban Design. Is the Public Invited? Design, Management and Use of Privately Owned Public Spaces in New York City is the title of his dissertation. He received his Ph.D. in 2014. Between 2014 and 2017, ­Te-​­Sheng taught in the College of Architecture in Feng Chia University. Now he works in the Baltimore County Department of Planning in Towson, Maryland.

xi

Contributors

Mariam Abdelazim  received a BSc. in Architecture from the American University in Cairo, a MSc. in Architecture from the Aga Khan Program in Islamic Architecture at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and a Ph.D. in Urban Systems from the joint Ph.D. Program at the New Jersey Institute of Technology (­N JIT) and Rutgers State University. She taught design studios and history of architecture courses at NJIT and she also worked in several architectural n ­ on-​­profit organizations in New York, including the Storefront for Art and Architecture. Mariam is currently an assistant professor at the School of Architectural Engineering at the American University of Cairo. Lieven Ameel is a University Lecturer in comparative literature at Tampere University in Finland. He holds a Ph.D. in Finnish literature and comparative literature from the University of Helsinki and the JLU Giessen. He has published on literary experiences of the city, narrative planning and urban futures. His books include Helsinki in Early ­Twentieth-​­Century Literature (­2014) and The Narrative Turn in Planning (­2020, forthcoming) and the ­co-​­edited volumes Literature and the Peripheral City (­2015); Literary Second Cities (­2017), and The Materiality of Literary Narratives in Urban History (­2019). Jonny Aspen is Professor of Urban Theory at the Oslo School of Architecture and Design where he received his Ph.D. in Urbanism. He has conducted research about public space development, gentrification, contemporary urban redevelopment, digital urbanism, and urban planning history. Jonny’s latest book is Den vitale byen (­T he Vital City) published by Scandinavian Academic Press in 2015. In it Jonny and his ­co-​­author John Pløger draw from vitalist ways of thinking inspired by philosophers such as Nietzsche, Bergson, Deleuze and Sloterdijk and urban theories, such as those of Simmel, Tarde, Benjamin and Lash, to discuss urban development and contemporary urban cultures. Amira Mostafa Badran is the founder of LifetoSpaces, a studio in Cairo that uses principles of urban placemaking to transform underused spaces into vibrant places. Prior to LifetoSpaces, she worked at UN Habitat Egypt office to promote sustainable mobility measures including bike sharing and bus rapid transit. Previously she worked at Gehl Studio in New York City on several public space projects. Amira holds a Master of Science in Urban Placemaking and Management from Pratt Institute and a Bachelor of Science in Architecture Engineering from the American University in Cairo. Zehra Betül Atasoy holds a Ph.D. in Urban Systems/­H istory from the New Jersey Institute of Technology and ­Rutgers-​­Newark. She received her bachelor’s degree in architecture and xii

Contributors

her master’s degree in the history of architecture from Istanbul Technical University. Zehra worked as an editor at the Arkitera Architecture Center. Her research focuses on the urban quotidian practices of women and the lived experience of health in the urban environment of early Republican Turkey. She is currently lecturer in the Faculty of Art and Design at Kadir Has University in Istanbul. John Bezemes is an urban designer and educator based in New York City. After receiving a BARCH degree from Pratt Institute’s School of Architecture, he practiced for several years as a freelance designer. In 2018, John completed a Master of Science in Urban Placemaking and Management at Pratt Institute. His research focuses on LGBTQ+ placemaking practices, research he began in reaction to academic and professional practices that focus the commodification of place, which reinforces existing repressive power structures at the expense of marginalized people and places. Sverre Bjerkeset holds a cand.polit. degree in Social Anthropology from the University of Oslo, and a Master’s degree and a Ph.D. in Urbanism from the Oslo School of Architecture and Design (­A HO). Currently, he is an urban researcher affiliated with the AHO. His research interests revolve around the ethnography of public space and urban public life. His latest work is concerned with circumstances that spur or license peaceful chance interactions among strangers in urban public space. Lorraine van Blerk is Professor of Human Geography at the University of Dundee, UK and Honorary Professor at the Children’s Institute, University of Cape Town, South Africa. Her research focuses on ­socio-​­cultural change in young people’s lives with a focus on inequalities and issues of justice including homelessness, displacement and sustainable livelihoods in the Global South with regional expertise in s­ ub-​­Saharan Africa. Lorraine leads the Growing up on the Streets Research, a longitudinal participatory project with street children and youth in three African cities. She ­co-​­leads the ­U K-​­funded Displaced Communities, Environmental Change and Sustainable Livelihoods in Uganda. She received her Ph.D. from Coventry University. Chathurthi S. De Silva graduated from the joint Ph.D. program in Urban Systems offered by the New Jersey Institute of Technology and Rutgers University in 2021. She holds a Bachelor of Science in Town and Country Planning from the University of Moratuwa, Sri Lanka. At NJIT, she was a teaching assistant for several courses including Digital Modelling and Fabrication and History of Architecture II. She is currently a User Experience Research Manager for a market research company in London. Prior to that, Chathurthi worked briefly as a UX Researcher for a health and wellness start up. Fathia Elmenghawi holds a B.Sc. in Architecture and Urban Planning from the University of Tripoli, Libya, an MPhil from the University of Liverpool, UK and a Ph.D. from the New Jersey Institute of Technology and R ­ utgers-​­Newark. Currently Fathia is an Assistant Pro­ l-​­Khaimah, UAE. fessor in the Department of Architecture, American University of Ras A Her fields of interest include design and use of space in Muslim traditional buildings, urban design and the creation of outdoor spaces. Her research focus is women’s use of public space in North Africa and the Middle East. Karen A. Franck is Professor Emerita, Hillier College of Architecture and Design, New Jersey Institute of Technology, where she also served as Director of the Joint Ph.D. Program xiii

Contributors

in Urban Systems sponsored by NJIT and R ­ utgers-​­Newark. Karen’s research interests have spanned several topics: alternative housing (­New Households, New Housing), building and place types (­O rdering Space), and the design process (­Architecture from the Inside Out and Design through Dialogue). She became interested in public space while working in the office of Oscar Newman prior to teaching at NJIT. She has pursued that interest with Loose Space (­2007) Memorials as Spaces of Engagement (­2015) and this volume. Karen holds a Ph.D. in Environmental Psychology from the City University of New York. Kristien Geenen  holds a Ph.D. degree in Social and Cultural Anthropology from the University of Leuven. She has conducted extensive fieldwork in urban DR Congo, particularly in the cities of Kinshasa, Butembo, and Kolwezi. A broad range of topics spark Kristien’s interest: youth culture, urban planning and understanding urban life through interviews with Congolese people. Kristien also has a keen interest in historical research and is a zealous photographer. Each time she is in the field, she seeks to combine all her passions. Maryam Hosseini is a postdoctoral associate in the City Form Lab, Department of Urban Studies and Planning at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. She received her Ph.D. in Urban Systems from Rutgers University and the New Jersey Institute of Technology. During her Ph.D. studies she was a research associate in the Department of Computer Science in the Visualization and Data Analytics (­V IDA) research center at New York University. Maryam works at the intersection of visualization, computer vision, and urban science. She is interested in addressing problems of urban accessibility through novel uses of computer vision techniques, spatial analysis and ­agent-​­based modeling. ­Te-​­Sheng Huang is a planner at the Baltimore County Department of Planning in Maryland. His research interests center on public space, urban design and revitalization and community development. From 2014 to 2017, ­Te-​­Sheng was an assistant professor in the School of Architecture at Feng Chia University in Taiwan. At that time, he also ran a small architectural firm and worked on projects related to public space, urban design and housing. He holds a Ph.D. in Urban Systems from the New Jersey Institute of Technology and ­Rutgers-​­Newark and a master’s degree in Architecture from Cheng Kung University.  John Jones is an assistant professor in the Center for Environmental Studies and a funded faculty member in the Institute of Inclusion, Inquiry, and Innovation (­iCubed) at Virginia Commonwealth University in Richmond, Virginia. John’s research interests include: the intersection of urban food system development, local governance and the challenges America’s postindustrial cities face in a globalizing world. He holds a Ph.D. in Urban Systems from the New Jersey Institute of Technology and R ­ utgers-​­Newark and a MPA and a B.A. in Political Science from the University of Dayton. Daniel Jupp Kina is a researcher at the Social Care Institute for Excellence (­SCIE) London, UK where he works with local governments and the national government to develop research and to support ­evidence-​­based policy making. Daniel’s research focuses on children and young people growing up in contexts of social vulnerability and violence. Daniel also has over twenty years’ experience in designing, delivering and managing support services for children, young people and families in Brazil and the UK. He holds a Ph.D. in Human Geography from the University of Dundee, UK. xiv

Contributors

Vikas Mehta is Professor of Urban Design, the Fruth/­Gemini chair, and Ohio Eminent Scholar of urban/­environmental design at the School of Planning, University of Cincinnati. His work focuses on various dimensions of urbanity through the exploration of place as a social and ecological setting and as a sensorial art. Dr. Mehta has published widely on public space, urban design pedagogy, urban streets, neighborhoods, retail, signage and visual identity, and public space in the Global south. His most recent book is Public Space: notes on why it matters, what we should know, and how to realize its potential (­Routledge, 2023). He received his Ph.D. in Urban and Regional Planning and Design from the University of Maryland. Cory Parker practices landscape architecture while teaching in Human Ecology at the University of California, Davis. As a scholar working at the intersection of poverty, movement and landscape, his research examines transportation exclusion in public space. He recently completed a Spatial Justice Fellowship is a visiting professor in the Design School at the University of Oregon. Cory received his Ph.D. in geography from U.C. Davis focusing on the homeless experience of movement in several California cities. Cory practiced landscape architecture for 18 years, working primarily on large transportation and park projects in the United States. Johann Sagan  is Associate Professor of Design and Master Program Coordinator at the Institute of Design at the ­Kunst-­​­­Musikk-​­Design Faculty,  University of Bergen, Norway. ­ alifornia-​­Berkeley and a Master’s He holds a Ph.D. in Architecture from the University of C degree in Communication Studies from the University of North Carolina. Hans has taught courses in architecture, urbanism and design history and theory at ­UC-​­Berkeley, San Francisco State University and the Academy of Art University in San Francisco. His research focuses on the social and economic contexts of design and the built environment at a variety of scales. Quentin Stevens is Associate Professor of Urban Design and Associate Dean of Research at RMIT University in Melbourne. As an Alexander von Humboldt Foundation Senior Research Fellow at Humboldt University Berli, he studied temporary uses of urban space in Germany Currently Quentin leads a research project funded by the Australian Research Council examining temporary and tactical urban interventions in Australia and internationally, using ­Actor-​­Network Theory and assemblage thinking. He has published widely on the unexpected social uses of urban spaces, including the books Temporary and Tactical Urbanism (­2022), Activating Urban Waterfronts (­2021), Memorials as Spaces of Engagement (­2015), The Ludic City (­2007) and Loose Space (­2007). He received his Ph.D. in urban design from the University of Melbourne.  Sirpa Tani is a professor in the Department of Education at the University of Helsinki where she received her Ph.D. degree. For her Ph.D. dissertation she analyzed cinematic representations of p­ eople-​­environment relationships in Finnish fiction films. Sirpa’s research interests include multisensory, embodied and emotional place attachment, the role of public spaces in young people’s lives, and environmental education in urban settings. In the field of geography education, she has investigated the role of powerful disciplinary knowledge and human capabilities in enhancing young people’s ­well-​­being. Hanife Vardi Topal holds a Ph.D. in Urban Systems from the New Jersey Institute of Tech­ utgers-​­Newark and a Master’s of Science degree in Landscape Architecture nology and R xv

Contributors

from ­Rutgers-​­New Brunswick. For her dissertation she studied New York City’s innovative Pedestrian Plazas Program, focusing on the partnerships between the city government and local communities in creating and managing these plazas. Currently Hanife is a f­ull-​­time instructor of Urban and Regional Planning at Izmir Katip Celebi University in Turkey. Her research interests include community involvement in the planning process, urban development, public space, and placemaking. Banu Çiçek Tülü  is an artist, researcher and DJ based in Berlin. She uses artistic, cultural and political interventions in urban public space as tools for social change. Sound is her primary medium. Recently she received fellowships from Ankara Queer Art Residency (­2021), Musicboard Berlin (­2021), Namibia Program by Akademy Schloss Solitude (­2021) and IdeasCity New Orleans (­2019). Banu holds Masters’ degrees in Urban Design: Art, City and Society, University of Barcelona and in Museum Studies and Critical Theory from the Independent Studies Program, Museum of Contemporary Art Barcelona/­Autonomous University of Barcelona. She is currently a Ph.D. candidate at the Fine Arts University Hamburg. Ana Maria Vargas  holds a Ph.D. in Law and Society from Lund University in Sweden and the University of Milan in Italy. Currently she is the Research Director for the Swedish International Centre for Local Democracy. Her doctoral dissertation was awarded the prize for best dissertation in Sweden in the field of work and working environments by the Forum for Working Life Research (­FALF). Currently Anna Maria is working on a research project about resistance to climate change adaptation in Colombia and inclusive urbanization in Uganda and Tanzania. Tom Verebes is a professor at the New York Institute of Technology and directs his own practice, OCEAN CN. His former academic roles include: Associate Dean for Academic Affairs at NYIT; Associate Dean for Teaching  & Learning and Associate Professor at the University of Hong Kong (­­2009-​­2016); ­Co-​­director of the Design Research Lab at the AA in London. Tom was the founding Provost of Turenscape Academy in Beijing and Xixinan, China.  He has lectured extensively in Asia, Europe, North America, Australia, Africa and the Middle East. He holds a Ph.D. from RMIT in Melbourne. Han Yan  holds a Ph.D. in Urban Systems from the New Jersey Institute of Technology and ­Rutgers-​­Newark. Her dissertation profiled ecological restoration parks as a new type of public space that combines the goal of traditional ecological restoration with use by the public. Her research interests include ecological and social implications of urban public green spaces and accessibility to urban natural resources. In the Hillier School of Architecture at NJIT Han has taught Environmental Control Systems and architecture studios. She holds a Master’s in Landscape Architecture from ­Rutgers-​­New Brunswick. Since 2021, she has been teaching courses at in in the Landscape Department at Rutgers University in New Brunswick including Landscape Construction and Fundamentals of Environmental Geomatics.

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1 Introduction The Use, Design and Management of Urban Public Space Karen A. Franck and T ­ e-​­Sheng Huang

We compiled this book, The Routledge Handbook of Urban Public Space: Use, Design, and Management, in order to demonstrate that urban public spaces in different countries are “­a live and well”. That is to say, members of the public use them to pursue a great variety of activities of their choice even when those activities are dangerous or illegal. In order to provide evidence to support this assertion, we solicited chapters from researchers who have studied different kinds of activities that take place in public spaces in cities in 11 countries across five continents. The countries are Brazil, China, Colombia, DR Congo, Egypt, Finland, Germany, Libya, Taiwan, Turkey and the U.S. Some of the activities described occur frequently, even every day (­recreation and commerce), while other activities occur less frequently (­celebrations and protests). In the first part of the book, three emerging types of public space are described: ecological restoration parks in China, city beaches in Berlin and pedestrian plazas in New York City. In the second part of the book, individual cases of five kinds of activities are presented: recreation, commerce, protest, living and celebration. With respect to recreation, the reader can learn about women’s use of parks, the Corniche and a running track, in Tripoli, Libya; cruising in city parks in New York and Boston; the use of headphones in New York City parks and parkour in downtown Helsinki and Jyväskylä, Finland. The first chapter about commerce covers the use of commercial streets in Cambridge, Somerville, and Brookline, Massachusetts; Tampa, Florida and Cincinnati, Ohio. Subsequent chapters about commerce describe a commercial neighborhood in 6th of October City in Egypt; street vending on streets and sidewalks in Taiwan and Bogota, Colombia, and food truck rallies held in a plaza and along streets in Brooklyn, New York, on the former fleet parking lot of a taxi company in Dayton, Ohio and on a closed street in Indianapolis, Indiana. In the section about protest, readers can learn about protests held in parks and squares in Cairo and Istanbul and in malls, transportation infrastructure and the airport in Hong Kong. In the celebration section, authors describe an annual street festival and associated parades along a major avenue in Berlin, parades and rallies in parks and along major avenues in Manhattan and a festival held in streets and along sidewalks in downtown Brooklyn. All the chapters about emerging types of public space and activities in public space are based on the authors’ own empirical research projects. To conduct those projects, they drew DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-1

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information from ­on-​­site observations, interviews, surveys, ­on-​­line and physical archives and social media. And it is that information that they report in their respective chapter. Chapters in the final section of the book present methods that are commonly used to study public space, with examples drawn from previous research conducted by the authors of those chapters and by others. We hope the careful attention that was paid, throughout the book, to how research about public space has been conducted will be useful for students and others who plan to conduct their own research about public space. This handbook follows the previous book Loose Space: Possibility and Diversity in Urban Life edited by Karen and Quentin Stevens and published by Routledge in 2007. Chapters in that book profile various ways in which people appropriate public spaces to pursue activities of their choice. These include holding a secondhand market in a school yard, creating informal memorials in public space, using streets or street edges to sell food and other items, performing in public space and making use of abandoned spaces. Like the present book, the activities described illustrate the ways that individuals and groups make use, sometimes imaginative use of public space to pursue activities of their own choice. Often, these activities had not been anticipated by local governments or other authorities responsible for the spaces and may be hazardous. To provide a context for reading this handbook we first define public space according to four key features. Then, we review the variety of uses and users of public space, the design of public space and its management. The cases and programs we describe are located in the U.S., and primarily in New York City. It remains an empirical question how these distinctions and programs exist in other countries and cities.

Defining Public Space: Key Features and Two Types When we go outdoors in a city, public space is all around us. One could even say it envelops us. It comes in a great variety of forms and is used in a variety of expected and unexpected ways. This range of forms and the richness of its uses, both legal and illegal, make it a complex and slippery concept to define. So we do not propose a single definition but rather suggest four features that characterize urban public space. First, all urban public spaces are free. People do not have to pay a fee or to buy anything to enter or to remain in them. Second, the first feature helps create an arena where different kinds of people, most of whom do not know each other, can spend time. Third, as a result of the second feature, one encounters people who may well differ from oneself in age, race, gender, nationality and life circumstances. And, fourth, one can participate in or observe a great variety of activities, four of which are described in this book. Margaret Kohn (­2004) also avoids giving a single definition of public space. Instead, like us, she characterizes it by identifying three characteristics which she calls “­core components”. These are ownership, accessibility and intersubjectivity. “­In everyday speech a public space usually refers to a place that is owned by the government, accessible to everyone without restriction and/­or fosters communication and interaction” (­2004, ­p. 11). She calls spaces for consumption, such as malls that are privately owned, “­­public-​­private hybrids” or “­social spaces” (­12). Adopting a different approach, Kristine Miller states that “­public space is not a concrete reality but rather a tenuous condition” (­2007, p. x). She then documents cases of struggle over the use of three publicly owned public spaces (­front steps of City Hall, Times Square and Federal Plaza) and three privately owned ones (­I BM Atrium, Sony Plaza and publicly accessible spaces in Trump Tower). She explains that the definition that “­g uided the case studies 2

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is that public space is a hybrid of public space and multiple public spheres”. For us however, public space is a “­concrete reality” but also a complex, socially constructed one. Like Kohn, John R. Parkinson lists individual features that make a space public. However, unlike Kohn’s list, he excludes ownership since “­there are privately owned things that are public in all of the other senses” (­2012, ­p. 61). In his view, four features define a public space. The space in question 1 2 3 4

“­is openly accessible; and/­or uses common resources; and/­or has common effects; and/­or is used for the performance of public roles”.

Like Parkinson, we do not consider public ownership to be a defining feature of public space because there are many kinds of spaces accessible to the public that are privately owned. However, we do believe that it is important to distinguish between two types of urban public space with respect to ownership. The first type is “­publicly owned” by local, state or national governments. Nearly all of the activities described in this handbook occur in this type of public space: namely a waterfront, a plaza, parks, squares, streets and sidewalks, a university campus, an airport and a train station. Other publicly owned public spaces include public universities and campuses, airports, post offices, city halls, court houses, police stations and other government buildings, public libraries, cemeteries, public schools, public swimming pools, playgrounds, dog runs, tennis courts and other ball fields. The second type of urban public space is “­privately owned”. Such spaces are open to the public ­ on-​­profit organizations who determine but are owned and managed by private corporations or n the hours they are open, what can and cannot happen in them, what groups of people can remain in them and at what times (­e.g. teenagers in malls), and what items they may bring with them (­e.g. items carried by unhoused people). These spaces may be located indoors or outdoors. In this book, two examples of such spaces are city beaches in Berlin and malls in Hong Kong. There are many other kinds, indoors and outdoors: malls, shopping centers, skywalks between buildings, ground level spaces next to or between buildings and spaces inside office or residential buildings that are open to the public. New York City, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle, Toronto, Dublin, London, Tokyo and Seoul all have privately owned public spaces (­often called POPS or POPOS). Other, more recently created, privately owned public spaces are the “­cafes” owned and operated by the Capital One credit card company (­­Figure 1.1). In 50 locations throughout the U.S., this banking and credit card company offers ­in-​­person banking services along with café service where people can work singly or in groups, recharge their electronic devices, access the Internet and meet with a bank representative, all without any required purchase. Private community rooms can be booked for no charge for meetings by ­non-​­profit organizations. The first one opened adjacent to Union Square in New York in 2019 (­Capital One, 2022). In 2019, another bank, Chase, opened its first combination of banking services with a coffee shop near Union Square (­Goldberg, 2019). The Shibaura House in Tokyo also houses privately owned public spaces (­­Figure 1.2). The entire building is owned and managed by a private company, Kohkoku Seihan Inc. Company offices are on the fourth floor. Most of the other office spaces are occupied by organizations, schools and individuals who use them for exhibitions, workshops, seminars and parties. The second and third floors are lounge areas available for meetings and cultural events. The fi ­ rst-​ fl ­ oor ­two-​­story space is accessible to everyone. Like Capital One cafes, it features tables for working or reading and a coffee station (­Shibaura House, 2022). 3

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­Figure 1.1 Capital One Café near Union Square in New York City

­Figure 1.2 Shibaura House in Tokyo: (­a) Interior space on first floor is accessible to everyone, without a fee. People bring food and drinks and use the space to gather and for meetings. (­b) A designated children’s area in the first floor space. (­c) Office workers who work nearby eat lunch. (­d) Mothers bring their children to meet other children and to socialize with other mothers

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Uses of Public Space Since public spaces in cities are open to everyone, without a fee or any requirement to make a purchase, people make use of them to pursue a great variety of activities. The spaces and the activities may be so familiar that we take them for granted. So in a book about public space, it is important to consider that wide array of uses. One can then recognize how essential urban public space is as an arena for public life. Without it, there would be no city life!

Circulation The most fundamental use of the public space of streets and ­sidewalks  – ​­the reason we have them at ­a ll – ​­is for circulation. Circulation takes many forms beyond walking. Adults and children move through the city via wheeled vehicles: cars, buses, motorcycles, bicycles, scooters, skateboards, wheelchairs, baby carriages, strollers and rollerblades. Some of these items are used not just for circulation but also for exercise and recreation, sometimes for competitive recreation as in bicycle races and marathons.

Recreation As illustrated in Part II of this handbook, public spaces are sites for many kinds of recreation: strolling and jogging, as Fathia Elmenghawi describes in ­Chapter 5, doing so while using headphones as Chathurthi S. De Silva describes in C ­ hapter 7 and cruising as John Bezemes describes in ­Chapter 6. Children use public space for recreation as well. Even though many cities have playgrounds and fields for organized games in parks, children also use sidewalks and even ­streets – ​­to jump rope, to play hopscotch, to practice pitching and catching and to play with their wheeled vehicles. Urban public space offers teenagers and adults opportunities for more challenging and sometimes dangerous forms of recreation: skateboarding, as Ian Borden has documented (­Borden, 2001) and parkours as Lieven Ameel and Sirpi Tani show in ­Chapter 8. The tamer activities of birdwatching, holding picnics and barbecues, and sunbathing take place in parks and on beaches. Parks may provide lakes for rowing or kayaking. The opportunities for active recreation in public space are myriad in type and number.

Commerce The single form of commerce in public space covered in this handbook is the selling (­a nd eating) of food: in Little Damascus, a neighborhood in 6th of October City in Egypt in the chapter by Amira Mostafa Badran; in Taiwan in the chapter by T ­ e-​­Sheng; in Bogata in the chapter by Ana Maria Vargas and in Brooklyn and cities in the Midwest in the chapter by John Jones. These chapters give small snapshots of what is a worldwide, growing phenomenon of street vending in cities around the world. In his chapter, Vikas Mehta describes the important design features of commercial streets in the U.S. and the types of businesses along them that foster social activities. Selling food in public space has long been common in New York public space (­Franck & Speranza, 2016). The tradition of peddlers selling fresh oysters from wagons parked next to sidewalks is now replaced by vendors in trucks selling Mexican food and Arab food and vendors using food carts to sell hot dogs as well as food from their own countries. Much larger 5

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carts sell all kinds of fruit. Other vendors offer to draw portraits of passersby for a fee. The Street Vendor Project reports that there are 20,000 vendors in New York selling food and a great many other items. The site for the project also indicates that most of the vendors are people of color or recent immigrants (­SVP, 2022). A recent ­e-​­book, Street Vendors and Public Space, reports that in many countries, street vending is illegal (­W IEGO, 2020). In Nigeria, purchasing from vendors is also a crime. Around the world, vendors are facing increasing hostility (­Skinner & Balbuena, 2019).

Protest Large public spaces offer perfect sites for protest. Large groups of people can gather in streets, parks, squares and plazas. Their presence, their signs and their chants can express their strong opposition to particular events or conditions both by remaining in the space and by marching. Today, their presence, their number and the concerns they express ­v isually and orally are eminently visible locally and around the world as the chapters about protests in Istanbul by Zehra Betül Atasoy and in Cairo by Mariam Abdelazim make so clear in Part IV. It is more unusual for protests to be held in privately owned public spaces but, if necessary, they are held in malls as described by Tom Verebes in ­Chapter 15. John R. Parkinson (­2012) argues, persuasively, “­that democracy depends to a surprising extent on the availability of physical, public space, even in our allegedly digital world” (­­p. 2). In his book, Democracy & Public Space: The Physical Sites of Democratic Performance, Parkinson analyzes the spatial and physical features of spaces of democratic governance, indoors and outdoors, in 11 cities around the world. Indeed, around the world, streets, squares, plazas and parks have long been the sites of political protests. Thinking of the French revolution in a 2020 Arch Daily article, “­Public Spaces: Places of Protest, Expression and Social Engagement” (­Harrouk, 2020), gives a useful pictorial overview of the use of central squares for recent demonstrations. Contributors to City Unsilenced: Urban Resistance and Public Space in the Age of Shrinking Democracy, edited by Jeffrey Hou and Sabine Knierbein (­2017), examine how urban resistance movements use public space to make their demands known in the U.S., Spain, Argentina, Hong Kong, Turkey, Poland, Greece, Taiwan, Germany, Mexico, Japan and Austria. An extended urban resistance movement took place in New York when people joined the Occupy Wall Street movement by living in Zuccotti Park, a privately owned public space in Lower Manhattan, from September 17 to November 15, 2011 (­Shiffman et al., 2012).

Living We know of no previous book about public space that addresses the phenomenon of ­actually living in it. Yet, that is another common use of streets, parks and leftover spaces around the world, even in encampments under highway overpasses in Seattle, on highway medians in Istanbul, in underpasses in Taiwan, in parks in Washington DC and on sidewalks in Los Angeles and Portland, Oregon as Karen and ­Te-​­Sheng have observed over the years (­­Figure  1.3). In Part V, “­Living”, Cory Parker draws from his research about (­a nd with) unhoused individuals in Santa Cruz, California. Kristien Geenen does the same ­regarding such individuals in Kinshasa, DC Congo and Daniel Jupp Kina with Lorraine van Blerk describes the lives of unhoused young people in Sao Paulo, Brazil. It is notable that all these contributors spent considerable amounts of time with the people 6

The Use, Design and Management of Urban Public Space

­Figure 1.3 Unhoused people live on the sidewalk in Los Angeles

they were researching, and in this sense, understanding their lives as best they could from the “ ­i nside”.

Celebrating Possibly the most joyful and festive events held in streets, squares and parks are the public celebrations held in these spaces all over the world. Examples are block parties, street festivals and parades. Holding these events often requires licenses from the city in order to close the streets to traffic. Streets and buildings may be decorated; participants wear costumes; marching bands play music; dancers dance; government officials march, often at the head of the parade. Spectators line the sidewalk. Police officers direct traffic and maintain some separation between participants and spectators. Depending upon the size of the event, preparations beforehand may be elaborate. Based on her observations, Banu Çiçek Tülü gives attention to both the public spaces and the sounds of such celebrations in Berlin. Parades in New York have long been held to celebrate holidays, returning soldiers, particular ethnic groups, visiting dignitaries and military or sports heroes as Karen describes in ­Chapter 20. Streets and squares are also closed for smaller festive events that take place in a single location, as Maryam Hosseini describes in her chapter about such events in Brooklyn. Such celebrations bring different kinds of people to the same public space, both as participants and as spectators, people they might not otherwise encounter. Religious gatherings and processions are another kind of celebration in public space. They usually take place on significant religious holidays such as the Eucharist in New York, when priests and nuns walk along Sixth Avenue (­Busch, 2021) or those held by the Italian community to honor patron saints. Large numbers of Muslim men may gather in public space to break the fast on significant days in the holy month of Ramadan. In 2022, 1,500 meals were passed out to those who gathered in Times Square to pray on the first day of Ramadan (­M ishkin, 2022). Also in New York, a mosque may not be able to accommodate all those who come to pray on a Friday evening, so the adjacent street is closed to traffic for those praying. 7

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More Uses of Public Space We have briefly reviewed the five kinds of uses of public space that form the heart of this handbook. But urban public space is home to a great many more uses. To further bring home this richness of urban public space, we touch upon the many other activities that take place there. For the most part, people in public space who do not know each other do not speak to each other. Significant exceptions are those people who are conducting political campaigns, are seeking signatures on petitions or are raising funds for social or environmental causes. One also may be approached by members of a religion who are proselytizing such as members of the Mormon Church or Orthodox Jewish men in New York who approach strangers asking “­Excuse me. Are you Jewish?” (­Zeveloff, 2013). Various kinds of performances take place in public space, both small and informal and larger and organized by institutions (­­Figure  1.4). Individuals or small groups of people play instruments or perform mime, usually collecting small donations from passersby. The Brooklyn Public Library holds dances and concerts on the plaza in front of it. ­Full-​­scale concerts are held in public spaces in downtown Los Angeles as Marina Peterson describes in Sound, Space and the City (­2010). Ever since John Lindsay was the mayor of New York, from 1966 to 1973, Central Park has been the site of concerts. People also pursue their own artistic activities of painting or drawing for their own enjoyment or for donations. Public spaces are also sites for posing for wedding photographs, for fashion shoots and for shooting commercial films.

­Figure 1.4 Band playing on Vanderbilt Avenue in Brooklyn, closed to traffic during COVID pandemic, 2021

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In this book, we have taken an optimistic view of public space: that it is alive and well. We do describe some activities that pose difficulties for the participants such as protests and living in public space. It is important to acknowledge that troubling events occur as well such as traffic accidents and robberies. After a car accident that resulted in a death or deaths, friends and relatives may erect an informal memorial, often with flowers, notes and a picture of the victim(­s). The most disturbing event of this kind in the U.S. was the attack on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. After that tragedy, people transformed Union Square Park into a memorial, centering on the statue of George Washington (­Franck & Paxson, 2007) (­­Figure 1.5). Other troubling or criminal activities include street prostitution, rape, drug dealing, gang activities, begging, rioting, looting, police violence, lynchings, which occurred primarily in southern states in the U.S. right up through the 1960s. In the past, corporeal punishment and executions were carried out in public space. In Puritan New England towns in the

­Figure 1.5 Statue of George Washington transformed into informal memorial, Union Square, September 11, 2001

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17th century, people could be whipped or placed in wooden stocks in the public square or “­Commons” even for minor infractions. The wooden stocks where people had to place their hands and neck were a fixed feature of the Commons (­Cox, 2003). In 1692 and 1693 in Salem Massachusetts, 16 women deemed to be witches were publicly hanged. Earlier in history in Europe, all kinds of severe punishment and executions, such as burning people at the stake and cutting off a person’s head, were held in public space (­Wikipedia, 2022b).

Users of Public Space Many different kinds of people occupy urban public spaces, alone or with others, as they pursue a variety of activities. And, as importantly, they see many people they do not know who may well differ from them in age, race, ethnicity and life circumstances (­such as unhoused people). Indeed, the frequency of encountering people different from oneself is a key difference between cities and suburbs as pointed out by Richard Sennett in The Uses of Disorder (­1970). However, not all groups of people have the same easy access to public space. In the past, women’s use of spaces was curtailed, sometimes extremely so. In ancient times, women and enslaved people were not allowed to enter the Greek agora except to make purchases and participate in special processions (­see Blundell, 1995). Severe constraints on women’s use of public space continue in some countries. In Iraq, women must cover their hair in public space. To give women opportunities to enjoy parks on their own without having to cover themselves with hijabs, the government has created large parks solely for women enclosed with walls and with enough foliage so that they cannot be seen from adjacent streets or from the sky (­Shahrokni, 2019). As Fathia describes in ­Chapter 5, the situation is very different in Tripoli, Libya where public space is no longer exclusively the purview of men. As documented through her field observations: women are not always in the company of men. She observed them taking a rest from shopping in Grand Park; visiting the waterfront Corniche to socialize, jog or use the ­ bu-​­Sittah racetrack to enjoy the jogging track, the athletic equipment and frequenting the A children’s playground and the sitting areas. It is also notable that women participated fully in the 2011 demonstration in Cairo and the 2013 demonstration in Istanbul as Mariam and Betul document in ­Chapters 14 and 16, respectively. In the U.S. in the 19th century, women’s occupation of public space was constrained. They were expected to have visible and acceptable reasons for occupying urban public space without the company of a man. Shopping was a good reason (­Stansell, 1986). William Whyte’s research, conducted in the 1970s, showed that on average, users of New York plazas were 60% male and 40% female (­W hyte, 1980). That difference has likely lessened since women’s participation in the labor force has increased. However, the association of women with the private sphere of the home and men with the public sphere (­Franck & Paxson, 1989) likely continues. In the 19th and 20th centuries, the use of public space by other groups of people was severely restricted. After the Civil War and the emancipation of slaves right up through the 1960s, the movement and presence of black people in public spaces in southern states were severely restricted (­Hale, 2010). In Germany, starting in September 1935, Jews in Nazi Germany were banned from parks, restaurants and swimming pools (­see Friedlander, 1988). From September 1939 onward, they were not allowed to stay outside their houses after eight o’clock in the evening. Public signs in the U.S. and in Germany made these exclusions very clear. 10

The Use, Design and Management of Urban Public Space

Even today in cities in the U.S., black men’s use of public space is threatened as they are often the subjects of racial profiling. Their presence in public space is seen as suspect regardless of what they are doing or where they are. This predicament has been called “­walking while black” (­Sanders, Rabinowitz, & Conarck, 2017). It can lead to black men, in particular, avoiding certain neighborhoods and employing certain spatial practices so as not to scare white women: crossing the street or quickly passing her. It is precisely this kind of profiling of black men by white police officers, and the resulting police violence against black men sometimes resulting in fatal interventions by the police, that generated the Black Lives Matter protests in the U.S. in 2020. Historically, gay men have also experienced harassment by police in U.S. cities. In 1923, the New York State legislature made homosexual cruising a form of “­d isorderly conduct”. Police regularly used entrapment to arrest men on the charge of cruising until Mayor Lindsay ended this practice in 1966 (­Kornhaber, 2019). However, it is likely that gay men and women in the U.S. remain uncomfortable about showing affection to each other in public (­Phillip, 2018). And homosexual couples all over the world may well restrain themselves from showing any affection in public since 69 countries have criminalized homosexuality (­Reality Check Team, 2021). However, at present, the situation appears to be significantly different in New York. As fate would have it, just as Karen and ­Te-​­Sheng were completing this chapter, Karen came upon two men embracing and kissing each other in the middle of a sidewalk in Brooklyn. (­She had to walk around them to get by.)

Design of Public Space What people do in public space is shaped by both the type of space they are in and particular design features of that space.

Types of Public Space When Karen first started teaching in architecture school and started attending final reviews of studio projects, she discovered that students were assigned buildings or place types to design without considering or analyzing what the type really is. In a studio where the assignment was to design a “­m ain street”, Karen asked at the beginning of the review, “­W hat is main street?” Both the instructor and the students were mystified. That question eventually led to the anthology that she edited with Lynda Schneekloth: Ordering Space: Types in Architecture and Design (­1994). Humans do not occupy, imagine or create an infinite variety of particular, idiosyncratic places. Instead, we structure environments by creating a multitude of places and spaces called “­t ypes.” We group places that are alike together and we treat individual places as members of groups. This ordering of space into different kinds of spaces is an intrinsic and constituent part of life. (­Franck & Schneekloth, 1994, ­p. 9) (­­Figure 1.6) Types of space as defined by their intended use are invented and change over time (­or are discarded such as insane asylums, poor houses and orphanages). A type is invented through combining particular design features that will enable particular kinds of activities. Types we take for granted today were, at some point, invented. 11

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­Figure 1.6 A list of types

One example is the public library. In the 7th century BCE, the Assyrian ruler Ashurbanipal in Nineveh (­in what is now Iraq) established the very first library. At the time, the “­books” were 30,000 cuneiform tablets (­Vaughan, n.d.). It was in the early 1600s that public libraries were first established in the United Kingdom (­d a Silva, 2019). Between 1870 and 1930, many public libraries were built throughout the U.S. (­Kevane & Sundstrom, 2006). It was during that period, in 1888, that the first public library in Brooklyn was established at Pratt Institute. In 1941, the very grand building that houses the Central Library branch was opened. It now houses one million catalogued books (­Wikipedia, 2022a). The Central Library branch, like other libraries in the U.S., now fulfills a growing variety of public functions. These include providing Internet access and use of computers to those without such access elsewhere and offering a rich range of classes and workshops as well as concerts and dance performances on its terrace. Like other public libraries, it now resembles a community center (­Hu, 2016). They serve as safe and warm (­or cool) daytime shelters for unhoused people, enough so that some libraries provide social services to unhoused people (­Gunderman & Stevens, 2015) and services directed to the needs of immigrants. The design of new libraries recognizes and supports their public space character as the Seattle Central Library does with its large seating areas that resemble handsome airport lounges and with new names for traditional library services. The main seating area is called 12

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the Living Room and the reference section where one can use computers and consult with reference librarians is called the Mixing Chamber (­Franck & Howard, 2010). As Julia Robison points out, in the design process, the name of a building or place type should be treated as a question not as an answer (­Robinson, 1994). Types of outdoor public space have been invented and evolved over time as well. One example is urban public parks. In The Politics of Park Design: A History of Parks in America (­1982), Galen Cranz describes the evolution of urban park systems in New York, San Francisco and Chicago with respect to their design and use. To do so, she identifies four stages of their development according to the ideal type associated with each period: the Pleasure Ground (­­1850–​­1900), the Reform Park (­­1900–​­1930), the Recreation Facility (­­1930–​­1965) and the ­Open-​­Space System (­1965 and beyond). In Sidewalks: Conflict and Negotiation over Public Space (­2009), Anastasia ­Loukaitou-​­Sideris and Renia Ehrenfeucht consider the evolution and construction of sidewalks and their many uses: promenading, parades and celebration, dissent and shelter. In other cases, the use type in question has long existed but its design features changed significantly over time as architects discover a new kind of design for that type, a design that is so new and different from previous designs that it is actually a new type of that kind of space. One example is monuments (­Stevens & Franck, 2015). Once they were statues placed on pedestals so that people could look at them and possibly place flowers there but could not easily touch the memorial or engage with it physically. That kind of memorial design changed radically with the design of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington DC designed by Maya Lin which displays the names of deceased or missing veterans on two granite walls. Even before it was completely finished, visitors came very close to the wall to touch the names and to leave an item there. The items left ranged from very personal ones (­notes, photographs, parts of uniforms) to more standardized ones such as small American flags (­Franck & Paxson, 2007).

Design Features In the 1970s, using time lapse photography, William H. Whyte observed the use of Seagram’s plaza, Greenacre Park and several other privately owned public spaces located outdoors in New York City. His research revealed that five design features draw people to these spaces. These are a cardinal orientation that enables occupants to enjoy direct sunlight in the winter and shade in the summer; trees and water; movable chairs; food vendors and a location adjacent to a public sidewalk and plaques to indicate that the space is open to the public (­W hyte, 1980). In 1975, the Department of City Planning (­DCP) required that all future privately owned public spaces have these features. Whyte’s research showed that people seek out and take advantage of particular design features of urban public spaces, and also modify them, in order to have the experiences they desire. For instance, in hot weather, they may look for chairs that are located in the shade or move chairs into the shade. Other research demonstrates how people take advantage of particular design features of memorials to pursue activities of their choice (­Stevens & Franck, 2015). Often, they are activities the designer did not anticipate. One example is people walking in the channel of water in the memorial to Princess Diana in London’s Hyde Park. Another, more dramatic example is visitors to the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin standing on the stelae and even jumping between them (­­Figure 1.7). This appropriation of public space depends on people’s ability to identify those design features of public space that will enable them to pursue activities of their choice, a process that 13

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Figure 1.7  Jumping between stelae, Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Berlin

psychologist James J. Gibson called “­a ffordances” in The Senses Considered as Perceptual Systems (­1966). People’s recognition and use of design fetures is described by some contributors to Jeff Hou’s in Insurgent Public Space: Guerrilla Urbanism and the Remaking of Contemporary Cities (­2010), by Ian Borden in Skateboarding, Space and the City: Architecture and the Body (­2001) and by Quentin Steven in The Ludic City: Exploring the Potential of Public Spaces (­2007). Chapters in Part II of this book also show how particular design features of public spaces enable people to pursue activities of their choice. As Fathia Elmenghawi describes, in ­Chapter 5, the corniche in Tripoli gives people a place to walk and view the waterfront, while the trees in a nearby park give couples some privacy to court. Paths and roadways in parks in New York are places where people can jog or walk while listening to music or other recordings on their headphones as Chathurthi S. De Silva documents in ­Chapter 7. ­Chapter 8, by Lieven Ameel and Sirpa Tani, shows how the hard surfaces, both vertical and horizontal, of urban public space are perfect for feats of parkour. Both the visibility and the design of streets, sidewalks and plazas make such spaces excellent sites for food truck rallies and other kinds of street vending (­see C ­ hapters ­11–​­13), while ­traffic-​­free streets adjacent to restaurants in the neighborhood of Little Damascus are used by adjacent restaurants to serve their customers outside (­­Chapter 10 by Amira Mostafa Badran). The wide open space of squares, plazas and parks accommodated ­multi-​­day protests as Mariam Abdelazim and Zehra Betül Atasoy describe in ­Chapters 14 and 16, respectively. Parks also have secluded spaces that are conducive to the intimate activities related to cruising that John Bezemes describes in ­Chapter 6. Given the absence of sizable parks or squares in Hong Kong, protestors in that city choose other sites, including malls, the airport and train stations to hold demonstrations as Tom Verebes documents in ­Chapter 15. Planners and designers have opportunities to incorporate design features of public space that will enable people to pursue activities of their choice as William Whyte demonstrated. Based on his research, the Department of City Planning (­DCP) required that developers incorporate 14

The Use, Design and Management of Urban Public Space

those features into public spaces in their projects in order to be allowed to build larger buildings than zoning ordinances allowed. Over time, the DCP has changed the design requirements for these “­bonus spaces” to make them increasingly hospitable and useable by the public. That department has also taken an increasingly active role in overseeing and even participating in the design of such spaces. An excellent case of such collaboration is the interior privately owned public space where tickets can be bought for events held at Lincoln Center. Users of that space, including unhoused people, can take advantage of a ­Wi-Fi connection and electric outlets to power their electronic devices or simply hang out (­Huang & Franck, 2018, 2022).

Management of Public Space Another way to distinguish between different types of public space is according to the entities that manage them. That is the organizations that are responsible for their creation, maintenance, repair and any redesign. Those entities also determine the rules of ­operation –​ ­t he hours the space is open, what can and cannot happen there and for some types, who can be there and for how long. Using those criteria, we have identified three types of public space.

Publicly Owned, Publicly Managed The most common type of urban public space and the type that occupies the largest proportion of public space in a city are its streets sidewalks, parks and squares, which are all outdoors. Of all public spaces, those that are publicly owned and publicly managed house the greatest variety of activities, including the activities described in this b­ ook – ​­commerce, recreation, protest, living and celebration. In New York City, it is the Department of Transportation that is responsible for the maintenance for streets and sidewalks (­N YC DOT, 2022). If an organization wants to hold an event in a city street, such as a protest, a festival or a parade, it must apply to the New York City Police Department for a license (­see Karen’s chapter about parades in Manhattan). It is the Department of Parks and Recreation that maintains and manages most parks and squares as well as playgrounds, tennis courts, public swimming pools and golf courses. If one wishes to hold an event of more than 20 people in one of the parks managed by the Department of Parks and Recreation, one must apply to that department for a license. Parks have set hours they are open. Union Square Park and Washington Square Park are open from 6 a.m. to 12 a.m., Central Park from 6 a.m. to 1 a.m.

Publicly Owned, Privately Managed There are two kinds of spaces of this type. One kind is pedestrian plazas that are designed and built by the Department of Transportation in collaboration with neighborhood organizations. Then, those organizations are responsible for their management and maintenance, including organizing community events in them (­see ­Chapter  4 by Hanife Vardi Topal). The other kind is parks that are owned by the Department of Parks and Recreation but are managed and maintained by private conservancies. Bryant Park and Central Park are two examples. In 1980, the Bryant Park Corporation was established to renovate, maintain and manage the park. It continues to manage the park with funding from private companies such as Netflix, Bank of America and HBO. All kinds of free events are held on a stage at the edge of the large lawn where people can picnic and sunbathe. Free events include concerts, films and dance performances. Chess tables, ping pong tables, a putting green, a 15

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carousel and a skate rink in the winter offer other opportunities for recreation (­Bryant Park Coporation, n.d.). The Central Park Conservancy, under contract with the City of New York and the Department of Parks and Recreation, took on the management and maintenance of Central Park in 1980, which at that time was in very poor condition (­Pou, 2021). In 1982, hundreds of thousands of people gathered in the Great Lawn to protest against nuclear weapons (­Montgomery, 1982). The largely musical event held on Earth Day in 1990 drew 750,000 people (­Lyall, 1990). The Summer Stage is the location for free concerts, dance performances and the annual Shakespeare, all of which attract large audiences.

Privately Owned, Privately Managed The first privately owned, privately managed spaces in New York, such as those studied by William Whyte, were outdoors, a location that made their use dependent on the weather. Once POPS were built indoors as well, often with access to bathrooms and cafes and the provision of heat and air conditioning, the kinds of activities that were possible increased as Kayden et al.’s (­2000) comprehensive research demonstrated and as T ­ e-​­Sheng’s ­in-​­depth study of the CitiCorp atrium also showed. A variety of people meet there to pursue interests they have in common such as playing board games and card games, learning a foreign language and holding book club meetings, Weight Watchers’ meetings, holding job interviews and making dolls or other handicrafts. In order to locate others who share common interests and to make plans for when to meet and where, people use o ­ n-​­line sites, such as Meetup.com (­Huang & Franck, 2018) (­­Figure 1.8).

­Figure 1.8 People use CitiCorp Atrium for (­a) playing table games; (­b) tutoring (­i.e. GMAT); (­c) book club meetings and (­d) yarn spinning

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One of the challenges managers of privately owned public spaces face is the presence of unhoused people. In the Sony Plaza in New York, lists of rules are placed on tables that prohibit sleeping, loitering, drinking alcoholic beverages and gambling (­M iller, 2007). Security guards in the California Plaza in Los Angeles use surveillance cameras to locate and follow unhoused people who are identified based on the criteria: unkempt, dirty hair, a blanket wrapped around his/­her body and perhaps missing a shoe or two (­Peterson, 2010). In addition, security guards immediately removed those who were intensively panhandling. Those who did not create disturbances to other occupants, security guards followed at a distance of three feet until they left rather than asking them to leave immediately. In New York, rules are also posted in privately owned public spaces that prohibit particular activities. Although these rules vary significantly between different spaces, many forbid: smoking, sleeping, panhandling and excessive packages or carts (­Woodward, 2012). It is the responsibility of the security guard assigned to each space to enforce the rules posted and, if necessary, to call upon police officers for help. Not only do the rules vary between different spaces, so does the strictness of their enforcement. Based on his interviews with the managers of six privately owned public spaces, ­Te-​­Sheng determined that rules of conduct are most strictly enforced in the IBM atrium where no chess or card playing is allowed because the manager believes that those activities might lead to gambling; the tables and chairs cannot be moved since that would lead to large groups gathering; and no napping is permitted (­Huang, 2014b). In sharp contrast, napping is allowed at 60 Wall Street and the manager reported that he is pleased to see people playing chess for long periods of time. In some spaces, security guards do not enforce the rules that prohibit carts and large bags, rules apparently directed at unhoused people. In 15 of the 20 privately owned public spaces­ Te-​­Sheng studied, he observed between one and five unhoused people each hour. Some security guards, such as those at 60 Wall Street, have established friendly relationships with the ­unhoused people who frequent the space and wave to the security guard when they enter (­Huang, 2014a). Some researchers have argued that privately owned public spaces are exclusive (­Németh, 2009; Smithsimon, 2008). The systematic, repeated observations T ­ e-​­Sheng conducted and his interviews with managers demonstrate that, in many cases, just the opposite is true.

Conclusion Public space in cities is vitally important. It is the arena for a wide variety of activities that cannot happen anywhere else. It is where public life happens, where one encounters people unlike oneself. It is where democracy is enacted as the Occupy movement in 2011 demonstrated so well (­Shiffman et al., 2012). The history of the Occupy Wall Street movement in New York reveals an important difference between publicly owned public spaces and privately owned ones. Somewhat surprisingly, the latter offer more freedom to occupants than the former. Publicly owned public spaces have set hours they are open but the privately owned ones that are outdoors are required to be open 24 hours a day. So organizers of the Occupy Wall Street movement chose Zuccotti Park, owned by Brookfield Properties, as the site for their demonstration, which resulted in a ­t wo-­​­­month-​­long encampment in 2011. Demonstrators actually lived in the park from September 17 to November 15, holding regular meetings, cooking, accumulating a small library demonstrating on the edge of the park facing Liberty Street and holding protest marches to other locations (­Franck & Huang, 2012). Eventually, after two weeks of planning and training, a contingent of police officers cleared the park at 1:45 a.m. on November 14. 17

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With the invention and proliferation of privately owned public spaces, the diversity of types of public space increased significantly, even more so once the spaces were built indoors as well such as the CitiCorp Atrium. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to hold the group activities that occur there anywhere else (­Huang & Franck, 2018). Similarly, users of publicly owned spaces that are managed by conservancies benefit significantly from the substantial funds the conservancies raise from corporations and private donors. The quality of maintenance and the many public events that are held in those spaces would not be possible without such funding. The ­covid 19 pandemic revealed the value of urban streets in a way that no previous events had previously. At first, during the pandemic in 2020, people in New York who were not “­essential workers” were required to remain at home except for necessary activities of purchasing food and seeking medical help. Far fewer people were outdoors. The resulting empty public spaces were a strange fulfillment of the “­decline” or “­end” of public space proclaimed by commentators and researchers in the 1990s (­Davis, 1990; Flusty, 1997; D. Mitchell, 1995; Sorkin, 1992). Despite the requirement to remain indoors, people in some cities found innovative ways to connect with others and to bring life to streets and other outdoor spaces. One woman in New Orleans drove a pedicab so that her friend could bring music to the streets in the French Quarter (­Maccash, 2020). In Vancouver, three roommates in the Kitsilano neighborhood organized street dancing and singing every Sunday night for 20 weeks (­Muranetz, 2020). At the beginning of the pandemic, starting in March 2020, restaurants were not allowed to serve meals indoors and a great many went out of business (­Warerkar, 2020). Then in June, Mayor de De Blasio launched the Open Restaurant Program. Under that program, restaurants could serve meals in front of their establishments on the sidewalk, in parking spaces and in the roadway (­N YC311, 2022). Some restaurant owners built enclosures in those spaces to shield diners from the weather (­and also from passersby) (­­Figure 1.9). The program was so popular and worked so well that in September 2020 the Mayor made it permanent, a change that has transformed many of the city’s streets and sidewalks. Another experimental use of streets adopted during the pandemic to give people opportunities to be outdoors, practice social distancing and also enjoy themselves was the Open Streets program, initiated in April 2020 and made permanent in May 2021 (­Office of the Mayor, 2021). Under that program along several blocks of Vanderbilt Avenue in Brooklyn, adults and children continue to take advantage of the possibilities the street closing ­offers –​ p­ laying and dancing in the street, listening to live music or picnicking on the grassy median (­­Figure 1.10). And, as Maryam Hosseini describes in C ­ hapter 22, one block of Willoughby Street is closed to traffic for several days each year so that the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership can host a variety of lively events for adults and children there. Some commentators have suggested that people’s use of virtual space decreases their use of public space (­W. J. Mitchell, 1995). However, it appears that just the opposite is true as the importance of public space during ­covid 19 demonstrated so well. In addition, the use of a virtual space can facilitate the use of an actual space as people’s reliance on meetup.com allowed them to find and meet with others with similar interests as T ­ e-​­Sheng’s study of the CitiCorp atrium revealed (­Huang & Franck, 2018). Smartphones and social media also facilitate people’s knowledge and use of public spaces. Several contributors to this handbook describe how participants used smartphones during protests in Istanbul, Cairo and Hong Kong to communicate with others and to post images and texts on the Internet, giving the entire world information about these events as they were happening. The studies of food trucks in the U.S. and street vending in Taiwan demonstrate 18

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­Figure 1.9 Outdoor dining during pandemic, Manhattan, 2021

­Figure 1.10 Outdoor activities on Vanderbilt Avenue in Brooklyn, 2021

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how the owners of these businesses send ­real-​­time information to their regular customers about their locations and their customers post photographs and ratings of these businesses on social media. Lieven Ameel and Sirpa Tani describe how practitioners of parkour in Finland use social media as part of their practice, repeatedly filming and editing the footage of their actions. And for her chapter about ecological parks in China, Han Yan gathered important data from consulting social media postings.

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Parkinson, J. R. (­2012). Democracy and public space: The physical sites of democratic performance. New York: Oxford University Press Inc. Peterson, M. (­2010). Sound, space, and the city. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Phillip, N. (­2018). L.G.B.T. couples on holding hands in public for the very first time. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­2018/­06/­21/­­reader-​­center/­­pride-­​­­month-­​­­g ay-­​ ­­queer-​­expressions.html Pou, R. (­2021). From the archives: Celebrating 40 years of conservancy and community. Retrieved from https://­w ww.centralparknyc.org/­articles/­­from-­​­­the-­​­­archives-­​­­celebrating-­​­­40-­​­­years-­​­­of-­​­­conservancy-­​­­and​­community Reality Check Team. (­2021). Homosexuality: The countries where it is illegal to be gay. BBC News. Retrieved from https://­w ww.bbc.com/­news/­­world- ​­43822234 Robinson, J. W. (­1994). The question of type. In K. A. Franck & L. H. Schneekloth (­Eds.), Ordering space: Types in architecture and design (­p­­p. ­179–​­192). New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. Sanders, T., Rabinowitz, K.,  & Conarck, B. (­ 2017). Walking while black. Florida ­Times-​­Union. Retrieved from https://­features.propublica.org/­­walking-­​­­while-​­black/­­jacksonville-­​­­pedestrian-­​ ­­v iolations-­​­­racial-​­profiling/ Sennett, R. (­1970). The uses of disorder: Personal identity and city life. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Shahrokni, N. (­2019). Women in place: The politics of segregation in Iran. Oakland: University of California Press. Shibaura House. (­ 2022). History of Shibaura house. Retrieved from https://­ shibaurahouse. jp/­language/­en/­­h istory-­​­­of-­​­­shibaura-​­house/?lang=en Shiffman, R., Bell, R., Brown, L. J., Elizabeth, L., Fisyak, A., & Venkataraman, A. (­Eds.). (­2012). Beyond Zuccotti Park: Freedom of assembly and the occupation of public space. Oakland, CA: New Village Press. Skinner, C.,  & Balbuena, P. (­2019). Where are the inclusive cities? Street vendors globally face increasing hostility. Retrieved from https://­w ww.wiego.org/ ­blog/­­where-­​­­a re-­​­­i nclusive- ­​­­cities- ­​­­street­​­­vendors-­​­­g lobally-­​­­f ace-­​­­i ncreasing-​­hostility Smithsimon, G. (­2008). Dispersing the crowd: Bonus plazas and the creation of public space. Urban Affairs Review, 43(­3), ­325–​­351. Sorkin, M. (­Ed.) (­1992). Variations on a theme park: The new American city and the end of public space. New York: Hill and Wang. Stansell, C. (­1986). City of women: Sex and class in New York, ­1789–​­1860. New York: Knopf. Stevens, Q. (­2007). The Ludic city: Exploring the potential of public spaces. New York: Routledge. Stevens, Q., & Franck, K. A. (­2015). Memorials as spaces of engagement: Design, use and meaning. New York: Routledge. SVP. (­2022). The street vendor project. Retrieved from http://­streetvendor.org/ n.d.). A brief history of libraries. Retrieved from https://­ w ww.britannica. Vaughan, D. (­ com/­story/­­a-­​­­brief-­​­­h istory-­​­­of-​­l ibraries Warerkar, T. (­2020). A timeline of ­COVID-​­19’s impact on NYC’s restaurant industry. Eater New York. Retrieved from https://­ny.eater.com/­2020/­12/­30/­22203053/­­nyc-­​­­coronavirus-­​­­t imeline-­​ ­­restaurants-­​­­bars-​­2020 Whyte, W. H. (­1980). The social life of small urban spaces. Washington, DC: Conservation Foundation. WIEGO. (­2020). Street vendors and public space: An interactive ­e-​­book. Retrieved from https://­w ww.wiego. org/­resources/­­street-­​­­vendors-­​­­a nd-­​­­public-­​­­space-­​­­i nteractive-­​­­e -​­book Wikipedia. (­2022a). Brooklyn public library. Retrieved from https://­en.wikipedia.org/­w iki/­Brooklyn_ Public_Library Wikipedia. (­2022b). Public execution. Retrieved from https://­en.wikipedia.org/­w iki/­Public_execution Woodward, D. (­2012). Rules of conduct. Retrieved from https://­u rbanomnibus.net/­2012/­05/­­rules­​­­of-​­conduct/ Zeveloff, N. (­2013). Meet the ’are you Jewish?’ Chabad guys. Forward. Retrieved from https://­forward. com/­news/­184484/­­meet-­​­­the-­​­­a re-­​­­you-­​­­jewish-­​­­chabad-​­g uys/

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Part I

Emerging Types of Public Spaces

2 Ecological Restoration Parks An Emerging Type of Public Space in China Han Yan

Introduction Public spaces are all around us, providing opportunities for people to move around and to spend time outside of their private realms. In cities, ­well-​­functioning public space prioritizes the needs of its human users over the needs of animals and plants, which is the goal of traditional ecological restoration projects. In this chapter, I describe this new type of public ­space –​­ecological restoration parks, which attempt to balance the needs of human users with those of animals and plants. Traditionally, ecological restoration has been defined as returning a site to a “­­pre-​­disturbance” state by intervening with design and maintenance practices to create a ­self-​­sustaining community of terrestrial or aquatic vegetation and animals such as birds, fish and turtles, which would otherwise be endangered in increasingly urbanized environments. In most cases, public use is not a goal of these sites, since the primary goal is to restore healthy ecological functions. But that approach is now changing. In recent years, the growing population in many cities in China has caused massive expansion of urban areas, resulting in people’s demand for an improved quality of life, including more public open space. At the same time, China is experiencing environmental problems, especially in urban areas, due to both global environmental crises and regional problems. The degraded ecological system in urban areas requires the restoration of ecosystem functions through design interventions. Consequently, planners of many ecological restoration projects in China now establish ecological restoration sites in urban areas that meet the need for more public open space in addition to restoring healthy urban ecological systems. They do this by making the ecological restoration sites publicly accessible. The employment of particular design features, maintenance routines and programming of public activities encourage public use of these sites. In fulfilling the dual purpose of restoring healthy ecological systems and encouraging access by the public, ecological restoration parks are an emerging type of public space. Five cases in Xi’an, China profiled in this chapter illustrate this new type of public space (­see ­Table 2.1). The five cases are all located in the center or at the periphery of Xi’an City and are surrounded by both residential and commercial development. Drawing from observations of the parks and interviews with park staff and visitors between DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-3

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Han Yan ­Table 2.1  Five Ecological Restoration Parks

Cases

Xi’an Eco Park

Yanming Hu Park

Chanba Wetland Park

Guodu Forestry Park

Duling Eco Park

Restoration Type Size Year of Completion

Wetland and shrubland 114 acres 2019: 1st Phase

Wetland

Wetland and wildlife habitat 1,436 acres 2013

Forest

Forest

19 acres 2010

42 acres 2019

109 acres 2016

March 2019 and March 2020, the chapter demonstrates how the dual purposes of ecological restoration parks are achieved through design, management, maintenance, programming and advertising. The sites vary by type of restoration: urban forest restoration, urban wetland restoration and wildlife habitat restoration and by their degree of completion. The sites also vary in their balancing of public use and traditional ecological restoration practices through their physical design and their maintenance and management strategies. Data regarding use of the sites by the public was collected primarily through ­on-​­site observations, during the period of spring 2019 to summer 2020, using a selective photography method. While walking at a regular pace, the investigator took 360° panorama pictures using a digital camera every 60 seconds. The advantage of this method is that the observer did not need to decide what to photograph on site. Also, taking panoramas is less intrusive than taking pictures of particular activities directly. Panorama pictures were analyzed to investigate public use and users. Data on the locations of users and the uses associated with site features was collected from the pictures. Data about vegetation, wildlife, structures and programing strategies was collected by o ­ n-​­site observers using a prepared checklist. O ­ n-​­site surveys with users were conducted following each ­on-​­site observation to understand who the users are. Participants were asked about basic demographic characteristics, means of transportation to the site, whether they live locally and their impression of the design of the park. A total of 65 people were surveyed at all five sites: 48% female and 52% male. Additional interviews were conducted with frequent visitors who have more knowledge about the park. Interviews were also conducted with three members of landscape maintenance crews and four security staff members at five sites. They were asked about the maintenance workload and their responsibilities on site. All interviews were conducted by student investigators or trained research assistants. ­On-​­line data became a key source of data collection during the winter of ­ n-​­line data mining strategies were employed for retrieving in2020 due to covid 19. Several o formation regarding public responses and uses of each park. Large amounts of data about the public’s responses were collected from social media and reviews of websites such as Dazhong review, Meituan and Xiecheng.

Ecological Restoration and Public Space Ecological restoration has been defined in different ways. In its 1992 report, Restoration of Aquatic Ecosystems, the National Research Council defined restoration as the “­return of an ecosystem to a close approximation of its condition prior to disturbance” (­National Research Council, National Research Council, 1992, ­p. 18). The noun “­d isturbance” indicates the interruption of a settled condition but the definition is unclear about when the disturbance 26

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happened, how and by whom. In 2002, the Society for Ecological Restoration published another definition: Ecological restoration is an intentional activity that initiates or accelerates the recovery of an ecosystem with respect to its health, integrity and sustainability. Frequently, the ecosystem that requires restoration has been degraded, damaged, transformed or entirely destroyed as the direct or indirect result of human activities. (­Society for Ecological Restoration International, Society for Ecological Restoration International, 2004, ­p. 1) In rural or wilderness areas, the restoration of ecological systems is commonly practiced with the goal of reinvigorating certain plant and animal species, so they will be ­self-​­sustaining and will be able to adapt to changes in the local environment. Vegetation coverage can vary over the course of the year; the type of plant species can change as long as coverage remains within an acceptable range. Consequently, the success of this kind of restoration project is often measured by calculating the survival rate of target animal and plant species such as birds and some native plant communities. Therefore, the design for this type of ecological restoration project focuses mostly on the health of animal and plant species. In urban areas, ecological systems can be found in green spaces such as parks, urban forests, cemeteries, vacant lots, gardens and yards, campus areas and landfills, as well as in blue spaces, including streams, lakes, ponds, artificial swales and storm water retention ponds. In an urban context, the “­restoration” of an ecosystem is primarily focused on restoring ecological functions that benefit people, such as hydrological systems and the diversity of wildlife and vegetation. Once an ecological system is reconstructed, it functions as a supplement to engineering solutions in urban areas to address problems such as flooding and air pollution. Over the years, the ecological benefits of urban ecological systems have been thoroughly studied. Findings demonstrate that vegetation has direct effects on microclimates through wind shielding, evaporative cooling (­A kbari, 2002) and carbon sequestration (­Chaparro & Terradas, 2009; Nowak, 2007). Trees and shrubs also prove to be effective in removing pollution from the air. A permeable surface covering the land plays a role in controlling urban flooding (­Gill, Handley, Ennos, & Pauleit, 2007). The water retention capability of plants can also improve hydrological cycles in urban areas (­Chen, 2006). When healthy ecological systems are recreated in urban areas, multiple benefits accrue to urban dwellers such as better air quality, increased vegetation and an increased number of animals such as migrating birds, fish and turtles. When ecological restoration sites become physically accessible and open to the public, they provide an important amenity with the benefit of helping people develop new understandings of nature and its benefits in the era of increased development, population explosion, urbanization and climate change. In recent years, ecological restoration has been prioritized in China as an important urban planning strategy, although this strategy does not meet the strict definition of ecological restoration given by the U.S. National Research Council in 1992. The definition of ­pre-​ ­d isturbance land use is blurred; also it is hard to determine which time period should be targeted for restoration goals. Sites in China are not picking a reference time. Nonetheless, projects in China are referred to as ecological restoration, ecological construction or ecological reconstruction. Ecological restoration efforts that are made in public spaces, for example, parks, are designed to encourage public access and public use. However, in none of the five ecological 27

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restoration parks described in this chapter, is it possible to trace back to a “­­pre-​­disturbed” condition, since these sites were previously used for commercial and residential purposes, or as farm land before that. For example, part of Xi’an Eco Park was built to replace a commercial block, requiring the businesses to relocate. The replacement with an ecological park is the government’s decision to reconfigure the relationship between nature and the built environment, not the local community’s. The five projects described in this chapter are a kind of hybrid of novel and historic ecosystems if not entirely novel ecosystems. Richard Hobbs and his colleagues explain that novel ecosystems “­d iffer in composition and/­or function from present and past systems as an almost inevitable consequence of changing species distributions and environmental alteration through climate and land use change” (­Hobbs, Higgs, & Harris, 2009, p­ . 599). The restoration of ecological systems in urban areas has become a popular subject but such restoration faces many challenges from the planning phase to the maintenance phase. Beginning with the planning and design phase, decisions need to be made about what target animal or vegetation species have the potential to be successfully restored in that s­ ite-​­specific urban environment. Restoring an animal habitat is largely dependent on the vegetation community that supports those species. Eventually, habitat restoration is achieved through the restoration of vegetation. The ­long-​­term survival of vegetation depends on a number of factors. In urban environments, species that historically existed may no longer be able to survive due to drastic changes in the area, including climate change and changes in air and water composition. The ­social-​­economic factors that affect ecological restoration in urban areas are even more unpredictable. They are highly associated with the characteristics of the population in the surrounding area and the financial status of that population. For example, in higher income areas, local developers and local government agencies have more of an incentive to invest in this type of public space. After initial planting is completed, maintenance is another challenge in urban settings where the plantings are subject to more changes generated by human activities such as land use and other planning policies than in rural areas. And also because more intense human activities occur at the site itself. For these reasons, a complete restoration to a “­­pre-​­disturbance” stage is impossible to achieve. It is important to find the proper criteria to use in evaluating this new type of manufactured urban ecosystem that invites recreational use. Traditionally, ecological restoration projects have not been considered to be parks because in most cases, public use would conflict with the goal of restoration. Introducing human activities could lead to erosion of the surface visitors walk on, a change in the soil PH level, the introduction of invasive species and the introduction of birds or other animals that could negatively affect certain species of trees. Evaluating only the ecological performance of these parks does not justify the social significance of them. A new method for evaluating the success of ecological restoration projects in urban area is needed with the acknowledgment that the i­ nter-​­related ­social-​­ecological performance of the project is more important than the survival rate of certain species exclusively. Therefore, the success of the design, management and maintenance strategies adopted in this type of park should be evaluated from both social and ecological perspectives. The evaluations rely on a range of design features: the type of boundary that encloses the park, entry signage, circulation, vegetation, type of ground surface and amenities, programming of events and other elements: use, management, maintenance. Once the criteria for evaluating urban ecological restoration sites are established, more design and maintenance options will be available for ecological restoration sites to be used as public spaces. 28

Ecological Restoration Parks

Design Many design features distinguish ecological restoration parks from both traditional ecological restoration projects and from conventional urban public spaces such as urban parks and squares. Entry and edge, pathways, ground surface and amenities distinguish ecological restoration parks from traditional public spaces with respect to access and use. And planning for vegetation and wildlife distinguishes ecological restoration parks from traditional ecological restoration projects with regard to maintenance.

Entry and Edge The design features of the entry and the edge of ecological restoration parks affect the visual and physical accessibility of the site and how welcoming it is to visitors. Accessibility is measured in two ways in this study. First, how physically accessible and how welcoming the site is to visitors. Second, how visually accessible the site is when physical access is not possible. Signage at the entrance is key both to entering it and to navigating it. Entrance signage should be easily noticeable and informative to intentional visitors, that is, those who have already decided to visit and might have already developed their own expectations about this type of space. This type of visitor already has some understanding of what the site is, at least by reading the signs, and decides they are interested enough to visit. At traditional ecological restoration projects, where visiting by the public is not a goal, sometimes it is not possible to put up clear signage because of the large size of the project. It is also common that the site is connected to a much larger system, such as a larger waterway, making it difficult to define any boundary or entrance. Four of the five ecological restoration parks in this study display clear entry signage, showing the intention of encouraging public access. Duling Eco Park does not have prominent entry signage because it is embedded in a large historical and cultural park; the boundary is hard to define because there is no clear separation between the ecological restoration sector and the other sectors. The type of boundary enclosing the park and features of the entries also determine its accessibility. Four types of boundaries are evident in the five sites: concrete walls, changing land form, and roadways and waterways. If one goal is to restore vegetation or wildlife, a closed boundary, such as physical walls, makes it easy to maintain. During the early stages of restoration, while plants are young, frequent maintenance is necessary to ensure a satisfactory survival rate. Complete walls limit public access and so protect species that are sensitive in their p­ re-​­mature condition. Walls are effective for reaching that goal at ­small-​­scale restoration projects. Xi’an Eco Park, although planned to eventually have a fully open boundary, was walled off at the earlier stage of the project. Physical access allows visitors to walk into the site and have close contact with key elements of the ecological system such as vegetation and animals. All five sites in this study show efforts to achieve open physical access through the design of their boundaries. Physically open boundaries observed in the five parks included: fully physically open edges, partially open edges of highways, walls with entrances and bridges over waterways all allow vehicle or pedestrian access into the sites either throughout the boundary or at some locations. Having more access points or a complete open edge provides opportunities for people to visit by accident and not just by intention. Boundaries that restrict physical access, however, still make visual access possible. For example, in Chanba Wetland Park, the combination of low grass plantings and special edge railings enable visual access to one of the physically restricted wetland areas (­­Figure 2.1). In Xi’an Eco Park, even though physical access is restricted by 29

Han Yan

­Figure 2.1 Visual access provided by the highly perforated railing system

elevated landforms, visitors still have visual access to the planted area from outside the park. Similar visual access is achieved through the establishment of an upland forest in Yanming Hu Park.

Pathways In traditional public spaces, circulation routes allow people to navigate throughout the site and pursue other activities as they please. In contrast, traditional ecological restoration sites seldom have any designated paved routes or other kinds of paths at all and some areas are completely off limits to users in order to prevent any human interference with the site. In other traditional ecological restoration sites, motor ways are provided but only for designated tours. Fresh Kills in New York City is one example. Ecological restoration parks studied in this research, however, do provide pedestrian circulation routes with elevated walkways that provide physical access through the park and also visual access to the restored vegetation areas. For example, an elevated pedestrian boardwalk provides visual and physical access to the restored native grassland area in Xi’an Eco Park (­­Figure 2.2). The elevated routes for visitors also accommodate the free movement of wildlife beneath and around the walkway and accommodate the healthy growth of vegetation. The 30

Ecological Restoration Parks

­Figure 2.2 Elevated pedestrian walkway accommodates for plants and animal life underneath

height of walkways varies: low ones allow small animals to move beneath them and higher ones allow for the healthy growth of vegetation underneath with sufficient exposure to sunlight. Three of the five sites studied are equipped with elevated walkways: Xi’an Eco Park, Yanming Hu Park and Chanba Wetland Park. In Xi’an Eco Park, the elevated height of the walkways varies from about 0.8 feet to 15 feet. These long, narrow, elevated paths tend to be suitable for people to walk alone or with a few others but not for group activities.

Ground Surface The type of ground surface that supports accessibility by the public is one of the design elements that directly affects both the social and ecological functions of the sites. Elevated platforms and large paved areas support group gatherings and activities such as dancing or roller skating. Group dancing is a very popular activity in traditional parks in China and now this activity is accommodated in some ecological restoration parks. The paving materials of the pathways also determine the types of activities people can pursue. Children and young adults travel and play together, using wheeled or electric vehicles such as bicycles, strollers and skateboards that are suitable for paved pathways. Lawns, although not a very sustainable option, are the most popular areas for other activities such as soccer, kite flying and having picnics. The material of ground surfaces influences how the space can be used. Relatively soft materials like synthetic rubber allow for running and other ways of exercising. Smooth, hard surfaces such as asphalt or concrete are good for visitors using strollers, scooters, skates, wheelchairs or bicycles, as well as for runners and even dancers. 31

Han Yan

Whether the material used for the ground surfaces is pervious also significantly affects the ecological performance of the site. Permeable surfaces are important for storm control, ground water recharge and water conservation. To study the types of ground surface at a given site and to measure permeability, it is necessary to identify the surface materials and installation patterns. In this research, ­on-​­site testing was conducted to verify the permeability of surfaces. To do so, water was poured onto the ground surface at a variety of locations in order to observe how quickly the water was absorbed. Surprisingly, the results indicate that most of the ground surfaces used by pedestrians are n ­ on-​­permeable. Permeable surfaces were observed only at the parking lot of Chanba Wetland Park and some wooden walkways that have space between boards. In Xi’an Eco Park, permeable concrete is used for the ground level pedestrian path but not for the elevated walkways (­­Figure 2.3). Use of permeable materials results in uneven surfaces that pose challenges for handicapped visitors, people with strollers or women wearing high heels as well as for skaters and bikers. The preference for n ­ on-​­permeable surfaces at the five sites studied shows the prioritizing of human use over ecological performance. However, since the ecological restoration parks studied also have plentiful vegetated surfaces filled with soil, the hydrological cycle may already be optimized. Therefore, permeability at the entire site level is achieved.

­Figure 2.3 Permeable walkway surfaces observed

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Ecological Restoration Parks

Amenities Amenities such as furniture, public bathrooms and sculpture are uncommon in traditional ecological restoration projects since accommodation for humans is not a priority and most of the design features in ecological restoration projects are focused on vegetation. Some traditional ecological restoration sites do not provide any facilities at all that meet basic needs such as public restrooms; these sites are rarely visited. In the cases profiled for this study, amenities of various types were observed. Thoughtfully designed furniture was common such as benches that allow for gatherings of small and large groups of visitors and sculptures for ornamental and educational uses. ­Well-​­designed shading structures are also present. The shading structures make the site more ­user-​­friendly under extreme weather conditions. With greater financial investment, other amenities include educational centers and public restrooms. With the exception of Guodu Forestry Park, the sites studied for this research have such buildings. In Chanba Wetland Park, Xi’an Eco Park and Yanming Hu Park, even though the sites are geared toward ecological restoration, playgrounds and exercise equipment are provided. The number of amenities present indicates how much public use of the site is encouraged. So to determine how much public use is encouraged, the sites were characterized in the following way. The lowest degree of encouragement of public use is the provision only of essential amenities such as lighting and restrooms. An intermediate level is apparent in the provision of furniture such as benches of varying sizes, colors and materials and shading structures that allow for programmed uses. The most significant encouragement of public use is indicated by the provision of sculpture, educational centers and other installations. However, some of the latter are surprisingly unsustainable. For example, garden sculptures installed at the entrance of the Xi’an Eco Park are a sign of welcome but are also inconsistent with the goal of ecological restoration. The juxtaposition of the theme of “­ecological restoration” with the presence of unsustainable features, such as these flowers, shows that ecological restoration parks are in an experimental phase and are still finding a balance between fulfilling ecological goals and inviting public use.

Vegetation Vegetation is one of the most prominent features of ecological restoration projects since many ecological goals are closely tied to the growth and health of vegetation. For example, Chanba Wetland Park is designed with the goal of wetland restoration with 412 acres of wetland area and more than 22 different types of aquatic plants (­X i’an Chanba Wetland Park, 2020). Based on field observations, most of the aquatic planting area is completely restricted to public access, presumably to protect restored vegetation. Yanming Hu Park, with the specific restoration purpose of providing a habitat for migrating birds, has an upland forest with multiple layers of vegetation (­­Figure 2.4). Multiple levels of dense vegetation are helpful for birds with nesting needs. Diverse types of vegetation and multiple layers of vegetation are commonly considered beneficial in vegetated ecological systems. For example, even though Xi’an Eco Park does not have an explicit restoration goal, it is still planted with diverse vegetation layers of arbors, shrubs and grasses. Another aspect of vegetation design for ecological restoration projects is the selection and volume of native vs. invasive species. Native vegetation typically includes naturally occurring local vegetation, in some cases defined as vegetation that existed before a certain date (­Productivity Commission, 2004, ­p. 10). Invasive vegetation refers to vegetation that shows a tendency to spread out of control and may pose challenges to the growth of native species. The dominating growth of invasive vegetation sometimes leads to the decline of other vegetation species. Therefore, the 33

Han Yan

­Figure 2.4 View of upland forest for migration bird habitat

prevalence of native vegetation species is often used as an indicator of the performance of ecological restoration. All five parks in this study show a very high percentage of native vegetation. For example, in Yanming Hu Park, of the 28 types of arbor tree surveyed, 24 are native tree species. Vegetation is also a tool for educating the public about the local ecosystem. Sometimes, it is supplemented with signs and labels that can help build environmental literacy. In all five parks studied, vegetation is tagged with names and botanical information. At Chanba Wetland Park and Xi’an Eco Park, signs give detailed information about some of the plants. In this and other ways, urban ecological systems that are accessible offer opportunities for the next generation to develop a better understanding of human/­nature relationships. At the sites studied, planting design strategies for creating physical or visual connections between visitors and restored vegetation are common. For example, in Chanba Wetland Park, shade trees such as weeping willows and Chinese ash provide shade for visitors. Fruit trees such as peach and apple trees are also present in the highly maintained park areas of Chanba Wetland Park, providing visitors with ­U-​­pick experiences. Visitors were also observed using the fruit to feed wild ducks and geese.

Wildlife The primary goal of traditional ecological restoration projects is to restore a vegetation community or a wildlife community or both through the r­ e-​­establishment of their habitats. For example, Yanming Hu Eco Park is intended to restore a habitat for geese by establishing waterways and an upland forest. Chanba Wetland Park, which serves as an important stop for migratory birds, will provide a habitat for more than 100 different species of such 34

Ecological Restoration Parks

birds. The wetland and water system in that park also serves as home for more than 200 types of other terrestrial and aquatic animals (­X i’an Chanba Wetland Park, 2020). Both the vegetation and the restored hydrological systems support the wildlife community. The presence of wildlife indicates the success of the restoration by achieving a stable vegetation and hydrological status. People are drawn to such settings in urban areas to see birds like wild geese, swans and aquatic animals like turtles. According to surveys conducted for this study, 28% of visitors think that the sites studied are successful because certain wildlife species were observed ­on-​­site. Many see encounters with wildlife as educational moments for themselves and for younger generations. Providing opportunities for the public to connect with wildlife and wild vegetation helps to gain the public’s interest and approval. There are many challenges in ecological restoration parks regarding human and wildlife ­co-​­existence. While many people enjoy the presence of wildlife, some experiences can be unpleasant. Vegetation that generates greater biodiversity affects human experience in some negative ways such as its encouragement of insects. While insects are a feature of healthy ecosystems as they help soil decomposition and provide a food source for wildlife, they also pose challenges to public use. It was frequently reported in the survey conducted for this study that the great number of mosquitos is one of the least favorite experiences people have near restored wetlands. There are safety concerns arising from people being unfamiliar with animals such as wild rabbits or rats that are believed to convey diseases. Compared to urban ecological systems located in remote areas, in cities the boundary between people and wildlife can become blurred and complicated. One way to protect the health of wildlife is to minimize human intrusion on animals with design elements such as boardwalks that separate the circulation of people from animals. Another way is to plant vegetation with edible fruit as a food source for animals. The safety of the human population can be ensured by selective restoration strategies such as aiming at particular wildlife species that are less aggressive. Birds are usually the ideal target for urban forestry projects, while fish and turtles are good indicators of improved water quality in wetland restoration sites. Safety can also be ensured by adopting certain management strategies, such as designating particular areas for wildlife nesting and restricting human access to them.

Use The public’s responses to the five parks studied were collected through an o ­ n-​­site survey and reviews of ­on-​­line sources of information. In the o ­ n-​­site survey, the user diversity was measured by demographic characteristics, including gender, age, occupation and home ownership. A total of 65 questionnaires were collected. The occupations of the respondents are quite varied with unemployed people making up almost half of all respondents: business owner (­3%), tech firm employee (­3%), office employee (­9%), student (­12%), sales (­11%), migrant/­construction worker (­14%), retired and unemployed (­48%). ­Fifty-​­five percent of the participants are homeowners, 43% are renters and 2% were unwilling to reveal their home status. ­ n-​­site surveys and interviews with users indicate that public response in general Both o is very positive toward the sites studied. Above 85% of the visitors who responded to the survey are returning visitors. Around 65% agree that the environment at the site has been greatly improved through the restoration efforts. More than 56% of visitors spend more than two hours per visit in the park. Participants were asked whether they consider the park they were visiting to be an ecological restoration project. Most responded with “­don’t 35

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know”. Only a few (­11%) said “­yes”. People who responded “­yes” were asked “­W hy?”. The answers referred almost exclusively to the fact that the site is vegetated. This finding shows that even though people enjoy this new type of public space, in general they lack an understanding of what it actually is. Since the survey was only conducted for people above 18, the percentage of younger visitors could not be determined. However, the elderly and children were observed to be the major user groups at all these parks. For the question “­W hat do you NOT like in this park”, the most frequent answers were “­the lack of restrooms” in Xi’an Eco Park, “­lack of signage” in Yanming Lake Park and “­nothing to do here” in Guodu Forestry Park. For the purpose of understanding the public’s opinion of site features and general design, a large number of ­on-​­line comments (­2 ,887 comments from four review websites) were studied. Initial findings reveal positive responses toward structures such as public restrooms and parking spaces. The most frequent terms associated with higher ratings are “­convenience”, “­getting physical exercise” and “­spending time with children”. A more detailed content analysis is needed to understand the public’s use and perceptions of ecological systems.

Management and Maintenance Management features such as hours of operation, rules and regulations are additional features of ecological restoration parks. Similar to regular parks, some ecological restoration parks adopt hours of operation out of maintenance or safety concerns. Hours of operation vary between sites. For example, some sites are fully accessible at certain hours, while others are only partially open or only on certain days of the week or month. In other cases, the entire site is closed to the public for certain periods of time during the year. The latter is very common when the restoration goal is to restore a certain wildlife community. Then, the restriction of human access is usually for their special needs, for example, breeding. For example, Chanba Wetland Park has an entire conservation area with no public access for protection of endangered wildlife species such as the Chinese Merganser, while the rest of the site is open to the public from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. Duling Yizhi Eco Park has visiting hours from 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. However, people are not allowed to enter after 5 p.m. Guodu Forestry Park, Xi’an Eco Park and Yanming Hu Park are open 24 hours a day to the public. The failure of websites to provide sufficient information on how and when the public can visit can confuse potential visitors and reduce the number of visitors. Another important management practice is the posting of rules and regulations at the site that list prohibited activities, such as smoking and feeding animals. A common practice for enforcing rules and regulations is the employment of o ­ n-​­site security guards. Two of the sites in this study, Chanba Wetland Park and Xi’an Eco Park, have ­on-​­site uniformed guards cruising through the site. Interviews with the security guards revealed that their primary responsibility is to monitor behavior for criminal activities or minor violations such as riding motorcycles, bringing domestic animals to the site and littering. Programming of events is another indicator of the park’s encouragement of public use. Programmed events are also made possible with collaboration between government entities, developers, maintenance teams and local institutions and are supported through digital media. For example, an ecologically themed Flash Mob was organized by the city government with participation by local dance schools at Chanba Wetland Park on March 8, 2019. The activity took place at the large gathering platform near the entrance of the park. Such programmed activities are aimed at increasing public stewardship of this public park by providing ecological knowledge in entertaining ways. 36

Ecological Restoration Parks

Even though the economic value of urban ecological systems is becoming more evident and well recognized, the means for raising revenue to protect these ecological amenities for public access often is unstable. The financial means for initiating the project as well as for covering maintenance costs are very important for the success of this type of project. The diversity of funding sources is one of the factors that needs to be considered for the l­ong-​ t­erm sustainability of the project. This study identified four categories of funding sources for this type of public space in China: the state budget, local loans, s­ elf-​­raised funds through developers and foreign investment. Among them, the state budget and ­self-​­raised funds have consistently increased from 2009 to 2015 as reported by the China National Bureau of Statistics (­Yearbooks China Statistical, 2015). Funds from other funding sources have been less consistent. Maintenance of vegetation at these sites differs from maintenance of both traditional public spaces and traditional ecological restoration sites. In traditional public spaces furniture, lighting, roadways and walkways are maintained regularly by local government agencies. For parks that are heavily vegetated, the maintenance of vegetation usually follows routines similar to those of garden landscaping, where appearance is very important. However, in this new type of public s­pace – ​­ecological restoration p­ arks – ​­maintenance of vegetation is important for a different reason. That is to ensure that it can play its role in shaping human/­ wildlife relationships. To meet the objective of creating or recreating a s­elf-​­sustaining ecological system, the vegetation in ecological restoration parks is usually designed and planted at a “­community” scale. This means that the vegetation thrives or dies as an entire community. So its survival depends partially on maintenance efforts and partially on the resilience of the community as a whole. Maintenance of vegetation in this case is a higher priority in ecological restoration parks than in traditional parks where plants are maintained individually rather than as parts of a community and it is their largely ornamental appearance that takes priority. One benefit of the c­ ommunity-​­scale planting strategy is that it may require reduced maintenance efforts. Interviews with maintenance teams at the five sites studied confirmed that intense maintenance work is required only during the early stages of developing these restoration sites when the vegetation community is still young and fragile. Vegetation at the community scale becomes more resilient once the entire community is mature and natural succession takes over. An additional way to protect plant and wildlife communities is to have designated areas with no physical access by the public, although they do have visual access. All of the parks presented in this chapter have such areas, with the exception of Guodu Forestry Park.

Implications We now live in an era where our understanding of the human/­nature relationship is evolving with the advancement of technology and the increasing environmental challenges that we now face. The value of ecological restoration in urban environments extends beyond the ­eco-​­services they provide to include ecological education. Ecological restoration parks are an important step in creating comprehensive environmental literacy, which eventually can lead to collaboration among decision makers, developers and designers for solving many of the environmental problems in urban areas. Constructed ecological systems in urban areas, such as ecological restoration parks, when properly maintained and well accessed by the public, can serve as the perfect means for generating the kind of ecological education that future generations need. 37

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In this day and age, public spaces can be multidimensional, flexible containers for a variety of uses in the changing dynamics of urban environments. Introducing public access to ecological restoration areas represents an evolution from a previously o ­ ne-​­dimensional understanding of ecological systems to a multidimensional recognition of them as ecological and social systems. Ecological restoration parks are a perfect example. They are the beginning of a flexible urban infrastructure that can accommodate future and as yet unknown conditions in the complex urban systems we have built. Ecological restoration parks differ from traditional public spaces in the vegetation and wildlife they support and the management and maintenance that are therefore necessary. They also differ from traditional ecological restoration sites with respect to public access and public use. This new type of park is still young and still in an experimental phase in densely populated urban centers. The methods used for evaluating traditional public spaces and traditional ecological restoration sites are not appropriate for evaluating this new type of social/­ecological hybrid space. Studies are needed to address both the social and the ecological performance of this type of space, and its impact on the social, economic and ecological environments in which they are imbedded. In addition, most of the projects studied are recently constructed; further research could be done longitudinally, to find out the ­long-​­term performance of such initiatives.

References Akbari, H. (­2002). Shade trees reduce building energy use and CO 2 emissions from power plants. Environmental Pollution, 116, ­S119–​­S126. Chaparro, L.,  & Terradas, J. (­2009). Ecological services of urban forest in Barcelona Barcelona: Institut Municipal de Parcs i Jardins Ajuntament de Barcelona, Àrea de Medi Ambient. Chen, Y. (­2006). Assessing the services and value of green spaces in urban ecosystem: A case of Guangzhou City. HKU Theses Online (­H KUTO). Gill, S. E., Handley, J. F., Ennos, A. R., & Pauleit, S. (­2007). Adapting cities for climate change: The role of the green infrastructure. Built Environment, 33(­1), ­115–​­133. Hobbs, R. J., Higgs, E., & Harris, J. A. (­2009). Novel ecosystems: Implications for conservation and restoration. Trends in Ecology & Evolution, 24(­11), ­599–​­605. National Research Council. (­1992). Restoration of aquatic ecosystems: Science, technology, and public policy (­0309092884). Retrieved from https://­nap.nationalacademies.org/­catalog/­1807/­­restoration­​­­of-­​­­aquatic-­​­­ecosystems- ­​­­science-­​­­technology-­​­­a nd-­​­­public-​­policy Nowak, D. J. (­2007). Assessing urban forest effects and values: New York City’s urban forest (­Vol. 9). Newtown Square, PA: US Department of Agriculture, Forest Service, Northern Research Station. Productivity Commission. (­2004). Impacts of native vegetation and biodiversity regulations. Retrieved from https://­w ww.pc.gov.au/­_ _data/­a ssets/­pdf_file/­0 005/­49235/­nativevegetation.pdf Society for Ecological Restoration International. (­2004). SER international primer on ecological restoration. Retrieved from https://­w ww.ctahr.hawaii.edu/­l ittonc/­PDFs/­682_SERPrimer.pdf Xi’an Chanba Wetland Park. (­2020). Park introduction. Retrieved from http://­w ww.chanbawetland. com/­about/­gongyuanjianjie/ Yearbooks China Statistical. (­2015). National data, National Bureau of Statistics of China. Retrieved from http://­w ww.stats.gov.cn/­t jsj/­ndsj/­2015/­i ndexeh.htm

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3 City Beaches Enlivening M ­ arginal Spaces in Germany Quentin Stevens

Introduction The idea of a beach in the city originated in calls of the Situationist International to unearth ‘­the beach under the paving stones’ during the ­left-​­wing Paris uprising of May 1968 (­Wark, 2011). For the Situationists, the loose, sandy beach underneath the functional, h ­ ard-​­surfaced pavement symbolized the possibility of reimagining the city, its social life and the definition of leisure. The main purpose of city beaches is to create new and exciting leisure environments close to home for city residents, particularly those of inland European cities who may not have the money, time, opportunity or inclination to holiday at actual beaches. These partly naturalistic and escapist landscapes increase and diversify outdoor amenities in cities. The first artificial, seasonal city beach emerged in 1996 in France. They quickly spread to Germany and subsequently became a widespread model for enhancing the social use of otherwise underused, marginal urban spaces. Urban beaches and other temporary uses of public space expand the scope of public space by incorporating sites that previously were not publicly accessible or that were of little utility. Urban beaches, a relatively new type of public space, are particularly important in the spring and summer when large urban populations in the colder parts of the world need to get outdoors and enjoy fresh air and sunshine. This chapter focuses on the city beaches that have been installed in otherwise empty urban spaces and on the rooftops of downtown parking garages in Germany. It describes their locations, design features, how they are used and how they are produced and managed. The chapter draws on a study of a total of 327 city beaches. Of these, 111 were visited by the author, including 9 rooftop beaches. Detailed analyses of site contents and design features were ­ wenty-​­eight conducted for 73 city beaches in large cities and small towns across Germany. T of these analyses were conducted by the author and 45 are based on survey responses from the beaches’ managers. The chapter also draws upon the author’s i­n-​­person interviews with 28 managers and survey responses from 54 managers (­including, in 18 cases, both interviews and surveys). Three interviews and six surveys were conducted about city beaches located on top of parking garages. All quotations are drawn from these interviews, except where indicated, and have been translated from German.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-4

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The interviews and surveys covered the concept and design of city beaches (­including their temporariness and flexibility), identified exemplars and itemized their diverse physical features. They also documented contextual and operational conditions that shape the character and viability of city beaches, including choice of site; financing and management; planning process and legal status; their users and uses; and relationships between city beach managers, local government and landowners.

History and Location of City Beaches The first city beaches were created in the main public squares of the French provincial capital St. Quentin in 1996 and in the small German town of Vaihingen an der Enz (­­Figure 3.1) in 2001. But it was the 2002 opening of Paris Plage, on a temporarily closed expressway alongside the Seine River, and Berlin’s Strandbar Mitte, on the sandy foundations of a demolished building in a rundown neighborhood park adjoining the Spree River, that brought worldwide media attention to the concept. This new type of open space spread rapidly to other cities across Europe and beyond. There are now hundreds of city beaches worldwide. Most are installed temporarily each summer, including the first four cases that are still in operation. While the locational marginality and underutilization of possible sites are key factors in determining their suitability for temporary activation as city beaches, other locational factors shape their viability. These include a central location (­for a large catchment of potential users), public transport access (­most city beach sites are within a ­10-​­minute walk

­Figure 3.1 Gymnastics class at Strandleben on the main square of Vaihingen an der Enz, 2010.  The striped lighthouse serves as a notice board with a schedule of planned community events occurring on the roof: a performance by church choir, a vigil for the 65th anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing, a ­newspaper-­​­­bundle-​­throwing contest, a treasure hunt in the sand and trampoline ­try-​­outs for young children

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from a train, tram or bus), availability of car parking, solar exposure to the south and west (­for afternoon sun), quietness, wind protection and greenery. However, not all sites have all these features. City beaches create new urban spaces for social interaction across a wide variety of marginal, underutilized urban sites. Analysis of the siting of 135 city beaches in Germany, through surveys, fi ­ rst-​­hand observation and analysis of photographs of beach websites (­Stevens, 2011) revealed that only 30% of city beaches were, like the earliest examples, additions that enliven existing public parkland or public plazas. In some cases, these are floodplains where permanent construction is not possible. Forty percent of the city beaches were located on privately owned riverfront sites, many of them on land previously used by industry. Another 20% were in inland industrial areas without river frontage or on ­non-​­industrial inland sites, including adjacent to existing bars or institutions such as theaters and universities. City beaches were also installed in underused infrastructural spaces: on road and railway easements, on and under bridges, on former landfill sites and on ground surface carparks. ­Twenty-​­four separate city beaches were located on sites on and around the ‘­death strip’ of the former Berlin Wall. Most city beaches are on marginal derelict land but they are also installed in other development contexts. Some occupy ­city-​­center tourist precincts; some are part of new large ­m aster-​­planned greenfield or brownfield development projects. Almost half of Germany’s city beaches identified in this analysis were not on sites adjacent to water, even though surveys of people who visit city beaches (­Sachs, 2010) and operate them (­Stevens, 2011) showed that a large majority of both groups agreed that water frontage, or at least a view of water, are essential components of a city beach. One distinctive example of a marginal urban site is the rooftops of parking garages. ­Twenty-​­eight city beaches have been installed on the rooftops of 21 different m ­ ulti-​­story carparks in 17 German cities, almost all of them in downtown shopping centers. Two others were laid on the flat roofs of other buildings. The world’s first rooftop city beach, Skybeach (­­Figure 3.2), was created in Stuttgart in 2004 on the open rooftop of the m ­ ulti-​­story parking garage of the Galeria Kauf hof department store in the city’s pedestrian zone, only one block from its central train station. The creator of Skybeach Stuttgart, Lothar Müller, explained how he brought together the idea of an artificial beach with the i­nner-​­city rooftop location: I had seen [the city beach] in 2003 in Paris. I thought this would be something for Stuttgart…only there is no river running directly through Stuttgart.… I used to work for a radio station, managing their marketing. We had our studio just around the corner [from where the beach is]. And then, since I had seen a picture of the parking deck here, it clicked in my head: ‘­Up there is a parking deck! You have the best view of the city up there! Why not open a beach here?’… In 2004, we tested this. We had giant media support because a beach on a parking deck had never existed before anywhere in the world. The siting of beaches on the roofs of parking garages in shopping centers is advantageous because of the general shortage of vacant land in German city centers and their extensive ­pedestrian-​­only shopping zones. German city centers are highly accessible by both car and public transport, providing a steady stream of customers keen on consumption and leisure opportunities. The rooftops of parking garages are easily accessible by the public via lifts and these rooftops would otherwise remain mostly empty. The top level of the parking garage is distant from the noise and pollution of the street and has excellent views and solar exposure, particularly in German cities composed of ­low-​­rise buildings that lack skyscrapers. Rooftop 41

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­Figure 3.2 Skybeach, Stuttgart, established in 2004 on the roof of the Galeria Kaufhof ­department store, overlooking the city’s pedestrianized main shopping street, Königstraße

beaches generally have few residential neighbors so they can operate until late at night and with music playing outdoors with minimal impact. Their flat concrete surfaces make it easy to spread, move and collect the sand and furnishings from day to day and at the close of the season. The roofs of parking garages are different from other urban spaces used for city beaches in several important respects. First, they tend to remain available for this temporary use over the long term. No one wants to, or needs to, park their car on the exposed top level of a shopping center parking garage in the ­northern-​­hemisphere in the summer. Consequently, the demand for parking in the summer is much less than during the period preceding Christmas that parking garages are usually designed to meet. Second, city beaches on parking garages offer possibilities for the seasonal public use of a space that is compatible with, and complementary to, the main use that finances the construction and management of the garage below. Third, operators of rooftop beaches can enter into ­longer-​­term contracts more easily than those who activate other city spaces such as riverside floodplains that may be inundated with water and must then be vacated at short notice or spaces that are only temporarily vacant prior to their ­long-​­term redevelopment, often for unknown periods of time. City beaches on parking garages, like the ­multi-​­level parking garages themselves, are predominantly a ­large-​­city phenomenon. Many city beaches are established on former industrial sites, particularly in Germany’s d­ e-​­industrializing regions in the Ruhr Valley and in Saxony and in its three economically challenged ­city-​­states. But no city beaches are on industrial land in Stuttgart and very few in Munich because these two southern cities remain economic powerhouses with continued, ­industry-​­led growth and little vacant land (­Haydn and Temel, 2006). Temporary artificial beaches in these cities, and especially Stuttgart’s Skybeach, show how a new type of open space evolved to suit local conditions. 42

City Beaches

Design Features and Organized Activities In order to create a ­beach-​­like atmosphere, most city beaches have a sandy surface, small palm trees in pots, deck chairs and beach umbrellas. Surprisingly, interviews and surveys with beach users and managers indicate that the most important feature is not the presence of sand but of deck chairs and umbrellas (­Sachs, 2010; Stevens, 2011). In the fickle German climate, rain protection is also important, and many beaches there provide tents or permanently roofed areas. The core physical comforts visitors seek on a city ­beach – ​­to sit and relax, with shelter ­available – ​­are more important than its aesthetic appearance. Surprisingly, site analysis of 73 city beaches in Germany showed that o ­ ne-​­sixth of them do not even have any sand. Almost half of them are not located adjacent to any water and interviews showed that many beach managers find that water access and even water views are unnecessary. Only a quarter of the 73 beaches provide access to swimming, usually in s­ elf-​­contained ­above-​­ground pools. Many decorative props evoke beach themes, places and cultures: surf boards, life preservers, paddles, small boats, ships’ anchors, helms and bells, lighthouses, cargo chests, pirate flags, fishing nets, shells. The décor of most of the beaches analyzed includes some combination of driftwood, bamboo and thatched roofs reminiscent of villages on islands in the Pacific Ocean (­­Figure 3.3). Timber decking is another common element. It supports tables and chairs and forms circulation paths over the sand for the benefit of visitors with limited mobility, with prams or wearing high heels. Beaches also have a variety of small, inexpensive portable buildings: huts made of timber or thatch, modified shipping containers (­now a ubiquitous element of temporary uses of open spaces), mobile f­ood-​­vending trailers and portable toilets. Many

­Figure 3.3 Hamburg Del Mar, on top of a t­ wo-​­level parking garage. This beach, one of several on the ‘­Costa Hamburgo’ facing the St Pauli pier, the Elbe River and the Hamburg harbor, illustrates the use of symbolic and experiential elements to create atmosphere: thatched roofs, palm trees, bamboo torches, life preservers, deck chairs, canopied wicker ‘­beach baskets’, a rowboat and sand

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elements and structures (­including deckchairs, umbrellas, sail roofs and tents with openable sides) can be easily reoriented, relocated, dissembled or reconfigured to suit different seasons, weather conditions and times of the day. Many beaches have colorful murals painted onto their buildings or their perimeter walls to help create an escapist atmosphere. The art portrays what is not actually present or even visible on most city beaches: actual water for swimming. The city beach is an inexpensive reconfigurable, portable setting that enlivens dull urban spaces: City beaches distinguish themselves above all by the fact that they convey a ‘­holiday feeling’, ‘­a relaxed atmosphere’ and thus offer the opportunity to escape everyday life for a few hours in a tidy and safe atmosphere…. City beaches on the roofs of parking lots and department stores are probably the most striking examples of this spatial and temporal ­un-­​­­anchoring -​­the ‘­beach’ experience is possible anytime and anywhere. (­Sachs, 2010: 7) The Situationists recognized sand as a crucial element that transforms useless urban spaces into sites that offer potential for freedom and play. Sand also transforms existing urban plazas and parklands by creating a new, exotic atmosphere. Sand is a disorderly, highly engaging material that invites people to move it to make themselves comfortable and so encourages initiative, playfulness and creativity: the sandy beach… has become the primary metonym for escapism and for leisure; this is as much because of its physical properties as its representational ones. Sand can… be moved and reshaped. It also keeps it shape when molded into sandcastles and sand sculptures or when people write their names on it. People can reshape it to suit the human body, to create makeshift headrests or to change the body’s orientation to the sun and to views. Sand is soft underfoot, comfortable to play sport on, for children to fall down on, to dance on or lie on. People’s first response when approaching sand is to take their shoes off and play with the sand with their feet, to have a close, stimulating and active engagement with the landscape. Sand is cheap, not worth stealing, easy to replace and easy to clean and maintain; it is unbreakable and fireproof; it stays dry, even after rain, and can easily be brushed off clothes and hair. Sand [is an] ideal raw material for artificial landscapes. (­Stevens, 2009: 17) Furniture is another feature that makes city beaches attractive. Just as Whyte (­1980) observed, people sit where there are places to sit. Gehl (­1987) further noted that the amount, comfort and variety of seating affect the social life of urban spaces because these features encourage people to prolong their stay and to have more contact with other users of the space and to engage in other optional, social activities. Many city beaches offer a diversity of seating that supports a wide variety of activities (­talking in groups, resting, sunbathing, dining) and users (­children, families, the elderly). Frankfurt’s Citybeach offers nine different types of outdoor seating: deck chairs, directors’ chairs, traditional ‘­beach baskets’, molded plastic armchairs, wicker sofas, wooden chairs with tables, chaise lounge chairs (­a ll of which can be ­re-​­positioned to suit user preferences), ledges and steps around its sunken swimming pool, and the option of sitting or lying on the soft sand itself. Some beaches also provide beds, hammocks, sun lounges and outdoor beanbags. 44

City Beaches

City beaches on garage roofs also provide a range of temporary, portable structures that offer protection from the weather and secure storage for the wide range of equipment needed for their operation. Stuttgart Skybeach, now in its 18th year of operation, operated for many years in a ­g lass-​­walled room under a ­7-­​­­meter-​­w ide, ­custom-​­m ade ­12-​­sided umbrella roof. That was replaced with a 6­ 0-­​­­square-​­meter, demountable ­steel-​­framed pavilion. It also provides 240 square meters of sun protection under 15 massive umbrellas. Cologne’s Skybeach and Frankfurt’s Citybeach make do with modest demountable wooden huts, typically used for Germany’s traditional Christmas markets. A few city beaches also provide swimming pools. Parking garages have the requisite waterproofing and structural strength to support them. Frankfurt’s Citybeach, which covers almost 2,000 square meters, is rare among rooftop beaches in having two pools (­­Figure 3.4). The largest is c­ ustom-​­built, not prefabricated, and covers 50 square meters. This required constructing a heavyweight frame, a sealed lining and substantial areas of raised decking, and installing and maintaining filtration equipment. Some city beaches provide support for energetic activities, including pitches for volleyball and soccer; dance floors, performance stages; table soccer, ping pong and billiard tables; and children’s playgrounds with climbing frames, carousels, slides, swings, trampolines, playhouses, miniature boats and tents. Some offer ‘­­pop-​­up’ clothing stalls for shopping. The city beach in Vaihingen an der Enz, near Stuttgart, hosts many scheduled events that encourage ­ ai-​­chi, ­Qi-​­Gong, Aikido, Indiaca participation by local residents, including Karate, Yoga, T and Samba, Parkour, treasure hunts and gymnastics (­­Figure 3.1). Beaches host many kinds of free activities and amenities catering to a wide variety of ages and tastes, including exhibitions, libraries, climbing, art and educational classes and book clubs.

­Figure 3.4 Frankfurt Citybeach, atop a parking garage adjoining the pedestrian shopping street Zeil with two ­custom-​­built swimming pools and a view of the skyscrapers in the city’s banking quarter

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The manager of Kulturstrand in Munich emphasized that the program of diverse events attracts a mix of users: In the afternoon, you will have families with their kids. In the evening, it becomes a bit younger. But then, for example, on jazz evenings, you will see quite a few people like my parents, that generation…. sometimes we also show movies and so on… So it is mixture of visitors. In contrast, many commercial beaches, including the three rooftop examples described here (­Frankfurt Citybeach, Stuttgart Skybeach and Cologne Skybeach), have few features that attract a variety of visitors. Functioning primarily as bars and cafés, they cater chiefly to young professionals. They are, in effect, contemporary versions of the traditional German beer garden. Many beaches offer free Wi-Fi for visitors which attracts ­white-​­collar workers and those in the gig economy. A particularly popular social activity on city beaches is ‘­public viewing’. Crowds of people gather to watch sporting events on large outdoor screens, a practice that started when Germany hosted the Football World Cup in 2006. This activity has expanded to watching films. Entrepreneurs who specialize in event management and the arts bring live music and other kinds of performances to city beaches. Some musicians tour exclusively city beaches.

Creation, Ownership and Management Local governments and civic organizations created the first beaches in St. Quentin and Paris. Since then, a variety of organizations and individuals, with varied motives and goals, have created them, including local ­non-​­profit civic organizations (­in Vaihingen) and artists and others from the creative industries. Berlin’s Strandbar Mitte was the harbinger of what became the most common form of city beach ownership: ­profit-​­oriented ventures by entrepreneurs from the hospitality industry (­Stevens, 2015). Only 10 of the 327 city beaches identified in Germany were developed by public or ­non-​­profit agencies. Most of these were created for short periods of time in the main pedestrianized zones of small cities as part of summer festivals for local residents. One of these arts beaches, in Vaihingen an der Enz, called Strandleben (‘­beach life’), has been assembled almost every summer since 2001 on the main square of the city. This c­ itizen-​­operated project is Germany’s longest running city beach. The beach was originally conceived in 1999, when the region’s cultural association of local governments convened an international symposium and workshop with artists and architects to develop open space ideas for their cities. One funded project explored the reasons why some public spaces in Vaihingen had lost their social role, particularly the market square. The project led to a proposal to introduce a range of temporary ‘­u nusual, sometimes seemingly crazy activities and uses’ to Vaihingen’s public s­ paces – ​­and temporarily relocate existing uses to new s­ ites – ​­as a means to raise people’s consciousness of the social potential of public space and to inspire a playful reimagining of the city (­Kulturamt Vaihingen, 2002). One key goal was to encourage local citizens to become more engaged as actors in the public realm rather than being only spectators. In 2001, the cultural department of the Vaihingen city council decided to implement two key elements of the proposed scheme for one month: a sandpit covering ­t wo-​­thirds of the market square and a ‘­harbor bar’ in a rundown building to function as a management and communications center. The department also held a competition, inviting local civic organizations, 46

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businesses and individual residents to contribute suggestions for repurposing public spaces (­Gassner, 2001). The city’s cultural officer noted that the project empowered citizens and allowed them to realize aspirations ‘­through the s­hort-​­circuiting of the approvals process within the framework of a sanctioned field of experiment’ (­R ichert, 2005: 241). The artificial beach, with its distinctive atmosphere and activities, was the project that left the strongest impression on residents. By the end of the month, there was already talk in Vaihingen about making the beach and bar permanent (­Gassner, 2001). A local residents’ group reinstated the project on a biannual basis in 2003, entirely independently of the city council (­R ichert, 2005). Funding is provided through public subscriptions (­residents buy badges as a donation) supplemented by sponsorship of local businesses. It is the social aspects of the beach that its organizers value the most as one of its organizers describes: what I really like personally is that it promotes communication incredibly. One starts talking to people that one would usually not talk to. You either talk about the children… or talk to people…well, e.g. there are ­foreign-​­born residents here, and they are also involved in conversations… I am very happy about this. In Esslingen, on the other side of Stuttgart, a c­ ommunity-​­based beach was established in 2009 by a group of associations that work with youth and the city youth council. They felt that local adolescents lacked options for outdoor activities and wanted to motivate young people to exercise. They decided to adopt the idea of commercial city beaches. One was installed r­ent-​­free on ­city-​­owned parkland and was supported by a community fund and sponsorships, including discounted sand. It was supervised by paid and volunteer educators and offered a program of participatory activities. When the temporary beach was recreated in 2010, adolescents who had not succeeded in obtaining apprenticeships elsewhere were trained and supervised to rebuild and decorate a s­econd-​­hand Christmas market stall as a beach cabin, which gave them a sense of pride and encouraged them to visit the beach regularly. In 2011, the official opening of a new neighborhood park with climbing walls in Schwedt was accompanied by a temporary ‘­beach club’ with artificial palms and ­non-​­alcoholic drinks served by young people from the regional youth development association. The project emerged from a discussion between a local youth club and a visiting state politician that revealed the shortage of meeting places for young people. Within four weeks, the young people themselves planned the project, located sponsorships and installed the beach. The politician donated some deckchairs (­Stadt Schwedt, 2011). A fourth socially motivated beach project, Munich’s Kulturstrand, was created by the Urbanauten, a debating society of university students from various ­city-​­related disciplines, following discussions about how to encourage residents to see and use public spaces differently and how to modify ­left-​­over spaces into venues for performances, cultural events, public debates and social engagement. In 2005, Urbanauten considered applying for arts funding to create a public beach to which people could bring their own refreshments. They applied for planning permission and unexpectedly received a ­month-​­long permit at short notice. Lacking any funding, they contacted a restaurateur they knew through the city’s street festival who helped with financing and operated a bar on the beach. The Urbanauten ­re-​­invests much of their profit into the beach’s daily programming of live music, film, theater and children’s ­activities – ​­which they invite local organizations to contribute to. The Urbanauten relocates the beach each year to enliven new spaces. They have activated six different locations in Munich on an annually rotating basis. 47

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The Kulturstrand beach is a private landscape run by a joint venture private company that finances its operation by selling drinks. However, the results go well beyond financial profit. This beach has brought new ideas and physical improvement to underused parts of Munich’s riverfront and has stimulated public debate about urban space and public life. The company organized an ideas competition for more broadly revitalizing the Munich waterfront. With beaches that are created by community organizations, there is a need for accountability in financing and d­ ecision-​­making. Vaihingen funds its c­ity-​­center beach through donations from residents. The organizers note: We want this to be public and transparent because the donors want to know whether their money is really spent on the beach … and for this reason, we made an agreement with the city… for all the money we c­ ollect – ​­we bring this to the cashier’s office of the city. They administer it for us… this way…It’s more official…It’s more public… we have always published an article in [the local newspaper] The Vaihinger Kreiszeitung where we list the expenses: We need 2,500 euros for ­set-​­up and removal. We need 1,200 euros for the delivery of the sand… we list everything and explain to them why we need 5,000 euros and then, we say: okay, come on, donate money. The social purpose for Vaihinger Aktion Innenstadt (­Vaihingers’ ­inner-​­city initiative) is to serve local residents and to help local businesses in the summer: Our association organizes this project for the children, for the mothers, for the fathers during the holidays…but we also do this so that the city center gets a bit more publicity outside of Vaihingen. So that we get visitors… to stimulate the city center, in terms of the people but also the economy. The shops use this area here for promotion… the beach is used for advertising. We think that’s great… But the condition is that it’s public, nothing exclusive where one has to pay admission fee…it has to be something where everybody can participate easily. The organizers emphasize the importance of residents’ active engagement in creating and managing their city beach: What was good was that a lot of people were involved. Either in the planning process or simply by making them think about whether they want it…and if yes, what can I do for this? We have flyers “­W hat can I do for the Vaihingen beach?” There’s donations and accepting cleaning shifts and organizing events, etcetera. We told them that if they want to have it, they will have to become active and do certain things. And we listed these things. I think the good thing is that the people of Vaihingen consider this to be their beach. They look out for each other and whether everything is running okay. I think that this is the secret to success. ­No-​­one simply set it up. One had to fight for it and one had to do something for this beach every day. They identify with this beach. None of the city beaches on top of parking garages in Germany is operated as a social enterprise. This reflects the commercial orientation of city centers and the ­private-​­sector ownership of most garages as a means to make money from ­city-​­center land. For example, Frankfurt’s Long Island Sumer Lounge sits atop a ­city-​­owned parking garage serving 48

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Germany’s stock exchange. But public ownership of city beaches has not been translated into a different model of open space or the identification of target user groups.

City Beaches as Extensions of the Public Realm City beaches supplement the range and variety of urban open space but most of them do not occupy existing public open spaces. The few that do are mostly p­ ublic-​­or c­ ommunity-​­driven schemes that enhance existing open spaces. City beaches tend to arise where and when there is a lack of substantial public funds to develop urban space. Most of their locations are marginal, underutilized privately owned spaces that were not previously thought of, or accessible as, public open space. They thus illustrate a distinctive and important alternative mode of developing and using urban open space which exemplifies very ­small-​­scale flexibility and creativity. Unlike traditional types of urban open space, most city beaches are funded, created and operated by s­mall-​­scale entrepreneurs and n ­ on-​­profit organizations. They offer an amenity to the public without charging for admission. While private enterprises may seem antithetical to the idea of public space, privately financed and operated city beaches do, like other ­long-​­term kinds of privately owned public space, contribute to the provision and scope of public open space in several important ways. They provide capital, labor, innovation and ­k now-​­how. They take risks that expand ideas about what and where public space can be. Architects and developers often proselytize about h ­ igh-​­rise buildings containing vertical villages and streets. ­Multi-​­level shopping malls and connecting skyways are often portrayed as an emergent vertical urbanism. Beaches on parking garages present another, concrete, working example of expanding the public realm upward. The parking garages of Germany’s Galeria Kauf hof branches have been discovered and developed as a particularly fertile ground for creating new c­ ity-​­center open space. The short but rich history of temporary city beaches in Germany shows their development through exchanges and transformations of ideas and practices between a­ vant-​­garde artists, commercial entrepreneurs, n ­ on-​­profit civic organizations and local governments. These ideas can then also be taken up to improve other urban spaces for public use (­Stevens, 2015). P ­ ublic-​­sector agencies help to facilitate and encourage these various city beach projects. Expanding the public realm is not just about the quantity of space. It is also about expanding the range of experiences the city provides by creating new possibilities. This was a goal of the Situationists who sought to reorganize, redecorate and reprogram cities so that people could have new social experiences (­Stevens, 2009). City beaches discover and experiment, on a temporary basis, with the atmospheric and social possibilities of overlooked urban spaces. This is best illustrated by the invention of Stuttgart’s Skybeach that brings together an ­inner-​ ­city location, transportable sand and props, existing vertical circulation and excellent views and solar exposure. Parking garage roofs are ­mono-​­functional, privately owned spaces that are made public and vital through the creation of accessible beaches. In effect, they are a ­scaled-​­up version of parklets, which emerged slightly later, in 2005, to reclaim s­treet-​­side ­car-​­parking spaces for public use (­Stuart, 2006). With rooftop beaches, the otherwise least utilized level of commercial carparks finds optimal use with their unique combination of advantages: accessibility, sunshine, quiet and skyline views. The accessibility of these sites is improved physically and managerially by opening up parking garage elevators and vehicular ramps for beach visitors, installing new access stairs, the general lack of admission fees and the provision of free amenities such as 49

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seating and toilets that enable people to linger longer. The perceptual accessibility of parking garage roofs and their beaches is also improved through the installation of directional signs and banners on the roofs. The beaches installed on public spaces of smaller cities give underused public spaces added life through imagination and through increased civic engagement. Vaihingen’s Strandleben and Munich’s Kulturstrand began with the explicit aim of discovering and enlivening city spaces for more intense social use. Murals, thematic architecture and decorative props all help to generate an escapist atmosphere. In Germany in particular, the reinvention of urban space through the creation of city beaches often arises from entrepreneurial motivations for both the short term and the long term. Sometimes, the discovery, extension and reinvention of derelict spaces are either consciously or unconsciously in the service of creating new interest in an urban area, giving it a new identity and developing a new community. Like many other aesthetically pleasing investments in the public realm, they can accompany or drive gentrification. Unlike other, permanent transformations of urban space, city beaches can easily move on when their neighborhood becomes too expensive or when their temporarily occupied sites are needed for permanent development. City beaches only receive ­short-​­term approvals, which can quickly be amended or revoked according to public needs. The beaches are often packed up, moved, and recreated on other marginal sites. Some beaches have been moved very short distances several times as adjacent waterfront sites are progressively redeveloped with upscale commercial, residential and institutional buildings. Many city beaches begin as very s­ hort-​­term, ­low-​­cost experiments, and are then repeated and expanded in subsequent summers, drawing on accumulated k­ now-​­how, equipment and fame. City beaches’ low fixed costs mean that they can easily vary the hours and months that they are open for use, according to changing weather and demand. In October 2019, Stuttgart Skybeach installed 450 pots filled with 40 varieties of ­w inter-​­resistant grasses and shrubs, and now remains open through winter and spring. Rooftop gardens are not so new but a temporary publicly accessible garden installed at private expense in the dense city center expands existing open space amenities. Skybeach shows how one example can inspire, inform and directly propagate a range of other new public uses of a range of urban rooftops and other neglected open space opportunities. These include rooftop cinemas and urban farms, and pedestrianization of former roads and rail lines.

Social Inclusion When beaches have ­public-​­sector, ­civil-​­society or altruistic operators, such as Vaihingen Strandleben, Berlin’s YAAM and Munich’s Kulturstrand, the main reason for creating the beach is to create an outdoor venue that brings local citizens of different generations together. For Kulturstrand, ­ igh-​­end… beach bar…it’s more about The idea of the project [is] not to create a cool, h creating a public space that is not only financially accessible for everybody, but that is also kind of…perceptually, is meant for everybody. When 49 commercial beach managers were asked if they felt their project served the goal of ‘­creating a public space’, 75% of them agreed but very few articulated this social ideal in detail. One manager, in Jena, explained that their commercial city beach was ‘­definitely a public space’ because it was: 50

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Part of the [public] park… we operate here but it is still a part of the public space because it belongs to the park that belongs to everyone… everyone can come here no matter whether they buy something here or not. This is still a public space that we can’t simply restrict. When people sit at the tables and have their own beverages, this is not accepted. If they [ just] sit on the benches here, then it’s ok, we’re not a mere money machine. One has to find a compromise. This privately financed beach remains true to the idea of free public engagement, although being on public parkland, it does not expand the amount of freely public space but simply adds new formal diversity, interest and amenities to it. This project includes a pier where people can sit on deckchairs on the river. Many city governments have approved, and even courted, entrepreneurs to activate parks and other public spaces in this way. Another commercial manager of a city beach, on former industrial land in Recklinghausen, distinguishes his beach from other kinds of public spaces. Of course, people can enter without paying admission. Of course, one has to follow certain rules here. Since we don’t take any admission fee, we live… only on what the guests consume here. Therefore, we don’t appreciate when people bring their own food… in this respect, it is no public beach or public zoo or public swimming pool where all this is ​­ and no… we are p­ ublic – everyone ​­ can come here, everyone allowed… So ­public – yes is welcome. But they have to behave accordingly so that we can survive economically, otherwise it doesn’t make any sense. This manager conveys the essential truth that most of these new, publicly accessible leisure spaces can only be provided because, and as long as, hospitality businesses can cover their costs, and this is best achieved by attracting a very broad demographic across the day and week. In practical terms, managers of ­non-​­profit beaches actually have rather similar understandings of publicness to their commercial cousins. The beach in Esslingen, operated by a consortium of youth organizations to serve local youth needs, occupies riverfront public parkland and partly covers its costs through sales of drinks. Its manager notes: We consider this a public space. The only restriction is that we have two rules for the sand area: First, no smoking on the sand. Second, we do not want any alcohol or drinks that were bought somewhere else… Otherwise, everyone can spend time there. One doesn’t need to drink anything there. The manager of Chemnitz’s rooftop City Beach recognizes that even f­or-​­profit beaches have a responsibility to maintain open access to all visitors at all times. Although they sometimes host private, sponsored events, they never reserve the whole beach. As he explains, “­If someone comes here for the first time and… if we tell him that today there is a private event [and the beach is closed], then the guest is really angry and says ‘­I will never come here again’”. The manager of Monkey’s Island in Düsseldorf, who sought to ‘­cover all social groups and all age groups’, noted the particular success of city beaches in achieving this; that ‘­there was not a clash but a c­ o-​­existence of these different groups…. that was maybe the biggest success I think’. Kulturstrand in Munich, created specifically to encourage public events and social discourse, addressed the question of publicness and inclusion in a different way. Their attention was on the publicness of the site. 51

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We’re looking for public spaces, not in a legal sense, but in… the sense of accessibility and… of perception… It really wouldn’t matter to us if it were publicly or privately owned, if it had public character. For all these site managers, ‘­public’ means being inviting to all users but it does not mean being unregulated. The role of these managers is to manage social and bodily behavior as well as financial risk. In one particular way, public access to city beaches is practically constrained, and not just as a matter of ideology or perception. The manager of Munich’s Kulturstrand, which is located on a small bridge bastion that can only be accessed down a flight of steps, notes that this particular constraint and their limited budget restrict access to people with mobility impairments: There’s one thing that annoys me a lot… [the lack of access for] disabled people…which I find very sad, but it just doesn’t work on that site. It’s annoying, but there would be no way we could make it accessible for them. Sometimes, when we see somebody come, we try…we carry them down those stairs and what not. But …it would just be impossible for a temporary project to try to make it accessible for disabled people. Although almost all beaches provide timber decking to improve accessibility across the sand within their sites, and although many city beaches on the top levels of parking garages are accessible by elevators or vehicular ramps, Frankfurt’s Citybeach has the ramp closed off, the elevator does not extend to the garage’s l­ess-​­used top level and the only visitor access is via a temporary steel scaffold staircase. Their website notes that ‘­Due to the structural conditions, ­barrier-​­free access to the City Beach is unfortunately not possible’.

Beyond the Pavement: Creating New Urban Public Spaces As the Situationist International had imagined, today’s city beaches have increased the diversity of urban public spaces and of the activities that can take place there. The resulting spaces are richly decorated, stimulating and comfortable with careful attention given to furnishings, materials and atmosphere. They display ingenuity in their location on rooftops and in their transformable features as necessitated by their temporariness. Almost all of them provide a freely accessible open space where people of all ages can come, relax and interact. Like most other privately owned public spaces, city beaches have standards and practices for managing visitor behavior. Germany’s largely privately run city beaches increase the extent, quality and variety of open space. The inclusion and interaction of social groups in a relaxed setting are balanced against commercial imperatives of advertising and revenue, and some curbs on behavior. These beaches support a variety of users and uses which results in part from the diversity of actors involved in producing them. City beach managers come from different sectors and have different backgrounds. Most of them are new to creating and managing urban spaces. They bring new ideas to urban design and encourage a range of local individuals and organizations to activate these spaces in creative ways (­Stevens, 2015; Stevens and Ambler, 2010). Most city beach managers in Germany want to provide a public amenity at no direct cost to users. In most cases, they have achieved this by drawing upon their experience and networks in the hospitality industry and within the constraints of commercial viability. The ­25-​­year history of city beaches shows the transfer of innovations back and forth between 52

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­community-​­led, artistically ­avant-​­garde groups and more commercially driven owners of city beaches (­Stevens, 2015). City beaches on the roofs of parking garages make good use of a neglected type of urban space that can be activated with public life. These beaches are usually centrally located, close to busy pedestrian shopping zones, to plentiful car parking and to the elevators that lead to them. Ramps, temporary staircases, safety barriers, fluttering banners and promotional websites indicate new ways that underused spaces can extend the urban public realm. However unlike other urban spaces, they are largely invisible to those not occupying them and are rarely accessible on foot. City beaches demonstrate how expanding and augmenting the public realm depends on creative transformations as well as ­trade-​­offs. The key ingredient is people thinking ­d ifferently – ​­like Lothar Müller, the creator of Stuttgart’s ­Skybeach – ​­people who look at underused urban spaces in a new way and uncover their hidden potential. At the same time, the vertical expansion of urban open space to parking garage rooftops and the rediscovery of a surface ­m aterial – ­​­­sand – ​­does require some compromises on accessibility.

Acknowledgments This research was supported by a senior research fellowship from the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation, Germany. Thanks for assistance go to Julia Lossau, Birgit Billinger and Patricia Aelbrecht, and to Djamila Vilcsko for the translation and transcription of interviews.

References Gassner, O. 2001. ‘­Die Gesichter von Nigihaven’. Online, available at: http://­­oliver-​­gassner. de/­presse/­ presse_nigihaven_gesichter.html [accessed 7 April 2012]. Gehl, J. 1987. Life between buildings: Using public space. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. Haydn, F., and Temel, R. (­eds). 2006. Temporary urban spaces: Concepts for the use of city spaces. Basel: Birkhäuser. Kulturamt Vaihingen = Kulturamt der Stadt Vaihingen an der Enz (­ed.) 2002. Nigihaven na der Zen. Vaihingen: Printmedien Karl Heinz Sprenger. Richert, W. 2005. ‘­Den Strand unterm Pflaster entdeckt, die Sterne aufs Parkdeck geholt… “­Nigihaven na der Zen” – ein ​­ Sommerprojekt mit offenem Ausgang’. In B. Mandel (­ed.), Kulturvermittlung zwischen kultureller Bildung und Kulturmarketing: Eine Profession mit Zukunft. Bielefeld: Transcript, p­p. ­239–​­243. Sachs, O. 2010. ­Stadtstrände – ​­empirische Annäherungen an postmoderne Landschaften. Online, available at: https://­w ww.geog.­u ni-​­heidelberg.de/­md/­chemgeo/­geog/­human/­stadtstraende_ergebnisse.pdf [accessed 24 March 2021]. Stadt Schwedt/­Oder. 2011. ‘­­Klettergarten-​­Einweihung mit Strandbar’. Online, available at: www. schwedt.eu/­sixcms/­detail.php/­bb3.c.266061.de?_lang=nirzrbkinbj&_nid= [accessed 16 April 2012]. Stevens, Q. 2015. Sandpit urbanism. In B. Knudsen, D. Christensen, and P. Blenker (­eds.), Enterprising initiatives in the experience economy: Transforming social worlds. New York: Routledge, p­p. ­60–​­80. Stevens, Q. 2011. ‘­Characterising Germany’s artificial “­city beaches”: Distribution, type and design.’ In P. Maginn (­ed.), Proceedings of the 3rd World Planning Schools Congress. Perth, Australia: University of Western Australia, p­p. ­1–​­18. Stevens, Q. 2009. Artificial waterfronts. Urban Design International 14(­1): ­3 –​­21. Stevens, Q., and Ambler, M. 2010. Europe’s city beaches as p­ ost-​­fordist placemaking. Journal of Urban Design 15(­4): ­515–​­537. Stuart, C. 2006. (­Park)­ing ­Day -​­September 21, 2006. Places 18(­3): ­76–​­77. Wark, M. 2011. The beach beneath the street: The everyday life and glorious times of the situationist international. London: Verso. Whyte, W. H. 1980. The social life of small urban spaces. Washington, DC: Conservation Foundation.

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4 Pedestrian Plazas A New Type of Neighborhood Space in New York City Hanife Vardi Topal

Introduction Parks, squares and plazas, memorials, markets, streets, and playgrounds have long contributed to the quality of urban public life, meeting a variety of needs. In addition to caring for creating and maintaining these traditional kinds of public space, city agencies create new types of such space to facilitate new needs and activities (­Carmona, 2010; Carr, Francis, Rivlin and Stone, 1992). Carr, Francis, Rivlin and Stone (­1992) make this point: “­new forms of public life require new spaces” (­­p. 343). In today’s congested cities, however, creating new public spaces of the traditional kind, such as parks and squares, is problematic because this requires an investment of capital, vacant land, and ongoing maintenance. Partly in response to the difficulties of creating and maintaining traditional public spaces, new types of urban public space began to emerge in the 1960s in the U.S. Privately owned public spaces (­bonus spaces or POPS) and pedestrian malls are two examples. Research has addressed how design features and management practices of bonus spaces can constrain their use, and so raises a concern about the privatization of public space (­K ayden, New York City Department of City Planningand The Municipal Art Society of New York, 2000; Miller, 2007; Németh, 2009; Smithsimon, 2008; Whyte, 1980). However, recent studies have shown that indoor bonus spaces in New York City also encourage use by different groups, including unhoused people, for different purposes (­Huang, 2014; Huang and Franck, 2018) and do not intimidate young men of color who visit them (­K ronen, Makris and Huang, 2020). Parklets and pedestrian plazas are the most recent types of public space that have emerged in urban neighborhoods in the U.S. over the last decade. Through p­ ublic-​­private partnerships, parklets and pedestrian plazas are created by turning a portion of the roadway over to pedestrian use, either temporarily or permanently. While both types started with the same grassroots efforts of tactical urbanism (­Lydon and Garcia, 2015), they differ. Parklets are typically built on wooden platforms temporarily covering ­t wo-​­ or ­three-­​­­metered-​­parking spaces. Pedestrian plazas, directly on the asphalt of areas of roadways, vary in size, shape and location, typically becoming permanent public spaces after a temporary testing phase. Pedestrian plazas are created with partnerships between city agencies and community groups and organizations. 54

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-5

Pedestrian Plazas

Three characteristics distinguish pedestrian plazas from traditional public spaces. First, pedestrian plazas are created by allocating previous road space to pedestrian use, with the provision, most commonly, of movable chairs and tables, planters and plants. Second, the creation and maintenance of a pedestrian plaza require a formal partnership between the city government and a sponsor partner which is most likely a local organization, with funding for maintenance and management coming from the sponsor partner. Third, pedestrian plazas are created through an incremental design process, featuring a temporary phase before turning them into permanent plazas. This chapter draws upon research conducted in two pedestrian p­ lazas – ​­Kensington Plaza and Avenue C Plaza in New York ­City – ​­to illustrate this new type of neighborhood space. To investigate how Kensington Plaza is used and by whom, eight sessions of observations were conducted on weekends and weekdays between 12 p.m. and 1 p.m., and between 5 p.m. and 6 p.m. during the summer months of 2018 and 2019. A survey was also conducted with 33 people in Kensington Plaza on three different days and times during the summer of 2019 to investigate user preferences. In contrast, four site observations of Avenue C Plaza conducted in the summer of 2019 showed that it was almost empty. Additional observations at different times confirmed that Avenue C Plaza was largely unoccupied on weekdays regardless of the time of the day, with an average of two people per hour. Due to this extremely low daily occupancy rate in Avenue C Plaza and after 11 people declined to participate in the research, observation sessions and user surveys regarding daily activities in the plaza were suspended. Yet, Avenue C Plaza was bustling with people during organized events and activities almost every weekend. So, in the summer of 2019, two members from the sponsor organization who had been involved in the creation and management of both plazas were interviewed. Additional interviews with nine participants and three organizers of the programmed events in Avenue C Plaza were conducted in 2019 to collect data regarding the programs in that plaza.

A New Type of Public Space The origins of pedestrian plazas can be traced to various public space movements, including ­do-­​­­it-​­yourself (­DIY) urbanism, guerilla urbanism, ­pop-​­up urbanism and tactical urbanism. A key event in the history of pedestrian plazas is the first Park(­ing) Day event held in 2005 in San Francisco which received international attention (­Lydon and Garcia, 2015). A design studio, Rebar Art and Design Studio, converted a single parking space on the street into a ­m ini-​­park with the placement of grass sod, a bench and a tree (­Birdsall, 2013). After national and international recognition and praise of this Park(­ing) Day event, the city government of San Francisco launched the Pavements to Parks Program, installing several pilot parklets across the city in 2009 (­Lydon and Garcia, 2015). While the city government in San Francisco was creating pilot parklets in 2009, the New York City Department of Transportation (­DOT) experimented with another type of innovative public space in Times Square in May 2009. In collaboration with local partners, New York City’s DOT closed parts of Broadway, between 42nd Street and 47th Street, to traffic and installed deck chairs to create a pedestrian plaza. After the success of this nearly yearlong experiment, the New York City Plaza Program was established and parts of Times Square became the first official, permanent pedestrian plaza in the Plaza Program (­Lydon and Garcia, 2015). During the first phase of the program, plazas were created exclusively in Manhattan, the most touristic and commercialized borough of the city. However, over the years, more than 40 plazas have been created in both residential and less commercial neighborhoods in 55

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Queens, Brooklyn, and the Bronx (­New York City Department of Transportation, 2020). As of 2019, there were such plazas in Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, and the Bronx. Typically, the New York City government uses funds from local government resources to create and manage city parks that are under the jurisdiction of the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation. In sharp contrast, for decades, NYC’s DOT has focused solely on transportation; their attention to pedestrians emerged only through the plaza program. Unlike parks that are larger and set apart from the surrounding context, pedestrian plazas are part of the street network, and so, part of the transportation system. With pedestrian plazas, the DOT has contributed, in significant ways, to pedestrianization in New York City. The NYC Plaza Program inspired other cities to create similar programs. The City of San Francisco launched a program called Pavement to Plazas a few months after the NYC Plaza Program was initiated. In the first five years of the program, eleven pedestrian plazas were created in different phases (­temporary and permanent) in that city. Other cities such as Los Angeles, Oakland, Philadelphia and Atlanta also created pilot or permanent programs. Often, these cities started with parklet programs before the implementation of pedestrian plaza programs. However, some other cities such as Boston, Detroit, Portland and Chicago initiated pedestrian plazas in their pilot programs. Transportation departments in these cities lead pedestrian plaza programs typically in collaboration with other city agencies. For instance, in New York City, Philadelphia and Los Angeles, pedestrian plaza programs have been operated by city transportation departments, while other city departments such as parks departments and cultural affairs departments have been brought into the process for specific duties. The leading role that city transportation departments are playing in turning ­automobile-​­oriented spaces into pedestrian spaces shows that many city transportation departments are willing to shift their ­auto-​­centric approach to a ­pedestrian-​­centric one and to ­community-​­based design practices. Pedestrian plazas can be seen in various locations: on a corner at an intersection, along a sidewalk, on a traffic island and in former roadways. As parts of sidewalks or roadways, pedestrian plazas are created in four configurations: reclaimed plazas, ­through-​­block plazas, intersection plazas, and ­sidewalk-​­extension plazas (­Global Designing Cities Initiative, 2016). Reclaimed plazas are typically located in residential streets, empty parking lots and under elevated structures. Many plazas in New York City, especially in Brooklyn and Queens, fall into these categories. T ­ hrough-​­block plazas are created either by closing off street traffic through one or more blocks or by reclaiming public space in s­ uper-​­blocks. Many examples of this configuration can be found in New York City, Los Angeles and San Francisco. Intersection plazas are developed through the redesign of intersections. This type is typically smaller in size than other configurations. ­Sidewalk-​­extension plazas require the widening of a sidewalk along the length of a block. There are some examples of this plaza configuration in New York City, especially in Manhattan, where the traffic flow is dense in commercial zones. A ­bottom-​­up, t­ wo-​­phase creation process is a distinctive characteristic of the NYC Plaza Program. The creation of pedestrian plazas often starts with a request from members of local communities or ­non-​­profit organizations. An application is submitted to the DOT with information regarding a suitable site in their neighborhood. The DOT evaluates the application, primarily considering the context of the site and the capacity of that community or organization to maintain the plaza and to conduct community outreach. Once a proposed plaza is approved, the organization that planned it becomes the sponsor partner. Before the creation of a temporary plaza, the sponsor partner and the DOT organize a couple of o ­ ne-​ ­d ay events on the plaza site to solicit community input and to study the traffic around it. 56

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Subsequently, a temporary plaza is created: that is, the site in question is closed to vehicular traffic and moveable chairs and tables, planters, and boulders are placed to encourage public use. Temporary plazas remain on the site for at least a year, as support is elicited from the community through public workshops and community meetings held by the sponsor organization. Temporary plazas are created with inexpensive design features and surface materials whereas permanent plazas feature better quality and more durable design features and infrastructural work such as new sidewalk paving and b­ uilt-​­in planters. During the temporary phase, the process of designing a permanent plaza begins. This includes public workshops, ­on-​­site analysis by the DOT and gaining community board approval. All of this is done to gain support from the community and approval from the local community planning board before any capital investments are made. The partnership between the DOT and local organizations is not limited to design responsibilities; it also includes the assignment of management and maintenance duties for the plaza. As with all public spaces, management and maintenance require substantial technical and financial resources. In the New York City Plaza Program, the DOT assumes design and construction responsibilities for all pedestrian plazas while the sponsor organizations are responsible for the management, maintenance and event programming in their plazas. Even though the collaboration is primarily between NYC DOT and the sponsor partner, other ­non-​­governmental and governmental organizations are sometimes involved as supporting partners. The New York City Department of Design and Construction and the Horticultural Society of New York City are the two supporting partners engaged in designing and operating most plazas. Other local parties that contribute to the process of creating each plaza include police precincts, community councils and elected officials. In New York City, by 2019, more than 25 pedestrian plazas had been created in densely built neighborhoods that lack sufficient public space in Brooklyn and Queens. Because there are few open public spaces in these neighborhoods, these pedestrian plazas have become popular neighborhood spaces for daily life and for programmed activities. Kensington Plaza and Avenue C Plaza in Brooklyn are two examples. The neighborhood where these two plazas are located is called Kensington, which is a highly populated area with a diverse immigrant population, including Bangladeshi, Mexican, Haitian, Turkish and Russian immigrants. ­Sixty-​­eight percent of the district consists of residential dwellings of one and two family houses, multifamily ­walk-​­ups and multifamily elevator buildings (­New York City Department of Planning, 2019). Only 5.57% is open space and recreational areas. This is a significantly lower proportion compared to the a­ verage for the city. Washington Cemetery is the largest green space in the district covering more than half of the designated area. Other open public spaces in the district are Gravesend Park, Heffernan Triangle, Dome Playground, Brizzi Playground, Albemarle Playground and Rappaport Playground. Albemarle Playground and Rappaport Playground are the only open public spaces that are within a ­ten-​­minute walk of both plazas.

Kensington Plaza: A Neighborhood Space for Daily Activities In 2010, NYC DOT built a curb extension from the sidewalk into the roadway where Church Street intersects with Beverly Road in Kensington, Brooklyn. With this extension, the existing sidewalk became wide enough to accommodate some seating. In 2012, a group of local community members applied for a plaza. In response, the DOT utilized the curb extension to create a temporary plaza called Kensington Plaza (­­Figure 4.1). The plaza is about 3,500 square feet in a 57

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­Figure 4.1 Kensington Plaza Site Plan

nearly triangular shape and is located at a busy intersection with several merchants, including a pharmacy, a coffee shop, a bar and a farmer’s market nearby. Its design features included a total of four benches (­t wo benches on each side of the sidewalk) and two boulders located in the center under a tree (­which have remained in the permanent plaza). In addition to two existing trees on the sidewalk, two more trees and a few small planters were added and remain there. In the permanent design phase, almost nothing was changed except for an additional bench. Several interviewees described their struggle to maintain Kensington Plaza and to make it permanent during the first year. To keep the plaza clean and ­well-​­maintained, a group of ten people from the community made a schedule for maintaining it and assigned themselves to do that on a daily basis during the first year it was established. In 2013, they established a formal ­non-​­profit organization called The Kensington Stewards. Members of The Kensington Stewards describe their organization as “­a group of Kensington, Brooklyn, neighbors who volunteer time, energy and creative ideas to introduce Kensington’s many communities to one another so that they may discover others’ traditions and cultures and gain an appreciation of them” (­The Kensington Stewards, n.d.). Situated at the corner of a busy sidewalk and a roadway, Kensington Plaza hosts constant pedestrian circulation and receives many daily users. People pass through it and may also use it for a brief rest. Therefore, recognizing Kensington Plaza as a pedestrian plaza is quite difficult, especially for those who do not already know about it. One reason is because its design includes standard sidewalk benches and plantings and does not feature cafe tables, chairs and umbrellas that are distinctive for many plazas of this kind. As a result, it looks like a regular portion of sidewalk that is equipped with some city benches. In addition, several metered parking spaces along the plaza obstruct most benches across the street. Study findings demonstrate that several design features of Kensington Plaza are significant factors in influencing occupants’ activities and postures. Site observations reveal that the benches are occupied mostly by one person at a time, rarely by two people and never by three people at the same time. The boulders are usually occupied by more than one person at a time during all times of the day. Fewer people use the benches than the boulders because the former are in the sun most of the day in the summer, while the latter are protected from the sun by 58

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­Figure 4.2 Everyday life at Kensington Plaza: (­a) people sitting on the benches; (­b) people gathering and chatting under the tree

a tree located at the center of the plaza (­­Figure 4.2). Some observations documented people bringing their own chairs to sit in the location that receives shade from an adjacent building. The absence of tables and chairs in Kensington Plaza limits certain activities such as eating and drinking. A coffee shop and some f­ ast-​­food restaurants adjacent to the plaza offer opportunities for people to purchase and then consume food and drink in the plaza. However, the frequency of eating and drinking in it was far less than other activities such as chatting and people watching. This situation is most likely due to the benches, which do not offer possibilities for comfortable eating or drinking experiences, especially when people are in groups. Because of the limited functionality of the benches and the lack of canopy in the plaza, people observed are mostly standing in front of adjacent buildings in the shady areas of the plaza. Some people sit in the shaded areas with chairs they bring with them. Because standing is not suitable for a ­long-​­term stay in the plaza, most people stay for less than 30 minutes. Survey results indicated that most users live within a 1­ 0-​­minute walk to the plaza and visit the plaza once a day, often staying less than 30 minutes. Some neighborhood residents mentioned that they had visited Kensington Plaza with friends and family members more often in the past. Their reason for decreasing their visits was related to safety concerns due to the increasing number of drunk men and unhoused individuals in the plaza. A ­long-​­term resident from the Kensington neighborhood said: I used to bring my kids here a few years back. They used to play on the rocks here. But I don’t bring them here now because these guys are hanging out there drunk. I don’t want my kids around them. It’s not safe. This was a nice place a few years ago. The homeless guy is harmless. He sometimes shouts at women passing through the sidewalk but still everyone knows he is harmless. But I don’t like these guys hanging out here drunk. Despite its limitations for supporting some daily activities, Kensington Plaza serves many people in the neighborhood as a place where they can meet and socialize. This socializing 59

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was documented through both site observations and user surveys. More than half of the people observed in Kensington Plaza were with one or more other people. A greater number of users in the plaza responded that they are more likely to socialize with neighbors than with friends or family members. Study findings from Kensington Plaza demonstrate that it is a place where people from the neighborhood meet with neighbors for a small chat, to take a brief rest while running errands or to watch other people. Considering Kensington’s densely built residential areas that are mostly without backyards or even balconies, Kensington Plaza serves as a valuable public space for people who live in the neighborhood.

Avenue C Plaza: A Neighborhood Space for Programmed Activities In 2015, The Kensington Stewards proposed another plaza to be created on a traffic triangle on McDonald Avenue. Until 2014, this site had been used for city government storage. Then it was used as a parking space during 2015. In the summer of 2016, a temporary plaza called Avenue C Plaza was built and remained for about a year. The temporary design included several planters, boulders, café tables and chairs and umbrellas on this 5,600 square foot ­t riangle-​­shaped area. To prepare for constructing a permanent plaza, The Kensington Stewards held a design competition in 2016. The art committee from The Kensington Stewards selected a design that included a pond and a painted concrete ground surface. Yet, the DOT asked for the elimination of the pond and the painted concrete surface. The interviewees reported that because the designer of that design project refused to make these requested changes, city officials presented several alternatives to The Kensington Stewards to choose from. One of the interviewees said that, “­they [the Department of Transportation] just asked where we want to have rocks, planters and benches.” However, both interviewees agreed that they are fine with the final design because it suits the community need for gatherings and public events. They also think that the painted concrete and the pond would have required substantial maintenance and funding, which would have been challenging to their organization. In 2017, NYC DDC constructed the permanent plaza with standard plaza elements such as movable chairs, tables and umbrellas. As completed, Avenue C Plaza has t­wenty-​­three ­large-​­sized planters, eighteen chairs, six tables, six boulders and three umbrellas. In addition, a ­brand-​­new concrete floor surface was made for the plaza (­­Figure 4.3). Since Avenue C Plaza was designed without trees and does not receive the shade of adjacent buildings, the plaza is mostly in the sun during the daytime in the summer. Three umbrellas that are paired with three sets of tables and chairs offer some protection but are limited in their usefulness due to the angle of the sun in the early evenings. Consequently, Avenue C Plaza was without any occupants during most of the observation sessions in the summer of 2019. In six different observation sessions in Avenue C Plaza, only 16 people were counted and most of them stayed only briefly. Despite its extremely low occupancy for daily activities, Avenue C Plaza is recognized for serving the community in another way: that is for programmed activities and events year round, most frequently between April and November. From May 2018 to October 2019, there were more than 35 programmed events in Avenue C Plaza. Event types included a wide range of activities for different racial and ethnic groups in the community. During 16 months in 2018 and 2019, activities and events included painting, ­k ite-​­making, art workshops, recurring yoga and Pilates classes, end of school year celebrations and immigrant culture celebrations. 60

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­Figure 4.3 Avenue C Plaza Site Plan

Due to a lack of financial and technical resources, programmed activities are infrequently organized in most pedestrian plazas in New York City. Interviews with two members of The Kensington Stewards revealed that their success in programming is the result of their partnership with several ­non-​­profit arts and culture organizations. The Kensington Stewards managed to build partnerships with organizations such as Arts and Democracy, ArtBuilt, the Singing Winds and Casa Cultural. Instead of working on programming events individually, The Kensington Stewards and these organizations established the Kensington Cultural Council to coordinate programming as well as financial and technical resources that are needed for programming. To program events in Avenue C Plaza, arts and culture organizations share their financial and technical resources that are so important for conducting frequent and successful programming for a sponsor partner like The Kensington Stewards. One organization involved in many events in Avenue C Plaza is Arts and Democracy, a n ­ on-​­profit organization that supports cultural events and art organizations by focusing on immigration reform, 61

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environmental justice, equitable development, participatory democracy and human rights. Considering the high immigrant population of Kensington, the neighborhood is an attractive location for Arts and Democracy. An event organizer from Arts and Democracy described their incentive to build a partnership with The Kensington Stewards: We approached The (­Kensington) Stewards because they’re a volunteer group. They don’t have the funding necessary to do programming on the plaza. But we do have funding. And so we and ArtBuilt Mobile Studio are the ones who hold the insurance every June there, the insurance and the licensing, and everything else to do programming on the plaza. We started programming there because there weren’t any other bodies really in the community that had the funding and the time to be able to curate any media. In Avenue C Plaza, Arts and Democracy specifically targets women and youth to provide a space to call their own and to learn skills through programmed activities. Another organization that is involved in programming events in Avenue C Plaza is ArtBuilt, a n ­ on-​­profit organization providing art and cultural services to artists, arts organizations and the public. Every year, a mobile ArtBuilt studio is placed in Avenue C Plaza during June, providing a small indoor space for public events and workshops. Focusing on women and youth, these events include painting classes, planting workshops, ethnic music, dance events (­annual immigrant heritage concerts), craft workshops (­sculpting and ­k ite-​ ­m aking) and reading and writing workshops. An interviewee from ArtBuilt studio reported: Our focus is on helping neighbors learn how to organize programs and work with public spaces. The mobile studio becomes more of an institution for people. Then, the question becomes what goes into it. So then, we presented that to the neighbors, and we started brainstorming what could go in it. It was the first year of the ArtBuilt studio. We are very lucky because there is a lot of support from local artists. So, we were able to find some very good people to present every week of the month. Both Art and Democracy and ArtBuilt work with The Kensington Stewards because these organizations recognize the needs of the community for arts and cultural activities. The interviewee from Arts and Democracy indicated that people in the neighborhood, particularly immigrant families with limited resources, need access to events and activities that involve arts and culture. Therefore, many events are exclusively intended for the immigrant ­populations – ​­adults and children. Organizers create activities such as Mexican arts and crafts workshops, Bangladeshi poetry and literature events, and community iftar (­Muslim meal that is eaten every day after sunset during Ramadan). In Avenue C Plaza, several events are organized specifically for children, including painting, games, arts and crafts workshops and celebrations for the beginning and end of the school year. Observations of a ­k ite-​­making workshop in June 2019 showed that about 35 people, mostly children, attended the event to make kites with the materials that were provided by The Kensington Stewards, the Singing Winds and ArtBuilt. Three ­large-​­sized canopy tents and extra tables and chairs were provided to protect people from the overwhelming heat of the sun in ­m id-​­June. Despite noise coming from circulating traffic just next to the plaza and the heat, children seemed to enjoy making and flying their kites (­­Figure 4.4). Two organizers from ArtBuilt indicated that people, particularly children, look forward to the events of the ArtBuilt mobile studio every June. Because Avenue C Plaza is a traffic island in the middle of t­wo-​­way circulating traffic, it may not be the best location to hold 62

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­Figure 4.4 Events at Avenue C Plaza: (­a) kids and their parents making kites; (­b) kids and their parents flying their kites

events for children. The organizers reported that they had some concerns about safety in the first years of the event programming. However, the organizers also indicated that parents gradually felt more comfortable as no problems occurred during these events. The location of the plaza, in the middle of the roadway in a highly visible location that is near many people’s homes, is also comforting for many parents because they do not need to be physically present in the plaza and they can easily watch their children from the windows of their houses. In interviews, event organizers from both Art and Democracy and ArtBuilt mentioned how valuable these events are for children, given their limited access to playgrounds and art, or activity centers. One of these organizers said that children in the community engaged with their events so well that they have assumed responsibility for organizing events for children as their main responsibility. The organizer said: I remember one year we were doing a workshop and it was raining so hard and a girl who was maybe eight or nine years old came on her scooter in the rain because she was looking forward to doing a workshop. And a bunch of other kids came in, soaking wet. They didn’t care. They were just like hungry to do more. And I think it was a really good example of why arts and culture is needed and why public space is so important. There is a lack of activity for our children in the neighborhood. There is a lack of accessibility whether it’s cost barriers or just lack of information. I think the community is gathering together. That’s so important. But it also shows just how important it is to have a public space accessible for people. Programmed activities in Avenue C Plaza are not limited to immigrant adults and children. Some activities such as yoga and Pilates classes, stargazing nights, movie nights and planting workshops that are recurring appeal to everyone in the community. The Kensington Stewards and its programming partners are involved in organizing these activities; they also work with local professionals to conduct them. For example, a local yoga instructor teaches yoga 63

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classes every week during August for free. Amateur Astronomers Association brings its technical equipment for stargazing. Despite being almost unoccupied with daytime activities due to its poor physical qualities, such as being located right next to the right of way and lacking design features to provide comfort, Avenue C Plaza is successful as a neighborhood space that hosts programmed activities and events, which are largely the result of the work of The Kensington Stewards and their programming partners. Their collaborations demonstrate that such collaborations are essential for successful programming in pedestrian plazas.

Implications Being part of the street network is possibly the most significant distinguishing feature of pedestrian plazas. Because of the flow of pedestrians alongside roadways, most users spontaneously visit pedestrian plazas that are located on or near a sidewalk while going from one destination to another. Avenue C Plaza is a good example of how the daily occupancy rate decreases when there is little daily pedestrian circulation or unfavorable environmental conditions. Kensington Plaza, despite its limited design features (­only four benches and two boulders for sitting), is occupied by more people than Avenue C Plaza because it is located on part of a busy sidewalk. It is on the daily route of many people who stop and greet friends, have a quick chat with them or just take a brief rest while running errands in the neighborhood. Kensington Plaza also possesses more shady areas due to adjacent buildings and some grown trees. On the other hand, Avenue C Plaza is on a traffic island that is separated from the sidewalk on both sides of the roadway. Therefore, for many people, visiting Avenue C Plaza during their daily routine is not as convenient as visiting Kensington Plaza. Without any ­f ull-​­grown trees or shade from adjacent buildings, Avenue C Plaza also has little shade. Because of the extreme heat during summer days, Avenue C Plaza does not offer welcoming conditions for staying. However, it does present favorable conditions for programming when necessary arrangements are made such as providing canopy tents. Because Avenue C Plaza is separated from adjacent sidewalks and is larger than Kensington Plaza, programmed activities can take place without interrupting pedestrian circulation. Even though Avenue C Plaza is separated from adjacent sidewalks physically, it is still a part of the street network visually, making the plaza and programmed activities in the plaza highly visible from adjacent sidewalks and residential buildings. Another distinctive feature of pedestrian plazas is the role of partnerships in their management and maintenance. The Kensington Stewards demonstrates the importance of building partnerships with other n ­ on-​­profit organizations. Their collaboration with other arts and culture organizations has given The Kensington Stewards opportunities to create a greater number of programming in Avenue C Plaza than they could do alone. Through these collaborations, arts and culture organizations share financial (­through funding) and technical (­through knowledge) responsibilities of programming. Sponsoring two pedestrian plazas is challenging for an organization that comprises a few volunteer neighbors without stable financial resources, especially considering most plaza sponsors are in business improvement districts with abundant financial resources, and some of them are struggling to manage and maintain their plaza. One solution to The Kensington Stewards’ financial challenge is to secure stable funding from the Open Space Institute (­OSI). However, interviewees from the organization indicated that they still had some financial and technical difficulties in the maintenance and programming of their plazas. To solve these

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difficulties, The Kensington Stewards managed to build successful partnerships with other ­non-​­profit organizations.

References Birdsall, M. (­2013). Parklets: Providing Space for People to Park... Themselves. Institute of Transportation Engineers. ITE Journal, 83(­5), 36. Carmona, M. (­2010). Contemporary Public Space: Critique and Classification, Part One: Critique. Journal of Urban Design, 15(­1), ­123–​­148. doi:10.1080/­13574800903435651. Carr, S., Francis, M., Rivlin, L. G., & Stone, A. M. (­1992). Public Space. New York: Cambridge University Press. Global Designing Cities Initiative. (­2016). Global Street Design Guide Washington, DC: Island Press. Huang, T.-​­S. (­2014). Not ‘­Fortress Los Angeles’: Design, and Management of Privately Owned Public Spaces in New York City. In M. Schuilenburg, R. V. Steden, & B. O. Breuil (­Eds.), Positive Criminology: Reflections on Care, Belonging and Security (­p­­p. ­117–​­127). The Hague, The Netherlands: Eleven International Publishing. Huang, T. S., & Franck, K. A. (­2018). Let’s Meet at Citicorp: Can Privately Owned Public Spaces be Inclusive? Journal of Urban Design, 23(­4), ­499–​­517. Kayden, J. S., New York City Department of City Planning, and The Municipal Art Society of New York. (­2000). Privately Owned Public Space: The New York City Experience. New York: John Wiley & Sons. Kronen, C., Makris, M. V., & Huang, T.-​­S. (­2020). Young Men of Color in ­Privately-​­Owned Public Spaces: Unexpected Findings. Journal of Cultural Geography, 37(­3), ­262–​­277. Lydon, M., & Garcia, A. (­2015). Tactical Urbanism: ­Short-​­term Action for ­L ong-​­term Change. Washington, DC: Island Press. Miller, K. F. (­2007). Designs on the Public: The Private Lives of New York’s Public Spaces. Minneapolis, USA: University of Minnesota Press. New York City Department of Planning. (­2019). Community District Profiles: Brooklyn 12. Retrieved from https://­communityprofiles.planning.nyc.gov/­brooklyn/­12 New York City Department of Transportation. (­2020). NYC Plaza Program Application Guidelines. New York City. Retrieved from https://­w ww1.nyc.gov/­html/­dot/­downloads/­pdf/­­nyc-­​­­plaza-­​­­program-­​ ­­g uidelines-​­2020.pdf Németh, J. (­2009). Defining a Public: The Management of Privately Owned Public Space. Urban Studies, 46(­11), ­2463–​­2490. doi:10.1177/­0 042098009342903 Smithsimon, G. (­2008). Dispersing the Crowd: Bonus Plazas and the Creation of Public Space. Urban Affairs Review, 43(­3), ­325–​­351. The Kensington Stewards. (­n.d.). About The Kensington Stewards. Retrieved from https://­w ww.facebook.com/­g roups/­318994119465752 Whyte, W. H. (­1980). The Social Life of Small Urban Spaces. New York: Project for Public Spaces.

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Part II

Recreation

5 New Opportunities for ­Women’s Recreation in ­Public Space in ­Tripoli, Libya Fathia Elmenghawi

Introduction Women’s use of public space in the West and the Middle East has been an important subject of research since the 1970s, focusing on a range of topics from accessibility and safety to attitudes toward different types of public space (­Churchman & Altman, 1994). Scholars have scrutinized women’s use and perceptions of public space in diverse disciplines: history, sociology, anthropology, and geography (­Wekerle et al., 1980; Franck & Paxon, 1989; Ryan, 1990; Ardener, 1993; Day, 2000; Deutsch, 2000; Sewell, 2000; Floyd, 2010). Drawing from these and other studies including this author’s research for her dissertation (­Elmenghawi, 2016), this chapter describes women’s use of public space in Tripoli, Libya. Like any ancient, continuously inhabited city, Tripoli has evolved over time. Changes in the city’s urban fabric followed political, economic, and social vicissitudes. The transformations of Tripoli’s urban landscape have influenced its residents. In the latest dramatic transformation in the late 1990s in Tripoli’s center, where Martyr Square is located, the area became a hub for recreational and commercial activities. During that period, a new park and a sea promenade next to it were opened. These urban ­spaces – ​­Martyrs Square, Grand Park, and the C ­ orniche – experienced ​­ an immense increase in use (­­Figure 5.1). Women are among the actors who have contributed to the meaning and use of these spaces. This chapter investigates how transformations of the city’s urban fabric have influenced women’s attitudes toward public space and their use of particular types of public space. The objective is not only to examine the presence of women, their behavior, ways of dressing, and their activities in these spaces but also women’s current needs and preferences for certain spatial elements. To address changes in urban design and women’s use of public space in Tripoli’s Center, several guiding research questions were addressed. How has Tripoli’s Center been transformed? How has the design of Martyrs Square and the seafront promenade in Tripoli’s Center changed from the 1830s to the 2010s? How has women’s use of public space in Tripoli changed since the 1850s? And what were women’s activities and behavior in Martyrs Square, the Grand Park, and the Corniche in Tripoli’s Center from summer 2013 to spring 2014? Both historical and qualitative methods were employed to pursue this study. Archival sources included historical documents and maps, court records, rare books and publications, DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-7

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­Figure 5.1 Location of Martyrs Square, Grand Park and the Corniche (­Sea Promenade) Source: Google Maps.

and periodicals consulted in different archives in Tripoli. To explore the transformation that occurred in the city fabric, the author conducted ten ­semi-​­structured interviews with architects and planners in 2013. In the same year, in the three outdoor public spaces, she conducted 52 surveys and 42 ­semi-​­structured interviews with women who were 18 years or older, and six ­semi-​­structured interviews with senior Libyan women aged 6­ 5–​­85 to explore changes in women’s use of city spaces. Also, eight women were interviewed in the a­ l-​­Forosya Club located at the eastern border of the city center. To explore what women actually do in public space, observations were systematically conducted at different times of the day, during weekdays and on weekends, during the summer and fall of 2013. Additional observations by one research assistant continued until spring 2014.

Tripoli’s Center: Past and Present City spaces are the physical manifestation of political, economic, and ­socio-​­cultural conditions in that city. Throughout its long history as one of the important port cities on the Mediterranean, Tripoli has been ruled by Romans, Vandals, Spaniards, Arabs, Ottomans, Italians, and finally Libyans. And, so, as an ancient, continuously inhabited capital city, Tripoli has undergone tumultuous cultural and architectural changes. The most significant alteration in the city’s public spaces was the creation and then the expansion of what is now known as Martyrs Square and the area around it. Each of the mentioned historical periods, particularly from the m ­ id-​­nineteenth century, has left its imprint on the square and its surrounding buildings. The area where the square is now located was initially created as a commercial space in the ­m id-​­nineteenth century during the Second Ottoman Rule from 1835 to 1911 (­De 70

New Opportunities for Women’s Recreation

­Figure 5.2 Piazza Castello as a buffer zone created by the Italians Source: Archival collections from the Engineering Office, the Red Castle, Tripoli.

Mathuisieulx, 1903). This marketplace became the starting point of the radial pattern of the new city outside the city walls. The city expanded along the main arteries, particularly during the Italian colonization of the city when new European quarters were built in this part of the city. The Italians treated this space as a buffer and transitional zone between the old and the new (­­Figure 5.2). This buffer was later translated into a rectangular open space named Piazza Castello. Since then, it was developed into “­a central focus of architectural and archeological activity designed to attract public life” (­von Henneberg, 1994, 139). Piazza Castello became the center of a wide spectrum of activities carried out by the colonizers ranging from political to religious. These activities gave the piazza a central role in the city’s fabric. After the Independence of Libya in December 1951, Tripoli continued its role as the capital of the country and its political, economic, and cultural hub. Martyrs Square continued its role as an apparatus for displaying national identity. Between 1966 and 1968, Whiting Associates International and Henningson, Durham  & Richardson prepared Tripoli’s Comprehensive Master Plan. A new express road and a number of car parking spaces would be erected along the waterfront on sea infill, facilitating transport of goods from the port to cities located east of Tripoli. The suggested area of sea reclamation was on average 50 meters in width along a segment of the seafront approximately 1,100 meters long. This expanded area and the new road were completed in the late 1970s. However, this work did not follow what the 1969 master plan had recommended. The amount of land reclamation was increased to more than triple the proposed amount. In addition, the completed 71

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road was more than double the proposed width. This huge alteration in the seafront allowed for introducing new urban spaces for recreational activities. First, a wide promenade, the Corniche, was proposed, designed, and implemented during the 1980s. According to the interview with Architect Naima ­El-​­Sghir who worked on the project, the main design goal was to provide wide green areas to function as a breathing space for the city and a relaxing place for its residents (­N. E ­ l-​­Sghir, personal communication, October 11, 2013). In addition, this proposal included a number of children’s play areas, h ­ exagonal-​­shaped snack shops that are paired with tables and chairs in shaded areas, and space for athletic activities along the promenade. Site observations revealed that many men use the sports equipment along the promenade. Rarely do women utilize them and no woman was observed playing in the basketball field. This finding confirms the initial design concerns Architect ­El-​­Sghir described: Mostly women go to the recreational spaces with their children or with their families. Thus in the design I suggested to include more sitting areas around children’s playgrounds. Unfortunately, during the implementation of the Corniche, they did not take this suggestion into account. (­N. ­El-​­Sghir, personal communication, October 11, 2013) However, women do frequent the Corniche and not necessarily with children. Architect ­ l-​­Sghir expressed her astonishment when she saw women extensively using the Corniche E to spend leisure time. She said, “­Currently, many women use this public space. It’s amazing when [you] compare this with the situation 20 years ago, when the Corniche was first ­ l-​­Sghir, opened. The number of women seen in this space then was far less than now” (­N. E personal communication, October 11, 2013). In the 2000s, Grand Park was built between the Express Road and the Old Promenade. Similar to the Corniche, this park offered city residents in general, and women in particular, a new venue for recreation and enjoyment. Grand Park was one of the projects of the City Beautification Committee (­C BC) in Tripoli’s Center. According to the interview with Architect Nadia Rifaat, head of the CBC during the implementation of the park, the 2000 Master Plan proposed to leave the site as open green space to use for recreational ­f acilities (­N. Rifaat, personal communication, September 21, 2013). After its official opening in 2004, Grand Park became a hub for Tripoli’s center city residents and people from other cities. Many women started frequenting the park since then, as Architect Rifaat noted. In 2006, the ­A l-​­Forosya Club, a former ­horse-​­racing track, was renovated. The renovation included the provision of green areas, children’s playgrounds, benches and exercise equipment in the central area, and a jogging path around the central area, side by side with the ­horse-​­racing track. Since its reopening, the club has become popular with women who use it for physical exercise and leisure activities.

Women’s Activities in Public Space: A Historical View During the Ottoman Rule in Tripoli, domestic space was primarily women’s space. Both Arab Muslim and Ottoman women were not visible in outdoor public spaces, except when going from one indoor space to another, albeit veiled. Jewish women, who appeared unveiled in public, were similar to Muslim women in their confinement to private domestic space controlled by patriarchal rules (­Simon, 1992). In some instances, women had to 72

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utilize public space albeit with restrictions such as the necessity for male accompaniment and following a dress code. Certain types of public spaces were accessible to women who were required to maintain proper social conduct while using and moving to and from these spaces. Examples of these spaces were the public baths (­hammam) and the shrines of saints (­murabit). These life patterns of Muslim women in Tripoli continued even when the Ottomans left the city after the Italian invasion. In fact, women were subject to more seclusion in domestic space in order to be protected from the colonizers’ gaze. Indigenous people, particularly in Muslim societies, protected their social structure from the threat of the colonizer’s intrusion by increasing restrictions on women’s movement in public space (­Çelik & ­Clancy-​ ­Smith, 2009). Even when these women had to use the city streets to move between houses, they were completely covered. Todd (­1912) reveals her astonishment when she saw women who were “­completely shrouded except one bright black eye” (­50). The covering of Muslim women in the city streets during Italian colonialism was not only because of the society’s norms regarding women’s attire but also was a way of protecting them from the colonizer’s gaze. In the 1950s after Independence, most women’s activities were still centered in domestic space. Toward the end of this decade, a gradual shift in women’s presence in public space occurred, followed by a dramatic change in their use of public space and the emergence of some new activities in the 1960s. Women’s presence in public space, indoors and outdoors, continued to increase in the decades during Gaddafi’s regime (­­1969–​­2011).

Norms Women’s increased presence in Tripoli’s Center did not stop them from adhering to certain ­socio-​­cultural norms regarding their appearance in public space. Many, if not all, women had to be accompanied by a male escort and had to follow specific dress codes. In order to gain a margin of freedom to spend a little time in public or to navigate city spaces, many women had, and still have, to follow these norms. Beginning in the late 1950s, some women challenged these norms; some chose to go to public spaces unescorted and a few others decided to appear in public without the hijab, the Islamic headscarf. Religious and social factors have shaped the norm about the necessity of male escorts in the Libyan Muslim community. Muslims who support this norm depend upon a Quranic verse from Surat a­ l-​­Nisaa (­Chapter of Women) that says: “­Men are the protectors and maintainers of women, because Allah has given the one more strength than the other, and because they support them from their means.” Many interpret this verse to mean that men are economically responsible for women, not that men are physically or mentally superior to women (­E ngineer, 2004). However, other interpretations are more extreme and follow the latter line of thinking, encouraging male domination and supremacy over women and allowing men to forbid women to leave the house without permission and only with mahram (­a family male member with whom marriage would be considered haram (­i llegal). The social emphasis placed on this norm is a result of the patriarchal nature of Arab ­Muslim societies. Male dominance in these societies gives men full authority over women who consider guarding them their responsibility. Many men are strict about the chaperoning of women for religious reasons. Even more men are stricter because of their cultural beliefs, especially those related to the importance of a family’s honor and reputation (­Mernissi, 1992, 1994; Moghissi, 2005). 73

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Ways of Dressing From the 1950s through the 2010s, Libyan women’s ways of dressing underwent three significant changes: from being totally covered, to appearing in ­European-​­style clothes, and to wearing the hijab. Prior to the 1950s, many Libyan men required their wives, daughters, and sisters to wear a farashyya (­a long, white attire that covers the whole body leaving only one eye uncovered) when they went out in public, a tradition in Tripoli and other urban areas, but not in Libyan villages. Society linked the family’s virtue to the decency of their women and women’s adherence to social norms and values, including wearing the farashyya in public. Beginning in the m ­ id-​­1950s until the 2000s, Libyan women modified their attire several times, stimulated by the increased education of women, modernity, and Western culture. In the 1950s, some women in Tripoli began to appear in city streets without a farashyya and, in the 1960s, the number of unveiled women increased as many girls attended school and some women joined the workforce (­­Clancy-​­Smith & Smith, 2014). First, they began to wear the biesha (­a transparent black headscarf and face cover) and a kaboot (­a coat). Then, many of them abandoned the face covering altogether and wore only a loose headscarf with the coat. Mrs. Wahiba Elamir, one of the interviewees in this study, said that at the beginning of the 1970s, she began to go out in public in Tripoli without a face covering but with a coat and headscarf (­W. Elamir, personal communication, October 3, 2013). After that, women started to appear in dresses, not very long and sometimes with short sleeves, with a loose headscarf leaving some of their hair uncovered. Many factors led to these changes in attire, directly and indirectly. The increased level of education of both women and men was one of the direct influences. All interviewees reported that the increase in women’s level of education contrib­ bdul-​­Kafi’s (­2013) assertion that educated women, uted to their change in attire, supporting A who were part of the waves of social change, introduced changes in the way of dressing. During the 1970s and the 1980s, women continued to appear unveiled and in Western style clothing as a result of social, political, and economic factors. The major social changes that occurred after Independence on December 24, 1951 not only influenced women’s status and their lifestyle but also affected the way they appeared in public. Nonetheless, beginning in the late 1980s, out of diverse convictions, some women began to wear the hijab once again. The number of women who readopted the Islamic attire increased so much that some questioned this change. Women returned to the hijab for religious, social, and economic reasons. For some women, it was a response to the emerging religious movements that placed women’s veiling at the core of reviving Muslim identity, which had been undermined by westernization (­A mer, 2014). Because of an emerging religious awareness that swept most Middle Eastern countries toward the end of the twentieth century, people reconsidered the hijab as proper Muslim attire for women (­Göle, 1996). For others, adopting the hijab was a way to preserve society’s core cultural traditions and values, particularly those related to women’s modest appearance in public. Many redefined women covering themselves as a social rather than a religious practice. Women’s hijab became again, for many, a sign of obedience to societal norms. Paradoxically, in the early 2000s, many young women regarded the hijab as fashionable so that fashion became another reason for the increase in the number of veiled girls and women in Tripoli (­­Figure 5.3).

Venturing Out Beginning in the m ­ id-​­twentieth century, and particularly after Independence, Libyan society’s constraints on women’s presence in public space changed slightly. This change resulted partly from the return of educated Libyan women, like Mrs. Rabab Adham, from exile after the end 74

New Opportunities for Women’s Recreation

­Figure 5.3 Contemporary Libyan women wearing the hijab

of Italian colonization. Having been raised and educated in societies where women had more freedom to go to school and to participate in social life outside the home, these women had the courage not to follow some of the traditional customs related to women’s use of public space in their countries of origin. They were supported by their families who were also influenced by the liberal way of life they had experienced while living in exile. However, families did try to keep other Libyan customs related to daily life in order to keep connections with their roots. Education and employment gave some Libyan women the confidence to break some rules regarding women’s presence in public space. For example, some Libyan women adopted different opinions regarding the necessity of a male escort in public space. This change in women’s attitudes mostly arose from social background and level of education. According to Mrs. Adham: Male escort was not essential! I remember I used to go out quite often to public space, either alone or with my family. I used to go to my friend’s house alone. I worked in Tripoli before I went to college in Beirut, Lebanon, and after I got married, I would walk from my house in Mizran ­Street – ​­located in the Arab quarter in Tripoli’s ­center – to ​­ my work in Tripoli’s Girls School, located less than a mile from my house. I believe it was still uncommon for a Libyan woman or girl to go out alone at that time. (­R. Adham, personal communication, October 15, 2013) Unlike Mrs. Adham, whose family’s pattern of life differed from that of mainstream Libyan families in Tripoli in the m ­ id-​­1950s, Mrs. Ben Ltif accepted the importance of male 75

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accompaniment in public space. She said, “­Men’s presence was necessary if not obligatory!” In addition, she added, “…wherever I was, my husband was too,” stressing that she was always accompanied by her husband whenever she was in public (­M. Ben Ltif, personal communication, October 21, 2013). Thanks to the female returnees’ and other educated women’s devotion to Libyan women’s rights, the increase in women’s education through government policies and programs of women’s organizations increased the presence of women in the city. The increased visibility of these women in city streets encouraged many others to go out of the home to seek education, employment, or just to go shopping. Yet, that was not easily accepted by the majority of society. Most families continued to impose restrictions on their daughters. Many girls managed to maneuver around these restrictions especially those who had a male relative’s support.

Women’s Activities in Public Space in 2013 and 2014 From the end of the twentieth century onward, women in Tripoli’s Center pursued a variety of activities in outdoor public spaces. Some were traditional and others were new. They included strolling, athletic activities, and meeting female friends. A new activity might be an extension of a traditional one, or a traditional activity was pursued in a new manner, being unconventional and resistant to society’s traditional norms. One example of the former is a woman meeting another woman or several ­women – ​­friends or ­relatives – ​­in outdoor public space. This activity is partly a traditional one (­spending leisure time in public space) but also new since an unescorted group of women is a new trend in women’s ways of spending free time in outdoor public spaces. Women’s presence in Tripoli’s outdoor public spaces has increased. One interviewee in Grand Park reported that she had noticed an increase in women’s use of outdoor public spaces the introduction of new recreational spaces in T since the late 1­ 990s – after ​­ ­ ripoli – ​­as she and her family frequently came to the park and found it crowded with people. Many of them are women, like her, who seem to enjoy spending time in the park. However, the frequency of women’s use of public space is still fairly low. ­Twenty-​­one out of 42 respondents reported that they go to these spaces only a few times a month. While none of them goes to such spaces every day, 38% stated that they frequent these spaces a few times a week. Interestingly, 12% of the participants reported that they were in these spaces for the first time (­­Table 5.1).

Most Frequent Activities According to site observations, women pursue certain activities more frequently than other ones. ­Table  5.2 shows that the more frequent activities are often conventional except for “­woman meeting with another woman.” The most frequently observed activity was sitting (­29%). That includes picnicking, eating, and resting after shopping. Because of the presence of stone benches and café tables and chairs in Grand Park, sitting was frequently observed there. Conversely, the lack of benches or any formal seating in Martyrs Square resulted in a low frequency of sitting there. A number of interviewees, therefore, wished that the square did provide seating. Unescorted ­women – either ​­ alone, with another woman, or in a group of w ­ omen – were ​­ also observed sitting in the three sites. Out of 76 women unescorted by men who were observed sitting, 54 of them (­70%) were in Grand Park, 18 (­30%) along the Corniche, and only four in 76

New Opportunities for Women’s Recreation ­Table 5.1  F requency of Women’s Use of Outdoor Public Space Location

Frequency

Martyrs Square No.   %

The Grand Park No.   %

Corniche No.   %

Total No.   %

Everyday A few times a week A few times a month Other Total

0 0 (­6) (­1) (­7 )

0 (­14) (­6)­ (­3) (­23)

0 (­2) (­9) (­1) (­12)

0 (­16) (­21) (­5) (­42)

86% 14% 100%

61% 26% 13% 100%

17% 75% 8% 100%

38% 50% 12% 100%

Source: Responses to Question 3 in survey, “­How often do you come to this space?” (­Elmenghawi, 2016).

­Table 5.2  Women’s Activities in Three Outdoor Public Spaces Location Grand Park No.    (%)

Corniche No.  (%)

Total No.     (%)

Most Frequent Activities

Martyrs Square No.     (%)

Sitting (­including eating) Strolling Watching children Going elsewhere Coming from Shopping meeting with another woman

13 25 8 33 28

(­7%) (­13%) (­4%) (­17%) (­15%)

156 78 51 35 24

(­36%) (­18%) (­12%) (­8%) (­6%)

68 52 31 0 0

(­34%) (­26%) (­16%) –​­ –​­

237 155 90 68 52

7

(­3.5%)

32

(­7.5%)

7

(­3%)

46

(­6%)

Less Frequent Activities

Activity

Dating Taking Photos Attending an event Watching people or Scenery Watching Pigeons Jugging and sport activities Reading Total

4 9 37

(­2%) (­5%) (­19%)

21 26 0

(­5%) (­6%) –​­

15 4 0

(­8%) (­2%) –​­

40 39 37

(­5%) (­5%) (­5%)

7

(­3.5%)

6

(­1%)

10

(­5%)

23

(­2 %)

22

(­11%)

0

–​­

–​­

22

(­2 %)

–​­

2

(­0.75%)

(­5%)

12

(­1.5%)

0 0 189

1 –​­ (­100%) 428

0 10

(­0.25%) 2 (­100%) 199

(­1%) 3 (­100%) 816

(­2 9%) (­19%) (­11%) (­8%) (­6%)

(­0.5%) (­100%)

Source: Site observations (­Elmenghawi, 2016).

Martyrs Square. The latter were either sitting or leaning against the flower boxes placed around the square as barriers to separate the square from the surrounding roads (­­Figure 5.4a). Also, in two visits to the square, women, accompanied by men, were observed sitting on the flower boxes. Strolling is the second most frequent activity. Among all the women observed who were strolling, 23% were unescorted by m ­ en  – strolling ​­ either with other women or with children. Although strolling is one of the traditional activities in outdoor public spaces, this activity was not prevalent in Tripoli, especially among women, before Independence. Even when women began to pursue this activity beginning in 1970 during Gaddafi’s regime, it was socially unacceptable for them to stroll alone. And their presence 77

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­Figure 5.4 Women’s activities in public space (­1): (­a) women leaning against the flower boxes in Martyrs Square; (­b) a woman crosses the Grand Park to the transportation stops at the Express Road; (­c) dating couples sitting on the benches under low trees in the Grand Park; and (­d) a woman and her child posing for a photo in Martyrs Square

in public space had to have a legitimate reason, such as going shopping or watching children, both of which are universally regarded as traditionally acceptable reasons for women to spend time outside the home (­Falah & Nagel, 2005; Floyd, 2010; Seymour, 2010; Sewell, 2000). Watching children is the activity that comes third. Traditionally, one of women’s roles is to observe their children playing (­Macleod, 1991). About 80% of the mothers interviewed for this study reported that their main reason for going to the city’s outdoor public spaces was to take their children to play. One respondent emphasized that it is imperative to bring children to play in the park since their apartment does not have enough space for them to play. According to observations, 47% of women who were unaccompanied by men were observed watching their children chasing the pigeons in the square and playing in the playgrounds and on the bouncy castles in the park and on the promenade. Women in Martyrs Square and Grand Park were mostly observed walking on their way somewhere else. The former space connects the traditional commercial area in the Old City to other new commercial areas located outside the walled city, and the latter links both of these commercial areas with transportation routes that pass along the Express Road (­­Figure 5.4b). Shopping was and still is one of the main reasons for women to be in public space. Traditionally, shopping has been associated with a certain class of women. Some women who had migrated to the city used to shop for other women whose higher social status or cultural norms prevented them from appearing in public space. Even when those women 78

New Opportunities for Women’s Recreation

began to shop for themselves, they had to be chaperoned, either by a male relative or by a female servant or an older female member of the family (­Booth, 2010). Beginning in the 1960s, they started to navigate the shopping areas of the city in groups of two women or more. Male accompaniment is now obligatory. However, some women believe that shopping is not enjoyable when men are along. According to the interview with a ­54-­​­­year-​­old woman who was sitting with her ­22-­​­­year-​­old daughter in the park and waiting for her son to drive them home after their shopping errands, she said, “­I prefer that neither my son nor my husband join us when we shop. Men do not have patience for long hours of shopping.” Observations conducted for this study support this claim as about half of the women who were observed coming from shopping were unescorted. Most of them were seen in the square and in the park. Meeting female friends is another relatively frequent activity of women in Tripoli’s outdoor public spaces. T ­ wenty-​­five percent of the 42 survey respondents reported that spending leisure time with friends, either in small or in relatively large groups (­about ten or more), is a reason to go to a public space. This concurs with the interviews as nearly 23% of the women interviewed stated the same. According to observations, about 6% of the women observed in the park and on the promenade were sitting with other women without men present. Meeting female friends was mostly observed in the park, whereas less than o ­ ne-​­fifth of all activities observed on the promenade were of this type. Women are increasingly using public space in Tripoli to meet their female friends. In the author’s experience and social network, in many instances, her friends and relatives decide to meet in a restaurant, a café, or a recreational outdoor space. These new ways for women to gather in public space have been witnessed since the beginning of the ­twenty-​­first century, as observed by the author and reported by some interviewees. Meeting female friends outside their homes is a relatively new activity for women in Tripoli. Traditionally for women, going to outdoor public space during leisure time was primarily a familial activity. One family or a group of families with male members would spend their free time, typically on weekends, picnicking in open spaces in the outskirts of the city. At first, not many women met other women in public space. Over time, women’s gatherings have increased, particularly when cafés, restaurants, and other indoor recreational spaces began to assign specific areas for families only. In addition, in the 2010s, new cafés and restaurants were created exclusively for women. Women of different ages and with different educational and professional backgrounds began to go to these spaces (­A lnabaa News Channel, 2014).

Less Frequent Activities The findings from this study show that certain activities of women in Tripoli’s outdoor public spaces are infrequent (­­Table 5.2). Although today generally in Libyan society, dating and taking photos are perceived as conventional activities, that was not previously the case. Historically, taking photos in outdoor spaces was an acceptable leisure activity for women but, traditionally, it was not the norm for a woman or a group of women to pose for pictures in a public space. This has changed. The same can be said of dating, an activity that, to a certain extent, is more visible in outdoor public spaces than in the past, as acknowledged by one interviewee. Dating comes first in the list of less frequent activities. Observations reveal that women do meet their boyfriends in the park, at the adjacent lake, and on the promenade. Forty women (­5% of all women observed) were observed while they were on a date: 29 were 79

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in Grand Park and around the adjacent lake. However, no survey respondents reported dating as a reason to visit these spaces. For example, a 2­ 5-­​­­year-​­old woman who seemed to have a date with a man in the park took the survey. Her answer about the reasons for coming to this space was “­e ating” (­e.g. picnic and lunch break) and “­enjoy my time.” It seems that because of the unacceptability of dating in public, the women interviewed were reluctant to say that dating was a reason for being in outdoor public space. However, one of the women interviewed in the park said that she was with her friend who was on a date. Certain design features of Grand Park make it an ideal location for dating. Two areas in the park are heavily used by couples: a grassy hilly area shaded by small trees and by the tall Grand Hotel located across the park with stone benches under short trees provides shade (­­Figure 5.4c). The suitability of these spaces for dating seems not only due to the shade offered by the trees but also the privacy they provide. However, dating is not restricted to these areas in the park. Some couples had enough confidence to stroll along and sit on the benches along one of the busy pathways in the park. While waiting for her girlfriend who was strolling on a date, one interviewee said that they were not originally from Tripoli but were living in one of the neighborhoods located far from the city center. Evidently, young women who are from the city but not from Tripoli’s center often use this space for dating. A woman who resides in another city or on the outskirts of the city is able to be with her boyfriend in a crowded park without being recognized. Taking photos is another less frequent activity in public space. This activity was mostly observed in Martyrs Square where many families pose for photos with pigeons. At least six groups of women were observed posing for photos or taking pictures of the square and the pigeons. Women and children were also observed posing for photos in the decorated traditional tents installed in the square by some photographers, especially during religious festivals and some political ceremonies (­­Figure 5.4d). Traditionally, political and religious events have been mostly restricted to men because they entail spending extended periods of time in outdoor public space. But, after the toppling of Gaddafi’s regime in 2011, Libyan women started attending such events. Immediately after the toppling, the square was filled with men and women celebrating the victory of the Revolution. Subsequently, observations made on October 23, 2013 showed that men, women, and children were in the square to celebrate Liberation Day. Women were sitting in an area designated for women near the fountain and in front of the gate to the Old City’s commercial quarter, while a few were strolling in the square, mostly accompanied by a man. Women who attended religious events in Martyrs Square were also observed. During the early morning of August 9, 2013, about 100 women sat in rows in the square listening to the Eid speech. On October 17, 2013, a number of women were observed attending another significant religious event, the fifth day after Eid Aladha (­a Muslim festival) in the square. Another less frequent activity is “­watching people and scenery” which requires spending more time in outdoor public spaces. Only 6% of the total number of participants in the survey identified this activity as one of their reasons for going to outdoor public spaces, and only 3% of women were observed watching scenery or people. About 20% of the total number of women observed in the square were watching pigeons (­­Figure 5.5a/­b), which has recently become a popular pastime in this public space. Other new activities among the less frequent ones were jogging, ­fast-​­walking, and playing sports. Two women were observed jogging in Grand Park and ten others jogging along the Sea Promenade. Additionally, 19% of the total number of women observed across all study 80

New Opportunities for Women’s Recreation

sites were speed walking. Half of them were speed walking in Grand Park and a third along the Sea Promenade. The Promenade has recently become a venue where pregnant women take walks during their later months of pregnancy. At least five pregnant women were documented walking along the Corniche. Women prefer to jog in places formally designated for such an activity. The most ­well-​ k­ nown example in Tripoli now is the ­a l-​­Forosya Club as “­It is the only place where I can see women play sports” (­R heel, 2010). Observations reveal that women usually use the tracks for ­fast-​­walking and jogging but rarely utilize the sports equipment installed in the central area of the club (­­Figure 5.5c/­d ). Men’s equipment is close to the front entrance, while the three areas assigned for women are located far in the back. To enhance privacy, hedges three feet high are planted around women’s equipment areas. However, some survey respondents expressed hesitation to exercise in such places. A 4­ 2-­​­­year-​­old woman said that she does not feel comfortable using the equipment but commented that young women and girls may be more willing to do so. Observations show that young women aged between 18 and 25 are more likely to use the sports equipment than other age groups. The last activity in the list of less frequent activities is reading. A few women were observed reading while sitting near the children’s playgrounds in the park. Only 5% of women observed were reading in the park and on the promenade and none in the square. On a Ramadan night, for example, a woman who was sitting on a chair in the park was reading the Quran, while other family members chatted and watched the children playing.

­Figure 5.5 Women’s activities in public space (­2): (­a) and (­b) a group of women watching pigeons and taking photos in Martyrs Square; (­c) and (­d) women jogging on the track in ­al- ​­Forosya Club

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Women’s Perceptions and Preferences According to the interviews and the survey, women in Tripoli prefer particular types of ­outdoor public space. Many participants expressed a preference for areas in outdoor ­public spaces assigned exclusively for families’ and women’s use. Women also wished for certain ­areas in outdoor public space to be designated for women to perform athletic activities ­w ithout the presence of men. Women interviewed also stressed the importance of providing safe and secure spaces for women and children. Certain planning and design strategies were suggested as ways to enhance privacy and safety. For example, the employment of natural elements (­e.g. planting hedges and trees) can make some areas visually separate from the main running track so that women can perform athletic activities comfortably. Women’s perceptions of a given outdoor public space are important in determining their use of this space and the activities performed in it. Many participants preferred a sense of enclosure in open spaces to provide them with a certain degree of privacy. Women reported that they prefer to be in a safe and guarded space in order to avoid being catcalled or disturbed. Surveillance cameras might improve security in public space. In the survey, 72% of the participants agreed or strongly agreed that outdoor public spaces should be monitored by surveillance cameras. Almost all the participants stressed the importance of security and safety. An unmarried woman in her thirties praised the security measures in the recreational spaces along the Express Road. She recalled an incident when a car full of security guards without uniforms stopped a man in a car from catcalling women. The survey also shows that 57% of the survey respondents said that they feel comfortable in outdoor public spaces, while 32% were neutral and 11% reported being uncomfortable. Women gave various reasons for being comfortable or uncomfortable in the spaces they were in. For those who stated they were comfortable, the greenery and the scenery in the park and the promenade made them enjoy these spaces and feel comfortable. Some women stated that the absence of some design elements, such as seating and shaded areas, makes them uncomfortable. The primary reason that many respondents feel uncomfortable is catcalling. Interestingly, that was not the case for some women who were neutral about their degree of comfort in public space. A divorcee, who is not originally from Tripoli and lives on the outskirts of the city, said that she was neutral with regard to how comfortable she felt in the park because she does not pay attention to crowdedness or catcalling.

Implications It is necessary for urban designers and planners to examine the impact of municipal policies and programs on the development of outdoor recreational spaces in the city center. Findings from this study can help inform policymakers about directions to take to enhance the design of public spaces in Tripoli to ensure that women’s needs are met. To encourage and to increase women’s use of public space, it is vital that public spaces be easily accessible. Gardens, playgrounds, walkways, cafés, and restaurants should be distributed in the various city neighborhoods and not only concentrated in the city center. Access to public space means both physical and cultural accesses to accommodate the cultural differences of diverse users in terms of gender, ethnicity, and age. Women’s right to equal access to public space derives from their political and civil rights. However, in many Arab Muslim societies, women are excluded from public places or services because of the continuing power of social norms about proper gender roles. 82

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It is important that planners and designers provide culturally appropriate public recreational facilities so that women can maintain proper physical and mental health. Urban amenities should be provided that encourage lively activities and enhance accessibility both physically and visually (­Huang, 2014). This is very important when thinking of creating urban spaces suitable for women. Built environment professionals, whether they are planners managing existing spaces or designers shaping new ones, can initiate processes and strategies that will help to accommodate many different needs. Huang (­2014) maintains that these strategies should foster the emergence of inclusive and comfortable spaces for diverse users. This researcher affirms this view of the importance of inclusiveness of public space specifically for women. Upon the examination of women’s activities in three types of outdoor public space in Tripoli’s center, some conclusions were drawn. In the s­ocio-​­cultural context of Tripoli, women’s visibility in such outdoor recreational spaces is more problematic than their presence in indoor public spaces that are also frequently used by women. Given the significant increase in women’s use of indoor spaces, for example, cafés and restaurants, further research is required to track patterns of women’s use of indoor public spaces and whether such spaces accommodate their needs. Comparisons could be made between women’s use of and preferences for outdoor versus indoor public spaces. This would provide guidelines for designing future indoor and outdoor recreational spaces to help meet women’s needs.

References ­Abdul-​­K afi, M. N. (­2013) Nsālaa aldhakraa: nqshhaa fghzlhā fnsjha. Ṭarāblus, Libya: dar alfrjānī. Adham, R. (­2013, October 15). Personal Interview. Alnabaa News Channel (­2014). First Women’s Only Cafés in Libya. Local News Reportage, April 24, 2014. Tripoli, Libya. Amer, S. (­2014). What Is Veiling? Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Ardener, S. (­1993). Women and Space: Ground Rules and Social Maps (­Rev. ed.). Providence, RI: Berg. Ben Ltif, M. (­2013, October 21). Personal Interview. Booth, M. (­Ed.). (­2010). Harem Histories: Envisioning Places and Living Spaces. Durham, NC: Duke University Press Books. Çelik, Z., & ­Clancy-​­Smith, J. A. (­2009). Walls of Algiers: Narratives of the City Through Text and Image. Los Angeles, CA: Getty Research Institute. Churchman, A., & Altman, I. (­1994). Women and the Environment: A Perspective on Research, Design, and Policy. In I. Altman & A. Churchman (­Eds.), Human Behavior and Environment ­( ­p­­p. ­­1–​­14). New York: Plenum Press. ­Clancy-​­Smith J. A. & Smith C. D. (­2014). The Modern Middle East and North Africa: A History in Documents. New York: Oxford University Press. Day, K. (­2000). The Ethic of Care and Women’s Experiences of Public Space. Journal of Environmental Psychology 20, ­103–​­124. De Mathuisieulx, H. M. (­1903). A Travers la Tripolitaine. Paris: Librairie Hachette et Cie. Deutsch, S. (­2000). Women and the City: Gender, Space, and Power in Boston, 1 ­ 870–​­1940. New York: Oxford University Press. Elamir, W. (­2013, October 3). Personal Interview. Elmenghawi, F. M. (­2016). Changes in Urban Design and Women’s Use of Public Space: The Case of Tripoli, Libya 1 ­ 835–​­2014 [Unpublished PhD thesis]. New Jersey Institute of Technology and Rutgers University. ­E l-​­Sghir, N. (­2013, October 11). Personal Interview. Engineer, A. A. (­2004). The Rights of Women in Islam. New York: New Dawn Press. Floyd, J. (­2010). Becoming Visible: Women’s Presence in Late ­Nineteenth-​­Century America. Amsterdam; New York: Rodopi.

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Franck, K. A., & Paxson, L. (­1989). Women and Urban Space: Research, Design, and Policy Issues. In I. Altman & E. H. Zube (­Eds.), Public Places and Spaces (­p­­p. ­121–​­146). New York: Plenum Press. Falah, G.-​­W., & Nagel, C. R. (­2005). Geographies of Muslim Women: Gender, Religion, and Space. New York: Guilford Press. Floyd, J. (­2010). Becoming Visible: Women’s Presence in Late ­Nineteenth-​­Century America. Amsterdam; New York: Rodopi. Göle, N. (­1996). The Forbidden Modern: Civilization and Veiling. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Huang, T.-​­S. (­2014). Is the Public Invited? Design, Management and Use of Privately Owned Public Spaces in New York City [Unpublished PhD thesis]. New Jersey Institute of Technology and Rutgers University. Macleod, A. E. (­1991). Accommodating Protest: Working Women, the New Veiling, and Change in Cairo. New York: Columbia University Press. Mernissi, F. (­1992). The Veil and The Male Elite: A Feminist Interpretation of Women’s Rights in Islam. New York, NY: Basic Books. Mernissi, F. (­1994). Dreams of tTrespass: tTales of a hHarem Ggirlhood. Reading, MA: ­Addison-​­Wesley Pub. Moghissi, H. (­2005). Women and Islam: Critical Concepts in Sociology (­Vol. 1). London, UK: Taylor & Francis Ltd. Rheel, A. (­2010). Herodotus, Abu Sitta, and Libyan Women’s Sport. Retrieved from http://­a lirahil.blogspot.com/­2010/­04/­­blog-​­post_11.html Rifaat, N. (­2013, September 21). Personal Interview. Ryan, M. P. (­1990). Women in Public: Between Banners and Ballots, ­1825–​­1880. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Sewell, J. E. (­2000). Gendering the Spaces of Modernity: Women and Public Space in San Francisco, ­1890–​ ­1915 (­Doctoral Dissertation), University of California, Berkeley, CA. Seymour, R. (­2010). Middle East malls: A Luxury Shopper’s Dream. [Article]. Middle East 413, 64. Simon, R. (­1992). Change within Tradition among Jewish Women in Libya. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Todd, M. L. (­1912). Tripoli the Mysterious. Boston, MA: Small, Maynard and Co. Von Henneberg, K. (­1994). “­Piazza Castello and the Making of a Fascist Colonial Capital.” In Z. Çelik, D. Favro, and R. Ingersol (­Eds.), Streets: Critical Perspective on Public Space. Berkeley: University of California Press. Wekerle, G. R., Peterson, R., & Morley, D. (­1980). New Spaces for Women. Boulder, CO: Westview Press.

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6 Cruising in Urban Parks Gay I­ntimacy in New York and Boston John Bezemes

Introduction In one of Boston’s picturesque waterfront parks, there is a tree, struck by lightning and split in half during a tempestuous spring storm. One side fell to the ground and died, the other half, still connected to its roots, continued to grow upright and to flourish. Underneath the living half, children played and couples kissed. And there, after the children left and the couples went off to make more children, gay men expressed their sincerest romantic desires under this miraculous horizontal tree. Like thousands of other g­ ay-​­cruising places, this tree and the surrounding park reveal a hidden world, one that has offered generations of gay men an escape from oppression and violence, fueled by ignorance, contempt and homophobia. From People’s Park in Guangzhou, China (­Foreman, 2009) to Parque Metropolitano in San Cristóbal, Venezuela (­Gays Cruising, n.d.) to the streets of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia (­Raji, 2017), cruising places are an integral part of the lives of gay and bisexual men. In the United States, being gay is no longer a crime but in many other parts of the world, being gay is still punishable by death. Given this situation, understanding the use of public space for cruising remains crucially important. This chapter focuses on the spatial practices of gay cruising in four urban parks in Boston, Massachusetts and Queens, New York. The sites were chosen in two different cities to identify similarities, both spatial and performative, in vastly different contexts. Each site has its own distinctive spatial qualities and is utilized by a diverse cross section of men. To understand the spatial features of cruising, the ways gay men cruise for sex were observed. The sites were analyzed using photos taken during ­on-​­site observations, mapping, formal and informal interviews with men cruising at each site and secondary sources, including historical research and sociological studies.

Evolution of Gay Cruising Sex in public is nothing new, for straight or for gay people. However, the particulars of cruising for sex depend upon a particular spatial rationale and semiotics. The term cruising, or “­cruzen” in Dutch, originated in the Netherlands in the seventeenth century to refer to the DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-8

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much older practice of seeking a casual sexual encounter with another person or people in public. Practices of men cruising generally occur in bars, bathhouses, backrooms, clubs, discos, gyms, beaches, parks, public restrooms (­tearooms in the United States or cottage houses in the United Kingdom), highway rest stops, piers, churches and on the Internet (­Delany, 1999; Grov et al., 2014; Humphreys, 1970). It is safe to assume that the current iteration of gay cruising is linked to the creation of public spaces in medieval market towns that grew into major cosmopolitan centers like Paris and London (­Espinoza, 2019, ­p. 49). Before the recent period of relative cultural tolerance of homosexuality in the West, it was regarded as perverse, unnatural, dangerous and, in most jurisdictions, criminal. Until 1973, homosexuality was designated a mental disorder by The American Psychiatric Association and until 2003, homosexual sex was outlawed in 14 states in the United States (­U.S. Supreme Court, 2003). As a result, men were forced to develop an array of signals and social cues in order to find one another and to resist further subjugation (­Fischer, 1977). Cruising requires both proximity among strangers and publicly accessible spaces like squares, markets, bathhouses, restrooms and parks in large, cosmopolitan centers filled with many types of people, including travelers and foreigners. The opportunity to choose from a selection of different types of anonymous men in large, spatially complex public spaces facilitates cruising. One of the earliest, officially recognized cruising places was the Royal Exchange in London. As early as 1700, cruising in the Royal Exchange proliferated and became an integral part of market activities. Gay men mingled with day laborers as they looked for quick sexual dalliances, despite heavy policing that targeted the practice. Ironically, the earliest documented instances of gay cruising were tied to active policing of the practice. The more the authorities drew attention to cruising, the more it proliferated (­Espinoza, 2019, ­p. 54). Through his interpretation of Jane Jacob’s seminal work, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, Delany (­1999, ­p. 124) describes the relationship between contact and cruising in his book, Times Square Red, Times Square Blue. He defines contact as informal conversations that occur between strangers who may well be from different classes and backgrounds which can then lead to casual sex. Contact between strangers is unplanned and is often shaped by the location of infrastructure and the configuration of public space. Similarly, in his study of bathrooms in public parks in the late 1960s, sociologist Laud Humphreys (­1970, p­ .  21) observed a direct correlation between a public park’s proximity to highway infrastructure and the frequency of cruising in bathrooms. He also noticed that the spatial configuration of the public bathrooms facilitated and supported cruising. When public infrastructure creates proximity and fosters contact as well as featuring spatial configurations that allow for privacy, cruising flourishes. Furthermore, because cruising places are not always near the homes of gay and bisexual men but in a detached second space, the nature of contact and proximity along with a common goal (­sex) creates an opportunity for gay and bisexual men to develop social ties and friendships with others from different ethnic, racial, religious and economic backgrounds. As a result, social interactions in cruising places tend to be more democratic and equitable (­Forsythe, 2009; Humphreys, 1970). Over the past 25 years, cruising has made a dramatic shift from public space to digital space through online websites in the 1990s and 2000s and phone apps (­Grov et al., 2014). However, this shift of the possible locations for cruising did not spell the end of cruising for sex in public space. In fact, in the m ­ id-​­1990s, Keith “­Cruisemaster” Griffith founded the website cruisinggays.com in an effort to catalogue cruising places in the physical world and to provide an online space for gay and bisexual men to share their experiences of cruising 86

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in actual public space. Since its inception, Cruisinggays.com has catalogued over 43,000 cruising places worldwide. Most of the cruising places listed are in North America and Europe, presumably because the website is based in the United States and is in English. It is safe to assume that there are many more cruising places outside the United States and Europe that are not listed on the website. By 1997, the site was receiving over 130,000 hits per day and had established itself as a bridge between online and ­real-​­world cruising ( ­Blum, 2016).

Cruising in Four Urban Parks Beyond the social codes and particulars of social interactions, the spatial mechanics of gay cruising will be the focus of this chapter. To understand the spatial ramifications of cruising, the ways gay men cruise for sex were observed to explore the social codes involved in cruising and how they manifest spatially. Cruising places exist all over the world; however, the research presented in this chapter focuses on four cruising places.

Cunningham Park, Queens, New York Cunningham Park is an assemblage of several wooded parcels of land in eastern Queens cobbled together by the City of New York over a period of nearly two decades starting in 1928 and ending in 1944. Of the roughly 1,000 acres of forest in Queens, Cunningham Park is home to about a third (­N YC Parks, 2018). Most of these wooded areas are successional forests, which means that they were cleared in the past and lack the high, leafy canopy layer usually seen in undisturbed, ­old-​­growth forests. Because of this lack of canopy, the undergrowth receives more light than normal, resulting in taller and thicker bushes and shrubs along the forest floor. This taller and thicker undergrowth provides the perfect cover for cruising. Beaten into the forest floor are informal paths created over several decades by men cruising. These paths are easily accessible from the Brooklyn/­Queens Greenway bike path and originate at the western entrance to the tunnel under the Clearview Expressway. Cunningham Park’s paths provide a chance for bicyclists and joggers to mingle with motorists parked nearby who have decided to leave their vehicles. In the summer months when there is an abundance of thick foliage, the woods provide camouflage and seclusion that allow people in cars, on bikes or on foot to cruise in plain sight as they negotiate the boundaries between private and public spaces. Since at least the 1960s, the Cunningham Park parking lot has emerged as one of the more prominent cruising places in Queens, catering to men on their commute home from work (­K ilgannon, 2005). Beyond use as a place for sexual gratification, the Cunningham Park parking lot and adjacent woods are vital social spaces for gay men. According to one of the regulars interviewed for a news report, the lot serves the lonely, helping men seeking friendship and a place to socialize and bond. It is clear from Kilgannon’s article that Cunningham Park’s cruising area is a sexual and social space that brings together men from many different backgrounds and communities. While queer spaces can take many forms, they usually require users to identify with and embrace the LGBT+ community. Cruising places like Cunningham Park’s parking lot and woods provide a neutral space to engage with the LGBT+ community without necessitating a full embrace of queer culture. For those on the margins of sexuality, especially in w ­ orking-​­class suburban Queens and Long Island where strong taboos against homosexuality are still common, Cunningham Park is a vital social space. 87

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Belle Isle Reservation, East Boston, Massachusetts Amidst salty harbor breezes, under the roar of commercial jets, sits the pristine Belle Isle Reservation. A result of a ­decades-​­old tug of war between the City of Boston, conservationists, local developers, and environmentalists, Belle Isle remains the last intact tidal salt marsh in Boston. The park is a snapshot of t­ he precolonial Boston Harbor waterfront with salt pans, hilly upland, salt marsh, and tidal creek. Cruising in Belle Isle Park begins in an inconspicuous parking lot. Here, both motorists and pedestrians have a chance to gaze at each other before making their way into the park. Men will initiate cruising here by positioning their vehicles so that they face toward the center of the parking lot and wait for other men to pass. Sometimes, men will walk down to other secluded areas to engage in sexual activity. Shrouded in foliage and flanked by patches of tall wetland reed and thorny brush, a wide promenade leads from Belle Isle’s parking lot to its outer marshlands and to the park’s most striking ­feature – ​­a large observation tower. This broad path is a byproduct of Belle Isle’s theatrical past, once used as an access road for the now demolished Suffolk Downs d­ rive-​­in theater. The creation of a small, artificial island during Belle Isle Park’s construction in the early 1980s separated this area from the rest of the park (­Friends of Belle Isle Marsh, 1985). Two benches, equally spaced, are the only seating along the promenade. The promenade leads to a wide, unpaved path that opens onto a clearing in the marshland, nearer to the water. This unpaved path and adjacent informal passageways are where most of the sexual activity occurs. Some men choose to sit on one of the two benches to view other men instead of cruising in their vehicles. These choices are all situational and depend on the time of day and how crowded the park is.

Forest Park, Queens, New York Forest Park was formed by the same glacial retreat that carved out much of the greater New York area, giving the park its distinct “­k nob and kettle” landscape. At 536 acres, it is home to the largest continuous o ­ ld-​­growth oak forest in Queens. The park sits atop one of the highest points of the Harbor Hill glacial moraine that runs down the center of Long Island like a spine. Cruising occurs almost exclusively in the northeast section of Forest Park where Forest Park Drive opens up onto Metropolitan Avenue. The natural setting of Forest Park plays a crucial role in creating a sense of place for men who choose to cruise there. The abundance of thick foliage provided by the ­old-​­growth forest not only offers the amount of coverage necessary for discreet cruising, but the verdant beauty of the forest amidst the relentless suburban sprawl of Eastern Queens adds to the appeal of Forest Park among men. Many men spoke of their appreciation for the forest’s natural beauty in both formal and informal interviews. Described as a “­g ay back yard” by one of the men interviewed for this study, the cruising areas of Forest Park certainly feel like outdoor hangouts. Before, after and in between cruising for sex, men will run into people they know and strike up a conversation, shifting back and forth between cruising and socializing. This is one of the more recognizable aspects of cruising, not just in Forest Park, but in all the sites studied. The boundary between public social space and private sexualized space is obscured in cruising places. The ebb and flow of both platonic and sexual intimacies between men here generates a type of place that is, especially for many older and closeted men, a crucial LGBT+ social outlet. Some men will even leave the park to eat and come back to continue cruising. 88

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One of the regulars interviewed in Forest Park refers to one particular area of the park as the “­k itchen” because men usually go there when they’re “­hungry” – ​­meaning that they have exhausted their search for men in other parts of the park. Before a long stretch of walkway was paved and adorned with ­n ineteenth-­​­­century-​­style lamp posts in the 1990s, it was apparently an exceptionally active area for cruising. A handful of men interviewed who cruised in Forest Park before the 1990s spoke of orgies that involved dozens of men who packed onto the trail once the sun went down. Allegedly, someone brought an old mattress to the park and placed it behind bushes along the trail which hosted countless, decadent sexual soirees. Nowadays, this area is more subdued, even at night and its proximity to houses and the sunlit and open Forest Park Drive make it a riskier place to engage in illicit sexual activity during the day. Unfortunately, as recently as the summer of 2017, homophobic vandalism has occurred there. In July, a group of teenagers s­pray-​­painted slurs like “­K ill gay ppl” and “­Fuck Faggots” on several trees and rocks, which drew outrage from the local LGBT+ community (­Tracy, 2017). While this act of hate did not seem to faze the many regulars interviewed, it remains a clear display of the discontent among some members of the surrounding community with men cruising in Forest Park.

Back Bay Fens, Boston, Massachusetts Solid ground is taken for granted in Boston. The Back Bay and many other neighborhoods exist because of several infill projects implemented over the course of two centuries that radically redefined the borders of Boston’s Shawmut Peninsula. Small elliptical islands

­Figure 6.1 Image of men cruising in Forest Park, Queens, NY

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surrounded by salt marshes and mudflats that lay scattered about a primordial Boston Harbor were gradually stitched together by industrious European colonizers beginning in the seventeenth century. Flanked by three ­neighborhoods -​­-​­the Fenway, South End and Mission ­H ill -​­-​­the Back Bay Fens is accessible by car, bike, bus, subway and on foot. One block away from the Back Bay Fens are several LGBT+ establishments that make this the only case study site that is in close proximity to LGBT+ businesses. The thicket of tall wetland reeds, or phragmites, that line the Muddy River as it flows through the Back Bay Fens has concealed a hidden sexual world for several decades. Towering up to 25 feet tall, the reeds along the Muddy River soar high into the air and shroud the park from all but the tallest buildings. The aggressive d­ ense-​­growing reeds were introduced into the park in the 1950s and 1960s to provide a nesting area for ducks. Here in the reeds, men flock to find other l­ ike-​­minded men. The easily trampled, vertical reeds allow flexibility in space manipulation and create a hard, strong floor when pressed horizontally over the wet mud along the riverbank. According to the landscape architect Kathy Poole who wrote for the 2000 Annual Meeting of the Association of Collegiate Schools of Architecture: “­T he vegetation is so dense that the Fens now has a complex of ‘­sex rooms.’ …The landscape provides an opportunity for men to show themselves locally yet cloak themselves from the rest of ­society-​­a precarious yet functional balance” (­Poole, 2000). Over the past five to ten years, the atmosphere in the Back Bay Fens has changed. Drug use and homelessness have infiltrated the hidden boudoirs that decades of men have carved into the reeds. More secluded areas have been filled with encampments, displacing the quick sexual dalliances that used to happen there. Needles have taken the place of men in acts of hurried and awkward penetration. Seemingly, the Back Bay Fens is the perfect place for harboring not just one form of unsanctioned placemaking, but several. However, even with the clear influx of displaced drug users, men cruising and squatters share the reeds, albeit at times tenuously. According to interviews with users, some squatters are familiar with the history of the Fens and respect the cruisers there, appreciating the spaces the cruisers carved out that they now occupy.

Space and Cruising The relationship between space and cruising is one of reciprocity. The formalized spaces in parks provide a sort of vessel for cruising to inhabit and then manipulate to further its function. These informal manipulations add to the park’s spatial complexity. Large formal paths designed initially for recreational circulation become the primary staging areas for the semiotic interplay between men looking to cruise, especially if there are benches or other seating that encourages idling such as fallen trees or large rocks. Informal trails, carved into the margins of the surrounding vegetation next to main areas of circulation, are stewarded by men looking for more privacy. Beyond these informal pathways, privacy increases as spaces become more isolated and precarious. Some informal trails lead to areas of ­pause – a​­ small clearing in the brush or an opening near a body of w ­ ater  – ​­while other spaces loop back around to connect with other secondary pathways. Each discrete spatial type does not necessarily harbor cruising on its own; however when these spaces function together as a network or system of spaces, cruising flourishes. At all four case study sites, six fundamental spatial arrangements exist along a spectrum of privacy and the behaviors within each arrangement serve discreet purposes within larger cruising networks. The first and indeed the most important space is the runway. 90

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­Figure 6.2 Map of the Back Bay Fens cruising paths, Boston, MA

These spaces are usually part of a broader network of formal walking or cycling paths with long and broad dimensions occasionally with places to sit and idle along the margins. Men will line the runway’s edges, especially at dusk, to view other men passing by. Here is where the pedestrian cruiser becomes “­k nown” by displaying distinct gestures which vary from subtle to obvious depending on the brazenness, eagerness and experience of the man. Runways afford men who are cruising a kind of ­a mbiguity – ​­a chance to pretend that they are jogging, biking or strolling. Code switching occurs along runways between men, allowing them to cruise in front of the general public without most others catching on. This is especially important during the day when sunlight significantly increases visibility. In the Back Bay Fens, there is a runway that parallels the thicket of tall reeds along the Muddy River. There are also narrow pathways running perpendicular to this runway that create a series of openings at regular intervals. These small openings are like outposts or lookouts for men cruising. Keeping watch at an opening not only allows men to retreat with ease into the interior private areas created by the reeds but also allows them to act as lookouts for others. When a lookout spot is vacant, someone else will claim it and the cycle continues. In some 91

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instances, there are multiple runway configurations that work in tandem. For example, Forest Park has three runways that run roughly parallel to one another. While the primary runway remains a neutral ground, frequency of use of the secondary and tertiary runways depends on the time of day. These three runways are complementary and accommodate multiple behaviors continuously, allowing men to cruise in the morning, afternoon and evening and late into the night. Streetlamps along one of the secondary trails provide the needed visibility for cruising at night but are not bright enough to reveal the informal spaces that men use to have sex. Runways are also largely influenced by public infrastructure and are typically segments within a larger infrastructural network. While not particular to this spatial type, runways have the most direct connection to formalized infrastructure. This provides the spaces with regular maintenance, proximity to transportation and frequent use by the public. An abundance of pedestrian traffic increases the odds that there will be several men looking to cruise and nearby transportation hubs increase the likelihood of a consistent flow and turnover of users, cementing the viability of the runway as a place to meet someone new. Like runways, the next space t­ype – field – ​­ is ​­ tied to public infrastructure. Parking lots appear to be the most prevalent versions of the field. However, field configurations can exist in other places like grassy clearings or public plazas. During the day, cars parked in more secluded areas of a parking lot provide ample concealment on their own. Temporary programming, like tailgating, barbeques, farmers markets and other formalized gatherings, disrupts the cruising function of fields by imposing a specific use on the space and significantly increasing the chance of being seen. In Cunningham Park, the parking lot accommodates barbeques, a driving school and parking during sporting events in the adjacent ball fields. When these events occur, men cruising either leave the park entirely or move to a nearby wooded area to avoid unsuspecting tailgaters peering into their windows and noticing illicit sexual activity. Security patrols, especially in parking lots, make fields tenuous places for cruising. When a car looks out of place, even if there is no illicit activity happening inside the vehicle, it can attract attention from security and police. The heavy influence of car culture in fields makes them contradictory spaces where suburban ideas of public and private are transposed into public space. Cars are bubbles of private property, putting them into a different social and legal framework. This is distinctive to fields since men using other spatial types are usually more exposed to public scrutiny, whereas car owners get to exist in a sort of middle place. Winding, meandering pathways through bushes, trees and other foliage give the third spatial type, ramble, its distinctive spatial qualities. These pathways are usually unpaved and secondary to more formal, paved walkways. Rambles attract users who are exploring, walking pets, jogging and hiking. As these pathways cross over each other and around hills and bushes, colliding happens between men. These collisions enable polite conversation, which may eventually lead to a sexual encounter or friendship. For instance, some men will find a spot along the winding paths to sit or stand, usually where paths converge, affording them high visibility. They will use a fallen tree or a large boulder as makeshift seating. When another man walks by, they may initiate a polite conversation. Polite interactions allow men to avoid making a move on an unwitting ­park-​­goer by acting as a neutral moment to “­read” the person to determine if there is any interest. If the other party shows interest, the conversation will continue one of two ways; either the interaction will move in a more platonic direction or both men will immediately initiate sexual advances and attempt to find an area with more privacy. It is not uncommon for men to pass by each other more than once before starting a conversation. These interactions involve a high degree of apprehension and most men are wary of being too friendly. Generally, seeing the same person walking by several times indicates that they are also cruising. 92

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Privacy, or perception of privacy, is fluid in a ramble. For instance, the ramble in Cunningham Park has narrow paths and thick foliage. Visibility there is lower along hiking paths obscured by foliage. These paths are almost exclusively used by men cruising. Here, men will sometimes choose to engage in sexual activity without attempting to find a more private spot elsewhere but this is rare and usually happens at night. However, naked men and couples engaged in various sexual activities were observed along Cunningham Park’s ramble during the day. By contrast, such behavior only occurs in Forest Park’s ramble when it is very dark. Rambles have several access points that connect to larger circulation networks, meaning that men can transition back and forth between cruising and the larger park beyond, similar to the runway configuration. Walking along a ramble does not immediately indicate the intention of a user, and this vagueness allows men who do not identify as LGBT+ to maintain their outward heterosexual identity. Ambiguity also affords all men, even LGBT+ identifying, to avoid recognition from ­non-​­cruisers. Mazes are similar to runways and rambles but differ in their programmatic intention and geometry. Where rambles tend to mimic natural landscapes, mazes have deliberate, ­m an-​ ­m ade geometries, hence the name. Mazes can be places of conflict during the day between men cruising and the surrounding community due to a more aggressive sense of ownership by other users (­Cramer, 2009). This sense of ownership is the result of deliberate programming by park planners. Imbued in a maze are the spatial qualities that trick those unfamiliar with the space into getting lost. This confusion further allows those who are more familiar with the space to engage in sexual activity if there are known dead ends or other hidden spaces. In the Victory Gardens of the Back Bay Fens, some small garden plots provide this type of space for men looking to engage in sexual contact. The gardens also act as a filter between a larger cruising area and a major traffic thoroughfare on the park’s southern end. ­Cul-­​ ­­ sacs are where formal or informal paths dead end or where public infrastructure has been de-​­ designed as an alcove or seating area. ­Cul-­​­­de-​­sacs are a vital spatial component of cruising

­Figure 6.3 Diagram of the Ramble spatial configuration

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places and are essential for their functioning. They are the only spaces that offer sufficient privacy for truly discreet sexual contact. Usually shrouded in foliage, informal ­cul-­​­­de-​­sacs are used during both the day and night. ­Cul-­​­­de-​­sacs that are designed as public amenities are tenuous during the day, but after dark become the perfect places for men cruising to engage in intimate activity. One example of the shift between day and night in ­cul-­​­­de-​­sacs are the scenic overlook structures at Belle Isle Reservation. These structures were intentionally placed in the landscape to create a space for p­ ark-​­goers to sit, rest and reflect on the beauty of the surrounding tidal marshes. During the day, men will meet in one of the two overlooks to socialize. The daylight exposes these overlooks to other ­park-​­goers making sexual contact or any other form of intimacy difficult. However, as night falls and these unlit spaces vanish into the darkness, men will use them to engage in sexual activity. A shelter in the context of cruising is an intentional structure built as part of a park’s design or a section of a broader infrastructure network like tunnels and the undersides of highway overpasses and bridges. Shelters can also be makeshift, informal structures built by users of the park. The observation tower at Belle Isle Reservation is one of the more prominent examples of the shelter configuration from the case studies. During the day, men cruising will sit in the tower to get a better view of others while simultaneously enjoying the natural beauty of the park. As the day progresses, the tower is used by children, teenagers and other casual ­park-​­goers alongside men cruising. Occasionally, teenagers will meet at the observation tower in groups in the late afternoon to drink alcohol or to smoke cannabis. It is difficult to distinguish between someone relaxing or actively cruising, but this ambiguity allows men cruising to avoid conflict with casual p­ ark-​­goers. Men cruising use shelters to socialize more than to engage in sexual contact, more so during the day. In shelters, the social aspects of cruising are the most apparent as they provide a space for men to have neutral interactions before and after a sexual encounter. In addition to six spatial types that enable the thriving of cruising, litter that was carelessly discarded by men cruising can signify the existence and location of a cruising site. Much like an offer at a shrine, condom wrappers are strewn about around makeshift seating or against the base of a tree. The distinct square shapes of the wrappers, with their bright, iridescent colors, pop out against the dirt and leaves. Sexual activity, specifically intercourse, requires a considerable amount of privacy and a guarantee that it will last for several minutes. Disposed condom wrappers indicate that more overt sexual activity occurs almost exclusively in these spaces. Acting as a marker for other men cruising, ­sex-​­related litter not only signals that cruising happens in the space, but by observing the condition of the refuse, how recently cruising has happened. Condom wrappers, personal lubricant bottles and wrappers, used condoms, sanitary tissues and other s­ex-​­related litter are the physical traces of public cruising. Previous users, through their hurried carelessness, unintentionally propagate and codify these places as cruising places. As litter accumulates, so does the imprint of the placemaking practices of men cruising in the space. The presence of this type of informal wayfinding may be one reason why cruising occurs in some places, rather than in others with similar spatial conditions. There is no guarantee that one condom wrapper will spawn an intricate and vast cruising place. However, places with ­sex-​­related litter combined with the proper spatial conditions may eventually develop into thriving cruising places.

Responses by Police and the Public For most of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, rules governing the geography of cruising were determined by the concentration of businesses that employed or catered to 94

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­Figure 6.4 Example of informal way finding, Forest Park, Queens, NY

gay men, spaces that provided privacy, and places considered less socially desirable, such as underneath elevated trains and highways or in vacant lots and abandoned buildings. Because such undesirable places had little to no value for the public at large, there was a tacit understanding by police that certain public spaces were sanctioned for cruising and other ­sex-​ ­related illegal activities like prostitution (­Chauncey, 1995, ­p. 298). However, this created a power relationship between police and sexual minorities where there was always a looming threat of exposure and prosecution. For economic and bureaucratic reasons (­i.e. arrest quotas and negative effects on adjacent businesses), these places were tenuous. For example, one of the first instances of hidden camera usage by police occurred in 1962 in a public restroom in Mansfield, Ohio. As a reaction to the murder of two young girls in the area by an ­18-­​­­year-​ ­old man, the Mansfield Police Department decided to target gay men cruising, which lead to the arrest of more than 20 men for the offense of sodomy (­Murdoch & Price, 2002, ­p. 136). Indeed, the precariousness of queer places was a fact of life for generations of LGBT+ people. The Stonewall Riots, a series of clashes with police in New York City that sparked the gay liberation movement in the United States, occurred as a direct result of this tenuous sanctioning of queer places by law enforcement. In the decades leading up to the Stonewall Riots, queer places were in a constant state of flux. Raids of the Stonewall Inn and other LGBTQ+ establishments across the United States were frequent and part of a broader system 95

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of oppression and marginalization of LGBT+ people. Alternatively, the covert nature of cruising allowed for flexible and emergent queer places provided that the spatial conditions were favorable. Public parks offered the spatial conditions and the seclusion and ambiguity (­walking through a park and loitering in scenic areas are not normally seen as abnormal or suspicious) favorable for cruising. However, when residents of the neighborhoods surrounding the park eventually realized that cruising was occurring in “­their” park, through either the ubiquity of s­ ex-​­related litter and refuse or actually seeing sexual conduct, cruising places became targets for the ire of the community and the police. Response to cruising by law enforcement varies between jurisdictions. For example, in 2001 in Massachusetts, due to a legal battle between a gay man and Massachusetts State Police over being arrested for cruising in a public bathroom, the state police relaxed their enforcement of public lewdness laws. The chief of police at the time stated specifically that, “­If you’re in a park and you go off the path and into the bushes, then it’s not necessarily a public place, because you have a reasonable expectation you won’t be seen,” seemingly acknowledging that cruising places in public parks should be left alone. However, the governor of the state at the time, Republican Paul Cellucci, tried to reverse those statements by stating that, “­absolutely would not tolerate any sexual activity in public rest areas.” This left the legality of gay cruising in public parks in a gray area legally that persists to this day (­Associated Press, 2001). By contrast, since 2008, Toronto, Canada has allowed public sex in Marie Curtis Park if patrons do not litter, do not engage in sexual activities near the playground and limit public sex to the evening (­CBC Radio, 2016). The Netherlands has gone a step further in both Rotterdam and Amsterdam, where there is actual public wayfinding indicating where cruising is allowed in two public parks where men cruise regularly (­RTV Rijnmond, 2011; Simply Amsterdam, 2020).

Implications The marginalization of LGBT+ people has forced them to create places where they feel safe, empowered and accepted. Cruising places are an example of how the sexual practices of gay and bisexual men can manifest this idea physically in public space. These places provide a means to challenge social norms and the boundaries of privacy in public space. In conversations and interviews in the parks studied, several men commented that cruising places are not only for their sexual gratification but are also places for socializing and the fostering of sexual identity and community. Even for men who do not identify as LGBT+, the exposure to other LGBT+ identified people in cruising places can nurture understanding and empathy. This has implications for the design professions and our attempts to create equitable places that respond to the needs of a community while increasing the right to the city for marginalized people. Current professional discourse favors consumption and family-friendly entertainment that saturates the public realm. Heavily programming public space with networking-­oriented activities may create places that feel lonely, artificial and oppressive and undermine the spontaneity of social interaction. Events that require advertising or for users to spend money to participate reduce the amount of inter-class contact and increase networking-oriented social interactions. Instead of this, more unplanned contact in public space should be encouraged to increase social knowledge across a wide array of user groups. Both government agencies and design professionals must work to design and support civic spaces that encourage and legitimize a broad range of social relationships, including sexual relationships such as public cruising. This will not only facilitate equity in public space but will encourage social mixing and ­inter-​­class connection. When forms of contact in public space are restricted, whether they 96

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be social or sexual, social movement, change and the equity that comes with a democratic public sphere are hindered. Cruising as a practice has developed within our society, not outside of it, as a reaction to systemic oppression and heterosexist violence. Ignoring or suppressing these practices reduces the freedom of gay and bisexual men to fully be who they are. It is not the duty of the LGBTQ+ community to conform their public social practice to create a safe space for oppressive and violent morality. To create and preserve equitable public spaces, it needs to make and preserve space for marginal groups to express themselves without fear. Cruising places exist because for centuries gay and bisexual men were denied the ability to express their sexuality in public without the threat of persecution and arrest. It is possible that there are other groups of people in the same circumstances that rely on marginal places to express themselves. The efficacy of governments and design professionals is dependent upon broadening their perception of what it means to make places. By encouraging diversity of perspective in policies, practices and discourses, the capacity to make public spaces more open, inclusive and equitable can be enhanced.

References Associated Press. (­2001). Governor: It’s not OK to have public sex in Massachusetts. Boston Herald. Retrieved https://­w ww.glapn.org/­sodomylaws/­usa/­m assachusetts/­m anews08.htm Blum, S. (­2016). Cruising isn’t ­dead—​­If you know where to look. Vice. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from https://­w ww.vice.com/­en/­a rticle/­n z8x37/­­cruising-­​­­isnt- ­​­­deadif-­​­­you-­​­­k now-­​­­where-­​­­to-​­look CBC Radio. (­2016). Cities need to plan for sex in public parks. CBC Radio. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from https://­w ww.cbc.ca/­radio/­the180/­­f ree-­​­­t rade-­​­­myth-­​­­a nd-­​­­reality-­​­­sex-­​­­i n-­​­­public-­​­­parks-­​­­blood-­​ ­­religion-­​­­a nd-­​­­bioethics-​­1.3872754/­­cities-­​­­need-­​­­to-­​­­plan-­​­­for-­​­­sex-­​­­i n-­​­­public-­​­­parks-​­1.3874481 Chauncey, G. (­1995). Gay New York: Gender, urban culture, and the making of the gay male world. New York: Basic Books. Cramer, M. (­2009). Reaction mixed to police focus on Fens. The Boston Globe. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from http://­a rchive.boston.com/­news/­local/­m assachusetts/­a rticles/­2009/­09/­21/­police_ presence_in_fens_draws_mixed_reaction/ Delany, S. (­1999). Times Square red, Times Square blue. New York: New York University Press. Espinoza, A. (­2019). Cruising: An intimate history of a radical pastime. Los Angeles, CA: The Unnamed Press. Fischer, H. (­1977). Gay semiotics. San Francisco: NFS Press. Foreman, W. (­2009). Gay Chinese stand up to police sweep of hangout. The San Diego ­Union-​­Tribune. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from https://­w ww.sandiegouniontribune.com/­­sdut-­​­­china-­​­­g ay-­​ ­­power-­​­­091409-­​­­2009sep14-​­story.html Forsythe, D. (­2009). Group dynamics (­5th ed.). Pacific Grove, CA: Brooks/­Cole. Friends of Belle Isle Marsh. (­1985). ­Ground-​­breaking. Belle Isle Newsletters. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from http://­f riendsof belleislemarsh.com/­­w p-​­content/­uploads/­2016/­0 8/ ­Belle.Isle_. News_.1985.10.pdf Gays Cruising. (­n.d.). Parque Metropolitano. Gays Cruising. Retrieved February 12, 2020 from https://­ www.­g ays- ​­c ruising.com/­en/­c ruising/­parque_metropolitano_san_cristobal_san_cristobal_venezuela_2828 Grov, C., Newcomb, M. E., Rosenberger, J. G., Bauermeister, J. A.,  & Breslow, A. S. (­2014). Gay and bisexual men’s use of the internet: Research from the 1990s through 2013. The Journal of Sex Research, 51(­4): ­390–​­409. Humphreys, L. (­1970). Tearoom trade: Impersonal sex in public places. Chicago: Aldine Pub. Co. Kilgannon, C. (­2005). A sex stop on the way Home. The New York Times. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­2005/­09/­21/­nyregion/­­a-­​­­sex-­​­­stop-­​­­on-­​­­the-­​­­way-​­home.html? searchResultPosition=1 Murdoch, J., & Price, D. (­2002). Courting justice: Gay men and lesbians V. the Supreme Court. New York: Basic Books. NYC Parks. (­2018). The Forests of New York C ­ ity – ​­Cunningham Park. NYC Parks. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from https://­w ww.nycgovparks.org/­parks/­­cunningham-​­park/­h ighlights/­11311

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Poole, K. (­2000). Marginal landscapes as critical infrastructure: Boston’s Back Bay Fens. Proceedings of the Annual Meeting of the Association of Collegiate Schools of Architecture, Los Angeles, CA. Raji, M. Y. (­2017). After Dark in the Arabian Peninsula. Harvard Crimson. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from https://­w ww.thecrimson.com/­a rticle/­2017/­5/­5/­­a rabian-​­peninsula/ RTV Rijnmond. (­2011). Toch geen homopaaltjes in Kralingse Bos. RIJNMOND. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from https://­w ww.rijnmond.nl/­n ieuws/­9382/­­Toch-­​­­geen-­​­­homopaaltjes-­​­­i n-­​­­K ralingse-​­Bos Simply Amsterdam. (­2020). Oeverlanden Cruising Area. Simply Amsterdam. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from http://­w ww.simplyamsterdam.nl/­Oeverlanden_cruising_area.htm Tracy, T. (­2017). Vandal slaps gay slurs and swastikas on trees and rocks in Queens’ Forest Park. New York Daily News. Retrieved December 13, 2020 from https://­ w ww.nydailynews. com/­­new-​­york/­queens/­­vandal-­​­­slaps-­​­­g ay-­​­­slurs-­​­­swastikas-­​­­t rees-­​­­rocks-­​­­queens-­​­­a rticle-​­1.3362234 U.S. Supreme Court. (­2003, March 26). Lawrence vs. Texas. Retrieved from https://­w ww.supremecourt.gov/­oral_arguments/­a rgument_transcripts/­2002/­­02-​­102.pdf

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7 Private Sound Environments in Urban Public Space Headphone Use in Parks in New York Chathurthi S. De Silva

Introduction Headphones first emerged in the late nineteenth century when they were used by telephone operators. Then, in the 1930s, with the availability of radios for home use, families had the opportunity to make their homes into shared sound environments. Individual family members could also create their own, private sound environments (­PSEs) by using headphones. But these headphones had to be connected to the radio, so the PSEs created were not portable. The “­ownership” of the private auditory spaces was achieved by owning the medium that produced the sound (­Sterne, 2003). This made the auditory spaces a form of private property. Initially, private auditory spaces were a luxury that only the bourgeoisie could afford. They were democratized when the necessary technology became ubiquitous (­Bull, 2007). A new wave of possibilities unfolded in the 1980s with the advent of the Sony Walkman. With that, for the first time in history, listening became both truly private and also ­portable – ​­a “­liberation” from home stereos (­Loeffler, 2019). The next big wave in private listening took place during the 21st century with Apple’s iPod, which has transformed urban life (­Bull, 2007). Regardless of the device being ­used – ​­a Walkman, an iPod, or a mobile ­phone – ​­what makes listening both easily portable and private are headphones. Since their first appearance in the 1890s in the United Kingdom, headphones have changed dramatically: they are much smaller; their acoustinc span has decreased; they allow for completely private listening; and, most importantly, they are portable, allowing for complete mobility when they are in use (­Bull, 2007). Today, headphones have become a staple of many people’s everyday lives, as their use has become increasingly commonplace. During the period of 2013 to 2019, global sales of headphones increased by 40% (­Liu, 2019b). In 2019, the headphone market in the United States recorded sales of approximately 1.42 billion US dollars (­Liu, 2019a), a figure almost equivalent to the GDP of the Solomon Islands of the same year. Similar statistics prevail globally. Not only is the number of headphone users increasing, so is the duration and frequency of headphone use (­Kunst, 2019). In 2017, 31% of people in the United States reported using headphones every single day (­Kunst, 2019). Headphones are now used nearly everywhere,

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-9

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notably in urban public spaces where many more strangers are present than in a single train car in the 19th century. In those spaces, headphones allow people to create their own private acoustic spaces, or “­zones of acoustic separation” (­Bull, 2000). In this chapter, these zones are called “­private sound environments” (­PSEs). PSEs are portable, enabling users to move from one place to another while still remaining in their own private sound worlds. They enable listeners to be acoustically separated from their immediate surroundings allowing them to be in a “­mediated elsewhere” (­Taylor, 1995) and allow users to limit with whom they wish to interact. People can create PSEs by using headphones either partially or completely. Partial use of headphones refers to those instances when people have an earpiece only in one ear; complete use is using both earpieces. Using headphones, be it complete or partial, gives the user two possibilities: to play audio on the headphones or to wear them without playing any audio. When people choose to play audio on their headphones, they can choose to actively listen to or just to hear the audio without paying attention or exerting any cognitive effort. This distinction between playing and wearing is key to any discussions of PSEs in this chapter. This chapter presents findings that answer several empirical questions, including when and why people create PSEs, the types of audio that constitute PSEs and the activities people pursue while immersed in PSEs in urban public spaces in general and also, specifically, in public parks. The objective of the study is to understand headphone users’ thought processes that lead to the use of headphones as well as their thoughts, reasoning and behavior while using headphones in public parks. Data were collected from s­ emi-​­structured, ­in-​­depth interviews with headphone users (­n = 32, M = 31 years) in the general public who were recruited by way of flyers, social media posts and emails. Questions used for the interviews were mostly ­open-​­ended with an exception of some questions that had muiltiple choice answers. The study focused on the use of headphones in cities generally and in urban parks specifically.

Use of Headphone in Cities The use of headphones can be understood in terms of two phenomena: instances when people play audio and instances when people wear headphones without any audio playing. At a frequency of 68%, based on a total of 34 interview responses, respondents claim to exclusively playing audio on headphones. At a frequency of 6%, respondents report exclusively wearing headphones in cities without playing any audio. Alternating between playing audio and wearing headphones without audio is also reported at a frequency of 26%. The responses demonstrate that people create PSEs using headphones in seven different types of places in cities (­see ­Table 7.1). The most frequently reported type (­38%) is spaces related to public transit, including different modes such as trains, subways, busses, airplanes and other auxiliary transit spaces such as train stations and airports. This was followed, in frequency, by public parks (­22%) and streets (­17%). The following types of places were also reported at relatively lower frequencies: miscellaneous spaces just out and about in the city at 8%; educational spaces including various spaces on campus, including buildings, libraries, and classrooms at a frequency of 7%; commercial spaces like grocery stores, supermarkets and shopping malls at 5%; and spaces of entertainment like museums and concert halls at 2%. Respondents were also asked what activities they engage in while using headphones (­see ­Table 7.2). The most frequently reported activities are ­transportation-​­related, reported at a frequency of 38% based on 53 responses gathered from interviews. This includes activities such as traveling; ­commuting – ​­typically, commutes to places of employment and, in the case of students, commutes to campus; and ­layovers – ​­for instance, waiting for public transit to 100

Private Sound Environments in Urban Public Space ­Table 7.1  Urban Public Places Where People Use Headphones Type of Urban Public Place

Frequency of Responses and Percentages

Public transit Public parks Streets Miscellaneous public spaces Educational spaces Commercial spaces Spaces of entertainment Total responses

37 (­38%) 22 (­22%) 17 (­17%)   8 (­8%)   7 (­7%)   5 (­5%)   2 (­2%) 98 (­100%)

Note: Frequency of responses to the question “­In what kind of urban settings do you typically wear headphones?” from 32 ­in-​­depth interviews.

­Table 7.2  Activities Influencing Use of Headphones Type of Activity

Frequency of Responses and Percentages

­Transportation-​­related Walking Physical activities Shopping Relaxing and unwinding Total responses

17 (­32%) 13 (­25%) 11 (­21%)   8 (­15%)   4 (­8%) 53 (­100%)

Note: Frequency of responses to the question “­W hat activities do you usually do when using headphones?” from 32 ­in-​­depth interviews.

arrive at stations or stops. Walking is the second most frequently reported type of activity, at a frequency of 25%. This includes walking on streets, between transit stations and places of work, in the city, to parks, in parks, walking dogs, walking in public areas, walking to campus, walking on campus, walking to public restrooms and just being out and about. In addition, fitness and other physically demanding activities, including doing organized sports, running, biking, exercising, and hiking, are reported at a frequency of 21%; and shopping and related activities, including shopping for groceries, shopping at malls and running errands, are reported at a frequency of 15%. At a frequency of 7%, respondents also reported using headphones during times of relaxation and unwinding, typically while “­sitting down and enjoying the park” and “­hanging out in the park.” People also reported using headphones when they are feeling a certain way. This is based on the responses received for the question “­Do you use headphones when you feel a certain way?” Three types of feelings were identified. The first are people’s feelings of introversion that often lead them to be reserved and ­inward-​­looking. For instance, one participant stated: “­I use them pretty much any time, so I don’t directly have to talk to someone.” The second type of feeling is when people are in a bad mood. For instance, one participant claimed that “[…] sometimes, not all the time, when I’m having a bad day, or when I’m in a bad mood […], I use it [headphones].” The third type of feeling is the need to listen to audio. In the words of one participant, “­I use headphones whenever I feel the need to listen to a song or a documentary.” 101

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Environmental circumstances also encourage people to use headphones. These are external conditions that are often beyond people’s control. Often, these are loud sounds in the environment that are generated by people, generally by their chatter or the general noisiness that is associated with cities. Respondents stated that when faced with such circumstances, where control lies beyond them in external environmental factors, they typically use headphones. One participant worded their concerns as follows: […] it’s an open space with lots of people, you cannot control the noise by 20 other people. I use headphones to help me focus, even if it is kind of distracting, I mean it’s not like complete silence but at least it’s noise you are in charge of. Whether people are by themselves or accompanied by friends or family members is the final factor influencing headphone use. All respondents reported using headphones when they are by themselves or when they are not interacting with other people. People’s decision to use headphones or not should not be understood as opposites, but rather as decisions that lie along a continuum. While the decision to use headphones or not undoubtedly falls at the two extreme ends of this continuum, there exists a middle ground where people alternate between using headphones and not using them. One of the ways people do this is simply by using only one earpiece. Such instances were reported only in public ​­ Maybe if I had to cross a real busy street, I might pop spaces, particularly on s­treets – “[…] one ear out just to be safe”, as stated by one participant, or in public places just out and about in the ­city – ​­“[…] if I use them outside it’s kind of rare and I only have one earbud on so that the other ear is paying attention” as stated by another. People would never wear headphones in particular locations (­see ­Table 7.3). Various kinds of neighborhoods in cities, particularly those that appear to be c­ rime-​­ridden and those that people are unfamiliar with, are the most frequently reported types of public space where respondents, at a frequency of 19%, do not use headphones. (­This percentage is based on 27 responses gathered from interviews.) Other spaces of transit were reported at a frequency of 15%; public parks at 11%; spaces like restaurants, diners and pubs where people typically like to unwind at 11%; educational spaces at 7% (­including classrooms and exam halls); and streets ­Table 7.3  Public Places Where Headphones Are Not Used Types of Public Places

Frequency of Responses and Percentages

­Crime-​­ridden neighborhoods Transit spaces Public parks Spaces of unwinding Educational spaces Streets Spaces of entertainment Public buildings Other: Cemeteries, Commercial spaces, Beaches, Crowded places, Quiet places Total responses

               

5 (­19%) 4 (­14%) 3 (­11%) 3 (­11%) 2 (­7%) 2 (­7%) 2 (­7%) 1 (­4%)

  5 (­19%) 27 (­100%)

Note: Frequency of responses to the question “­A re there some urban settings where you would never consider using headphones in? What are some of those places?” from 32 ­in-​­depth interviews.

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Private Sound Environments in Urban Public Space ­Table 7.4  Activities during Which People Never Use or Discontinue the Use of Headphones Types of Activity

Frequency of Responses and Percentages

Social interactions Walking Entertainment activities Total responses

  9 (­53%)   7 (­41%)   1 (­6%) 17 (­100%)

Note: Frequency of responses to the question “­W hat are some of the instances that you would never use headphones or if you already are, would consider taking them off?” from 32 ­in-​­depth interviews.

at 7%. Spaces of entertainment (­such as exhibition halls and stadiums at a frequency of 7%) are some additional public spaces where respondents reported not using headphones. Respondents also reported several places where they would never use headphones. These include public buildings at a frequency of 4%; cemeteries (­4%); commercial spaces like shops (­4%); beaches (­4%); places that are generally quiet (­4%); and places that are frequently crowded (­3%). Several activities discourage the use of headphones (­see ­Table 7.4). Social interactions are the most frequent activity, with respondents not using headphones at a frequency of 53% based on 17 responses gathered from the interviews. This includes instances of hanging out with friends or family. However, it is not only during actual social interactions that people are unlikely to use headphones but also whenever there is a high probability of social interaction, for instance, whenever there is a good chance that a person will be approached or when there is an opportunity to proactively interact with others. People are also less likely to wear headphones while crossing a busy street or engaging in entertainment activities such as watching sporting events in places like stadiums (­41% and 6%, respectively). Congruity also affects the use of headphones. “­Congruity” refers to instances when there is an overlap between how a person is feeling and the public sound environment of a given place. When people’s feelings are congruent with the sound environment, people either do not use headphones at all or take them off. In addition to congruity between mood and the public sound environment, congruity between the place and its sound environment also plays an important role in people’s decision not to use headphones. This results from how much the public sound environment is perceived as “­m atching” the public spaces in which the sounds are heard.

Use of Headphones in Urban Parks When people decide to visit a public park, they begin to use headphones at one of four locations (­see ­Table 7.5). Homes are the most frequent place where respondents begin to use headphones on their way to a park. This was reported by 52% of 29 responses gathered from interviews. Other respondents begin using headphones just as they enter the park, while others begin using headphones after spending few minutes in the park. The third most frequently reported place where people begin to use their headphones, at a frequency of 21%, is in personal vehicles. In transit spaces, respondents begin using headphones at a frequency of 3%. However, the decision to begin using headphones is not always ­location-​­dependent. In fact, this decision is influenced by the mode of transportation people take to get to a park. The place where people begin to use headphones depends on whether they are walking, driving or riding public transit to get to a park. Within these three modes of transportation, there is a variety in responses regarding the places at which headphone use begins. For 103

Chathurthi S. De Silva ­Table 7.5  Places When People Begin Using Headphones When Visiting Parks Places People Begin Using Headphones

Frequency of Responses and Percentages

When leaving home When arriving at public parks When leaving personal vehicles When alighting public transit Total responses

15 (­52%)   7 (­24%)   6 (­21%)   1 (­3%) 29 (­100%)

Note: Frequency of responses to the question “­W hen you go to a park, when do you put your headphones on and why?” from 32 ­in-​­depth interviews.

instance, two out of three interview respondents who reported that they always walk to parks begin using headphones as soon as leave their homes, while only one does so upon entering the park premises. Out of seven respondents who reported always driving to parks, six begin using headphones when they alight from their vehicles. Only one respondent does so when they leave home. Of the three respondents who ride public transit to get to a park, two begin using headphones as they leave their homes, and one does so at the train station or bus halt, while waiting for their ride. Physical location is not the only factor that determines when a person begins to use headphones. People also begin using them when they begin to pursue the purpose they have for visiting a park. “­I begin using headphones as soon as I get to the park and am about to start the intended reason why I am there,” one participant said. Depending on the purposes people have for visiting parks, the place at which people begin to use headphones also differs. Although there are multiple instances when people begin to use headphones, the only reported time when people discontinue using headphones is when they reach their homes. This study indicates that people engage in nine types of activities while using headphones in public parks (­see ­Table 7.6). Relaxing and unwinding is the most frequently reported activity with respondents pursuing these activities at a frequency of 33%, a number based on 87 interview responses. Relaxing and unwinding involves several activities, the most frequent is sitting down, be it on benches, chairs or park lawns. Other forms of relaxing and unwinding are: lying down on lawns or in hammocks; getting fresh air; enjoying nature or the weather; and listening to the natural sounds such as bird songs; and playing games on mobile devices, meditating and taking pictures. Fitness and physically demanding activities are the second most common, with respondents reporting them at a frequency of 32%. These include exercising, doing stretches, and working out. Running is the second most frequent physical activity, closely followed by jogging. Walking is reported by respondents at a frequency of 10% when ­headphone-​­using respondents in parks. Not only does this include simply walking around in parks, which is the most frequent form of walking, but also includes other w ­ alking-​­related activities such walking a dog. The reasons that people play audio on their headphones in parks extend beyond their need to simply listen to audio. Respondents reported 11 different reasons why they play audio in parks (­see ­Table 7.7). Although it is only one of the 11 reasons, the need to listen to or hear audio is numerically a significant ­one – ​­it is the second most frequent reason at a frequency of 16%. This is based on a total of 55 responses received from the interviews. Out of seven respondents who reported playing audio on headphones for purposes of listening to or hearing 104

Private Sound Environments in Urban Public Space ­Table 7.6  Activities People Pursue while Using Headphones in Parks

Type of Activity

Frequency of Responses and Percentages

Relaxing and unwinding

29 (­35%)

Fitness and physically exacting activities

28 (­34%)

Walking

  9 (­11%)

Activities that require thought and concentration

  5 (­6%)

Observing Recreational activities Eating / drinking Total responses

  6 (­7%)   3 (­4%)   2 (­2%) 82 (­100%)

Frequency of Responses and Percentages Being seated Leisure activities Laying down Getting fresh air Enjoying nature Consuming food/­drinks Miscellaneous Total responses Exercising Running Jogging Organized sports Total responses Walking Walking dogs Total responses Reading ­Employment-​­related activities Total responses

  8 (­28%)   4 (­14%)   3 (­10%)   3 (­10%)   3 (­10%)   2 (­7%)   6 (­21%) 29 (­100%) 11 (­39%)   8 (­29%)   7 (­25%)   2 (­7%) 28 (­100%)   8 (­89%)   1 (­11%)   9 (­100%)   4 (­80%)   1 (­20%)   5 (­100%)

N/­A

Note: Frequency of responses to the question “­W hen you are in a park with your headphones on, what sort of activities do you do?” from 32 ­in-​­depth interviews.

audio, six reported that they play audio in order to listen to some form of audio. These are respondents who pay attention to the content of the audio for purposes of pleasure, entertainment, and to seek information. One out of the seven respondents reported playing audio for the purpose of hearing it, without paying attention to the content. For this respondent, the audio serves as background ­sounds – ​­something that is entertaining, pleasurable and complements the activities being pursued. Listening to audio affects people’s feelings, which is the most frequently reported reason why respondents play audio on headphones (­see ­Table 7.7). This was reported at a frequency of 24%. Several types of feelings were reported. First are feelings of relaxation, which affects five out of 13 respondents. Second are feelings of peace and tranquility, which is another three out of 13 respondents gave. Third is people’s mood, with two out of 13 respondents indicating that audio improves their mood. Fourth is enjoyment, with one respondent indicating enjoying time in parks more when there is audio playing on their headphones. Fifth, for another respondent, audio helps them “­feel good.” Lastly, playing audio also gives people a sense of freedom that they would not otherwise have felt, had there been no audio playing, according to one respondent. 105

Chathurthi S. De Silva ­Table 7.7  Why People Play Audio on Headphones in Parks Reasons Why People Play Audio

Frequency of Responses and Percentages

Frequency of Responses and Percentages

Affects feelings

13 (­24%)

Need to listen to/­hear audio

  9 (­16%)

For better concentration

  9 (­16%)

Compliments activities

  9 (­16%)

Be isolated

  6 (­11%)

Relaxation Peace and tranquility Mood Enjoyment “­Feel good” Sense of freedom Total responses Listen Hear Unspecified Total responses Avoid distractions Focus Total responses Increases efficiency Encourages activities Keeps busy Total responses Be socially unavailable Be in a “­bubble” Total responses

Reduce/­cancel noise For reminiscence Temporal reasons Therapeutic reasons Avoid causing nuisance Better quality of listening Total responses

  3 (­5%)   2 (­4%)   1 (­2%)   1 (­2%)   1 (­2%)   1 (­2%) 55 (­100%)

  5 (­38%)   3 (­23%)   2 (­15%)   2 (­15%)   1 (­8%)   1 (­8%) 13 (­100%)   6 (­67%)   1 (­11%)   2 (­22%)   9 (­100%)   5 (­56%)   4 (­44%)   9 (­100%)   4 (­44%)   3 (­33%)   2 (­22%)   9 (­100%)   4 (­67%)   2 (­33%)   6 (­100%)

Note: Frequency of responses to the question “­W hy do you play audio on headphones when you are in a public park?” from 32 ­in-​­depth interviews.

People also play audio because the audio, in different ways, compliments the activities they are pursuing at the time (­see ­Table  7.7). This was reported at a frequency of 16%. Four out of the nine respondents explained that playing audio encourages them to do more, thereby increasing their level of productivity and efficiency. Audio also gives people an energetic boost and makes people more productive, according to one respondent: when using headphones and walking, I just tend to walk more when I have my headphones on. Because I tend to measure distance using songs as well. So, if I walk for 10 songs I have already walked for 2.5 to 3 kilometers already. Which if I didn’t have headphones I wouldn’t do. Further, three out of nine respondents, to engage in activities, require audio to be playing on headphones. In public parks, particularly, when engaging in activities like running, 106

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exercising, or other forms of physically demanding endeavors, people feel the need to play audio on headphones. Playing audio on headphones also gives two out of the nine respondents “­something to do,” especially when they have nothing else to do, and “­keeps them busy.” Playing audio on headphones enables greater concentration for respondents at a frequency of 16%. For four out of nine of these respondents, playing audio gives them the impetus to focus on something, be it a task at hand or their personal thoughts. In particular, for some, audio helps focus on exercising, which is an activity people pursue in parks, and for others, audio helps concentrate and redirect their focus to their thoughts. This ability to concentrate when there is audio playing comes at a ­cost – ​­for one to be able to concentrate on something means that one needs to ignore everything else. This ­concentrating/ ignoring dichotomy that headphone use creates enhances people’s concentration toward certain aspects, while taking away their concentration or leaving them distracted from other aspects, particularly, their immediate surroundings. This distraction may be good or bad. The audio on headphones helps one respondent ignore the internal chaos that may be going on in their lives. For four respondents, the audio playing on headphones serves as a means of avoiding distractions. For these people, these distractions are largely external, for instance, for one respondent, playing audio on headphones “­helps avoiding distractions like other people, sometimes a skateboarder that is going by.” Separating themselves from their surroundings and from one another is also a reason why some respondents play audio on their headphones in parks at a frequency of 11% (­see ­Table 7.7). This isolation that people seek by playing audio on headphones manifests in two forms. The first enables people to keep to themselves and engulf themselves in a sort of “­bubble” when there are a lot of sounds around them. Two out of six respondents reported doing so. The second form through which people seek isolation by playing audio is to constrain their social availability and interface their social relationships, which four out of six respondents claimed to do. “­I think I just want to create a barrier between me and others, that’s why I play something. To make sure that no one is interrupting my space in any way,” one respondent explained. This solipsism is paradoxical. While people play audio to be alone or physically separate from others, they inadvertently allow themselves to be close to hyperreal others. These hyperreal others, which refer to various forms of audio that people choose to play, allow people to be close to them and make them feel like they are not alone. So, by playing audio on headphones, people choose to separate themselves from their immediate surroundings and instead be connected to a mediated elsewhere that exists in an auditory dimension. One respondent highlighted this paradoxical circumstance in their response: “­I play audio to avoid other people approaching me when I’m not in the mood or when I feel I wouldn’t be safe. And also, to not feel alone.” The desire to reduce or cancel noise in their surroundings encourages respondents to play some form of audio on their headphones when in parks at a frequency of 5%. Sound also helps people relive past feelings and experiences. This is another reason for playing audio on headphones in parks (­at a frequency of 4%). One respondent explained how audio on headphones helps them reminisce: while doing certain activities, if I listen to certain soundtracks, and if I listen to those somewhere down the line, it helps me revisit those memories or trigger those old feelings. That’s helpful. And when I have certain playlists already set up for a certain amount of time, it helps me look back, like six months ago, a year ago, what was I listening to and what was I doing. 107

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The quality of the listening experience that headphones provide is a reason why people play audio on headphones at a frequency of 2% (­see ­Table 7.7). This listening experience is more intimate than when audio is being played out loud. One respondent explained his thoughts as follows: headphones can actually make you feel the music. You get surrounded by all the instruments, it’s like the music is played inside you. It’s different from when you play it out. I wouldn’t want to play the music out loud in the park. At a frequency of 2%, respondents also play audio for therapeutic purposes. These are people who find parks to be overwhelming or who suffer from disorders such as tinnitus, depression, PTSD and ­hyper-​­v igilance. People are less likely to wear headphones in parks without audio (­33%) than with audio (­67%) of 34 responses. It is important to understand why people do not wear headphones in parks without playing audio. Nine reasons were identified from the ­in-​­depth interviews. The first is the need people have to be aware of their surroundings. This need arises from two concerns: for personal safety and to get close to nature to listen to natural sounds. With regard to concern for safety, people reported not playing audio even though they may have their headphones on when they are in parks, particularly at night. It is not only crime that is of concern but also other kinds of safety. For instance, one respondent said, “[…] if there’s a construction site and I’m passing by, I just want to make sure I can hear what people are saying, just to be safe.” With regard to getting close to nature and listening to naturally occurring sounds in parks, one respondent said: “­If there’s a lot of things to see in the park, like beautiful trees with flowers, or fountains, or birds chirping around, then of course I don’t play anything on my headphones.” In addition to bird songs, respondents have reported ­being interested in hearing the sounds of p­ eople – ​­especially their chatter and laughter. Not all p­ eople-​­related sounds are pleasant and worthy of being heard, for example, the shouts and cries of children. When such sounds are prevalent, headphones are worn to cancel or reduce noise what is perceived to be loud, unpleasant, intrusive or deemed unworthy of being heard. Headphones also serve as a form of insulation, especially in the winter during freezing weather. During such times, headphones serve as earmuffs, in addition to serving as a private listening apparatus. Further, when the activities people pursue in parks require their undivided attention and concentration, people reported that they temporarily halt the audio while still leaving their headphones on. The purpose of isolating themselves, especially socially, is another reason people choose to wear headphones. The chances of people being approached by strangers in public parks, be it to ask for directions, for promotions or for donations, are typically reasonably high and wearing headphones serves as a ­non-​­verbal cue, or as Bull (­2009) calls it, a “­v isual do not disturb sign,” to be left alone. Although one of the main reasons for wearing headphones is to make oneself socially unavailable, on some occasions other people disregard this symbolism. Be it a complete stranger, a friend or a family member, people have reported extended periods of time not wearing headphones in order to interact with these people out of obligation and courtesy. People’s mood is another factor that affects their decision to wear headphones in parks. People sometimes also forget to turn on the audio while wearing headphones. Convenience too plays an important role For instance, one respondent reported wearing headphones in parks simply because it is easier to do so than having to hold them or carry them in their bag after an exhausting day at the park. The findings from this study suggest that people play six types of audio (­see ­Table 7.8). The most commonly reported type is music, with respondents reporting playing music at a 108

Private Sound Environments in Urban Public Space ­Table 7.8  Types of Audio Played on Headphones in Parks Types of Audio

Number of Responses and Percentages

Music Podcasts Phone calls Audiobooks Videos Other informational content Total responses

28 (­48%) 13 (­22%)   7 (­12%)   5 (­9%)   4 (­7%)   1 (­2%) 58 (­100%)

Note: Number of responses to the question “­W hat do you listen to on your headphones?” from 32 ­in-​­depth interviews.

frequency of 48% in parks. This is a figure based on 58 responses gathered from interviews. Additional types of audio that are played on headphones in parks are podcasts (­22%), audiobooks (­9%), videos and other ­v isual-​­enabled content (­7%), and audio with informational content such as recorded lectures and book readings at 2%. The final type of audio is phone calls, which was reported at a frequency of 12%. Although 21 out of 22 respondents reported making or answering phone calls on headphones in public parks, most of them claimed to do so either ­unwillingly – ​­“­i f it rings, I’ll be very annoyed, but I’ll answer it. It’s not something I can listen to. It ruins my experience,” said one r­ espondent – ​­or ­conditionally – ​­“­except if I’m talking to my wife, otherwise my phone will be on ‘­do not disturb’ mode when I’m in a park. Her number is the only number that can ring even then,” said another. Only one respondent admitted to not answering phone calls altogether in parks.

Conclusions In this study I explored a commonplace, contemporary phenomenon that has gone unnoticed by researchers: that people privatize their typically public sound environments with the use of headphones. The purpose of the study was to understand headphone users’ general thought processes that lead to the use of headphones as well as their thoughts, reasoning and behavior while using headphones in public parks. I pursued this reseach by answering several research questions including when, where, how and why people use headphones. I distinguished between playing audio and wearing headphones without any audio playing, and I investigated what activities people pursue while wearing headphones. I proposed the concept of “­private sound environments” to identify the “­­micro-​­ecology” of the sound environments that headphone users create. The study is important in several ways. First, it offers a better understanding of people’s ­headphone-​­related decisions, thought processes and behavior and so it sheds light on the ­m icro-​­ecology of PSEs. Second, the study provides valuable insights for headphone manufacturers, audio streaming services and media companies as the findings could be used to create better products. Third, I observed some gender differences, such as how women give personal safety a high degree of importance resulting in them not using headphone in certain public places at night. There has been little research about possible gender differences in the use of headphones. A similar absence of research prevails regarding possible age differences. Research about these topics could provide interesting insights. 109

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References Bull, M. (­2000). Sounding Out the City: Personal Stereos and the Management of Everyday Life. Oxford: Berg. Bull, M. (­2007). Sound Moves: iPod Culture and Urban Experience. New York: Routledge. 2019). How Often Do You Use Headphones? Retrieved from https://­ w ww.statista. Kunst, A. (­ com/­statistics/­283620/­­us-­​­­consumer-­​­­purchase-­​­­plans- ­​­­smartphone-­​­­accessories-​­2010/ Liu, S. (­2019a). Smart Headphone Market Size by Product in the U.S. 2 ­ 014–​­2022. Retrieved from https://­ www.statista.com/­statistics/­694067/­­smart-­​­­headphone-­​­­m arket-­​­­size-­​­­by-­​­­product-­​­­i n-­​­­the-​­us/ Liu, S. (­2019b). Worldwide Shipments of Headphones ­2013–​­2019. Retrieved from https://­w ww.statista. com/­statistics/­236075/­­revenue-­​­­of-­​­­headphone-­​­­shipments-­​­­i n-­​­­the-­​­­u nited-​­states/ Loeffler, J. (­2019). Headphones: A History of the Original Wearable Tech. Innovation/­Wearables. Retrieved from https://­i nterestingengineering.com/­­headphones-­​­­a-­​­­h istory-­​­­of-­​­­the-­​­­original-­​­­wearable-​­tech Simmel, G. (­1950 [1903]). The Metropolis and Mental Life. In K. H. Wolff (­Ed.), The Sociology of Georg Simmel (­p­­p. ­409–​­424). New York: Free Press. Sterne, J. (­2003). The Audible Past: Cultural Origins of Sound Reproduction. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Taylor, C. (­1995). Philosophical Arguments. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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8 Parkour Loosening Public Urban Space in Finland Lieven Ameel and Sirpa Tani

Introduction Parkour is a physical form of movement that treats urban or natural environments as obstacle courses to be traversed by the body. While there are no formal rules in parkour, traceurs, the practitioners of parkour, have identified six basic elements of the activity: running, jumping, climbing, balancing, stealth and touch/­sensitivity (­Edwardes 2009, pp.­18–​­19). By practising and repeating these actions, a traceur can begin to connect these actions into a series of movements and strive for a fluid and continuous motion. The aim of this chapter is to examine how traceurs use physical and architectural features of everyday urban environments as opportunities to practise their craft. An important part of this practice is the process of developing “­parkour eyes”, an attitude toward space that allows traceurs to evaluate its suitability for parkour training. The complex role of visual media for the development, dissemination and practice of parkour is also explored. Finally, parkour is examined as a way in which urban public and ­semi-​­public spaces are loosened. Information for this chapter is drawn from research conducted in two Finnish cities, Helsinki and Jyväskylä. This chapter examines traceurs’ notions of ideal places for parkour, their appreciation of different types of physical features in the environment and their encounters with other ­people – passersby, security personnel and the ­police – ​­while they practise. Eighteen participants (­aged ­14–​­31) were interviewed in 2009. For this chapter, additional interviews with eight traceurs (­between 24 and 42) were conducted. Four of them had participated in our earlier research, which gave us a good opportunity to reflect on the changes in parkour and its status in Finland. This second round of interviews was conducted in 2020. Of the 22 traceurs interviewed, 8 were female.

History of Parkour Parkour emerged as a form of challenging athletic movement in French suburbs in the late 1980s. Researchers and parkour practitioners give several stories of its origins. The most common one gives credit to David Belle and Sébastien Foucan, who started to use their suburban environment in Lisses, in the south of Paris, as an “­u rban jungle” for their movement. DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-10

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Their goal was to move as efficiently and fluidly as possible from one place to another by using physical elements of the environment along their route as stepping stones rather than as obstacles. They adapted the practice of traversing an obstacle course in military training ­( parcours du combattant) to everyday urban settings. Some features of earlier parkour practices can be traced to the early years of the 20th century when French naval officer Georges Hébert developed a physical training method, l­a méthode naturelle, which in part aimed to imitate movement through natural environments (­Atkinson, 2009). At a later stage, Foucan started to focus on the aesthetic and acrobatic features of the discipline and added elements of martial arts to his style, which be called “­free running” (­see ­E l-​­hage, 2011). David Belle has continued to emphasize the original idea of parkour as efficient movement (­see ­Wilkinson, 2007). A different history of parkour connects it to three Parisian suburbs in the late 1980s where a group of young men started to use their surroundings in a creative way, approaching their urban environments as an everyday obstacle course. Their approach was called “­the ­ oucan – ​­was art of displacement” (­l’art du déplacement) and the g­ roup – ​­including Belle and F named Yamakasi, meaning “­strong body, strong person, strong spirit”. Both built and natural ­environments were essential to their form of practice (­Daniels, 2005; Ameel & Tani, 2012a). The main idea behind both histories of parkour’s inception is the same: to use everyday surroundings in a creative way to progress as smoothly and fluidly as possible from one location to the next one. Several features of parkour’s inception in the Parisian suburbs have remained important for understanding the discipline and its later development into a global discipline, and for practitioners’ negotiation of public space. These features are physical exercise in everyday environments; a focus on urban environments (­in particular concrete suburbs) but also the acknowledgement of parkour’s roots in natural environments; the suggestion of possible social elevation through parkour practice; and the ambiguity between “­naturalness” and continuous flow of movement, on the one hand, and the artificiality of training and repetitive exercises on the other. Parkour, especially in its representation in popular culture and publicity, tends to look like a spectacular and h ­ igh-​­risk practice. A number of studies about parkour injuries and p­ arkour-​ r­elated accidents have appeared (­see e.g. Back  & Knight, 2013; Rossheim  & Stephenson, 2017), but to date, there have been no ­large-​­scale comparative studies of parkour injuries. In their everyday practice, traceurs emphasize the importance of an intimate knowledge of the environment in which parkour is practised, as well as knowledge of one’s own bodily capacities and limits, as a way to limit risks (­see Daniels, 2005). Kidder (­2013, 243) notes that, while “[y]oung men in other sports often discuss injuries and pain with pride… [in] parkour, however, injury was often used as proof one did not adhere to the principles of progression”. On websites such as the Finnish Parkour Academy, parkour injuries are claimed to be rare, especially if parkour is practised following the established guidelines (­Parkour Academy, 2020).

Urban Spaces Used for Parkour The practice of parkour relies on a particular kind of playful and transformative attitude towards everyday spaces. In practice, parkour can be practised everywhere; even modest changes in elevation (­curbs, stairs, etc.) can be used as stepping stones (­­Figure  8.1). Practitioners interviewed for this chapter repeatedly emphasized the importance of natural elements of the environment (­e.g. stones and trees) in their everyday practice (­­Figure  8.2). Some physical features of urban spaces are, however, particularly valued. According to the 112

Parkour

­Figure 8.1 Traceurs often use stairs, railings and ramps for practising fluid and continuous movement Photo: Unto Ikkala.

­Figure 8.2 Although parkour is primarily an urban discipline, many traceurs value natural elements and their organic shapes for offering interesting challenges Photo: Unto Ikkala.

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traceurs interviewed, one of the most important elements is the ­three-​­dimensional geometry of the location. Different heights offer many opportunities for practice, not only for seasoned traceurs but also for beginners, who can use such height differences to practise basic skills. Typical examples of these ideal environments can be found in densely built areas, including ­h igh-​­rise suburbs, where ‒ following modernist paradigms ‒ pedestrians and vehicular traffic have been assigned to their own levels. Many of these good parkour areas in Finland are concrete suburbs constructed in the 1960s and 1970s; similar types of neighbourhoods can be found in most Western cities. Because of the separation of vehicles from pedestrians, there are many “­dead public spaces” (­Sennett, 1974/­1986; Mitchell 2003, 138) in these environments, which enhances their usability as iconic places for parkour (­A meel  & Tani, 2012a, p.168). Based on their disconnection from the history of the broader city, these areas can be regarded as “­­non-​­places” (­Augé 1992), typified by a (­post)­modern “­sense of placelessness” (­Cresswell, 2004, pp.43‒46; Relph 1976). For traceurs, however, these areas carry totally different meanings; for them, they are ideal places to trigger their imagination and offer a virtually endless number of affordances that they are ready to put to good use. As Kidder has shown, many places may look “­meaningless until they are brought to life through parkour” (­2012, p.237). The foregrounding of urban environments and brutalist architecture as ideal environments for parkour may be related both to the dominant view that parkour emerged in French suburbs and to the dominance of dense urban environments in depictions of parkour in the media and popular culture. There is always the risk that such representations in popular culture aestheticize landscapes of real social inequity, without “­addressing systemic urban inequality and exclusion” (­Lindner 2018, 283). The preference for environments with lots of concrete surfaces is also practical: unpainted concrete is not slippery and traceurs’ shoes will not leave any traces during the practice; concrete is also generally predictably stable. As a physical discipline that does not need any special place or equipment to be practised, parkour is based on direct interaction between traceurs and their environment. This is also a feature that underlines the potentially democratic nature of parkour as a practice for which no expensive equipment is needed, in which no fees for outdoor practice have to be paid, and in which there are no complex hierarchies either between groups or within groups. The unmediated relation to the environment emphasizes the importance of bodily contact and tactile sensations. Parkour practitioners interviewed for this chapter described how they often feel their way through new places. They tend to routinely touch railings, fences and tree branches to find out if they are solid and stable enough for the possible return. Corporeal experiences are thus essential for them (­see also Clegg & Butryn 2012, p.327; Aggerholm & Højbjerre Larsen 2017). Crucially, parkour is not only a discipline that favours particular urban environments; it is also a discipline that develops, in its practitioners, a particular attitude towards the mundane material features of urban public space. Parkour practitioners interviewed told us how the way they look at the environment changed fundamentally after they started practising parkour. They started to develop “­parkour eyes”, to see new opportunities in their environment, and many banal details began to reveal hidden qualities. For example, fences built to separate areas could be used as stepping stones or obstacles to be jumped over. “­Parkour eyes” can be defined as a special way of looking at the environment in order to evaluate its suitability for parkour. This attitude also has its affective components. What appeared from this research is that parkour is “­not only a different way of seeing space, but also a new way of attaching emotions to everyday environments” (­A meel & Tani 2012a, p.165). When traceurs study details of the environment for parkour practice, they also construct meaningful personal bonds with the place. 114

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­Figure 8.3 With their “­parkour eyes” traceurs see their everyday surroundings in new ways. One key feature for their practice is the solidity of elements Photo: Unto Ikkala.

Parkour eyes reveal not only new opportunities for using material elements in the environment but also increase traceurs’ appreciation of those environments (­­Figure 8.3). Some of the traceurs described in detail how a mundane environment changed its meaning for them; it started to feel aesthetically interesting and “­right”. A female traceur described how she became sad when she saw that a certain branch of a tree that she had used for training had been broken off. Consequently, some movements had become impossible to perform at that location (­A meel & Tani 2012a, p.171). This story is just a one example of traceurs’ emotional attachment to their training place, which also entails a sense of ownership (­see also Saville 2008; Atkinson 2009). The development of “­parkour eyes” has been reported in a range of studies. Saville (­2008) quotes a parkour practitioner who describes how traceurs, after they started to practise parkour and became more familiar with the spaces around them, gained a special kind of “­parkour vision” or a “­parkour gaze”, a mode of seeing that they cannot “­switch off” (­a lso see Kidder 2012). When traceurs’ skills improve, they often feel empowered and more capable, and find new ways of moving in different environments (­Lamb 2014a; 2014b). Parkour practitioners interviewed for this chapter described similar experiences. Some of them reported that particular places started to reveal new opportunities when their skills improved.

Parkour as Practised, Parkour as Represented One important feature of parkour is its complex relationship with the mediated images of the discipline. Mediated images were crucial for the discipline’s geographic diffusion outside 115

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France, which can be traced to a couple of television documentaries such as “­Jump London” (­2003) and “­Jump Britain” (­2005), both directed by Mike Christie, and to commercials after the turn of the millennium (­the BBC trailer “­Rush Hour” from 2002 being probably the most influential one, with David Belle showing his parkour skills on rooftops to avoid traffic jams) (­see Ameel & Tani 2007, 4). Many of the pioneering traceurs interviewed for this chapter reported ­that – ​­after viewing these documented actions on television, often with a small group of ­friends – ​­they started to imitate the moves they had seen. Over the past decades, documenting one’s parkour practice by making videos and distributing them via social media platforms such as YouTube and Instagram has become an integral part of parkour culture and an important resource for ­community-​­building. Mediated images of the ­practice – both in ​­ popular culture and in personally made ­v ideos – ​­are relevant also for understanding parkour’s focus on particular urban environments (­see also Kidder 2017). In commercial representations, it is possible to note the strong emphasis on urban environments and on spectacular settings and ­h igh-​­risk moves such as rooftop running and jumping from high places, and the production of an illusion of uninterrupted movement. After the first documentaries and commercials appeared around 2003 to 2005, knowledge of parkour spread internationally via feature films, music videos, computer games and television commercials. Many of the traceurs interviewed in 2009 were familiar with these representations. Their relationship to the commercial use and reinterpretation of their discipline was complex. On the one hand, they were interested in seeing parkour in various types of popular culture. They felt that the spread of information about parkour was important also because it meant more people in public space would become aware of the practice, which would help them negotiate public space. Media presentation was seen as a possible means of loosening space, but the interviewees were also aware of the differences between the created images and the physical reality of parkour. They were critical of how computer games and action movies, in particular, focused on potentially ­life-​­threatening stunts, while the hard work of everyday, repetitive training remained out of sight. This difference between common ideas about parkour and the hard work behind the smooth movements has also been noted elsewhere (­Saville 2008; Mould 2009; Kidder 2012). The Internet has played an important role for emerging parkour communities in strengthening traceurs’ sense of belonging to a particular community and through establishing contacts with other traceurs, both locally and globally. Based on this feature, parkour can be seen as one of many living online cultures, despite the fact that it is very much a physical discipline, depending on bodily experiences of physical space. There is a “­sense of virtual community” present in traceurs’ manner of talking about the role of the internet (­Blanchard 2008; ­González-​­A nta et al. 2019). Traceurs’ posting of videos fulfils important functions. First, traceurs’ own videos and their way of sharing them on social media create an important channel, in particular for beginners. Privately posted videos, as well as m ­ ulti-​­media representations in popular media, provide concrete examples of where to start a practice, what environments can be chosen and how to behave in public space. For beginners, mediatized versions of parkour are important in shaping images of the discipline and acting as a virtual coach. When these images are combined with actual training from more experienced traceurs in the real world, beginning practitioners receive a multifaceted image of parkour. According to the interviewees in our research, traceurs start to evaluate the contents of the mediatized parkour in a more critical way once they have trained parkour for a longer time. Second, the Internet offers a channel to build up social networks, both locally and globally, which for the most part work virtually but quite often continue into the real world. On 116

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the local level, the Internet is used for the information it provides about the time and location of weekly jams and of special occasions. Facebook, Instagram, Telegram and WhatsApp are used to give updated information on parkour’s presence in the media. On the global level, practitioners in all possible geographical locations may follow websites of national parkour communities. Kidder (­2012, p.241) has described the process in which the internet works as a platform for “­­on-​­screen pedagogy”, transmitting knowledge of parkour and creating online places for interaction.

Parkour as Loosening Urban Space When traceurs use urban public space as their training ground, adopting physical features such as railings and height differences, they transform the s­ocio-​­spatial properties of that space. Parkour practice and the development of “­parkour eyes” heighten the practitioners’ spatial awareness. Space itself is transformed. Drawing on the work of Karen A. Franck and Quentin Stevens (­2007), parkour practice can be understood as an opportunity to “­loosen” urban spaces. The concept of “­tight space” was originally introduced by Robert Sommer in his book Tight Spaces: Hard Architecture and How to Humanize it (­Sommer 1974; quoted in Franck  & Stevens 2007; see also Penman 2019). Sommer described tightly planned architectural spaces in which people’s opportunities to remodel space to better suit their own needs are restricted or completely restrained. He emphasized the need to “­soften” architecture in such a way that it could be made more welcoming, responsive and reflecting the activities of human beings (­Penman 2019). Franck and Stevens (­2007) applied these ideas to urban spaces. For them, tight spaces are planned for a certain type of use only. Other possible ways to use these spaces are prohibited by various means: with clear restrictions such as prohibition signs (­no skating, no loitering, no trespassing, etc.); with concrete obstacles such as bollards, skate stoppers and barbed wire; or by applying social exclusion to make people feel unwelcome. Social exclusion can be witnessed especially in many commercial spaces, for example, in restrictions on young people’s hanging out (­Tani 2015). Tight spaces can, however, be loosened if alternative ways to use them are tolerated. Loose spaces can also occur in places where the original use does not exist anymore (­e.g. old industrial and warehouse buildings) or where no fixed use ever existed (­e.g. wastelands). Franck and Stevens noted that even when the physical structure and the location of certain spaces may be looser than others, “­it is people’s actions which make a space loose, with or without official sanction and with or without physical features that support those actions” (­2007, p.2). It is important to keep in mind that tightness and looseness are not fixed entities, but parts of an ongoing dialogue (­Franck & Stevens 2007). Franck and Stevens list four mechanisms related to loose space: appropriation, discovery, tension and resistance (­2007, p­p. ­29-​­30). Appropriation is the most basic means of making space loose by people who use it for an expected or unplanned use. These spaces may be “­­open-​­ended”: such as streets (­Fernando 2007) or they may be “­found spaces” without any strictly planned use (­R ivlin 2007). Discovery refers to the exploration of spaces that do not have any current use; people can explore them and use them for their own purposes. Tension occurs in spaces where people have different, often contradictory ideas of the acceptable use of the space. In these spaces, acceptable behavior is negotiated in social encounters. When these different ways to use space are accepted or at least tolerated, space can become loose. Resistance arises when space is tightly regulated and alternative ways to use it are not accepted. These four categories are useful for our analysis of traceurs’ relationships to urban 117

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spaces. In the case of parkour, the discovery of interesting spaces, for example, is essential. A particular feature of parkour is that virtually any space can be appropriated for use in parkour practice. What can be discovered is as much, or even more, dependent on the imagination of the practitioner as on the material properties of the space itself. The first way parkour is a loosening of space is how its practitioners make unexpected and unplanned use of everyday environments. Parkour practitioners show how even the smallest differences in elevation can provide possibilities for exercise and how the material elements designed most explicitly for restricting movement (­such as railings and fences) can be transformed into supporting structures for moving forward (­­Figure  8.4). Parkour foregrounds the many unexpected affordances (­Gibson 1979) – the ​­ potential for use of particular features of everyday urban environments (­see Bavinton 2007; Ameel & Tani 2012a). Bavinton is one of several parkour researchers who draws attention to how practitioners turn obstacles into opportunities. He foregrounds how traceurs are able to reinterpret space and use it in unconventional ways, thereby contributing “­to their sense of agency as individuals” (­see also Clegg & Butryn 2012, 321; Thorpe & Ahmad 2015). In the way it questions the limits of how space is supposed to be used, and the way bodies are supposed to behave, parkour draws attention to possibilities for subverting restrictions. A key term is détournement, which was used by early French traceurs in its everyday meaning of “­appropriation for new purposes” but which also has theoretical undercurrents, grounded in the International Situationist movement (­see Daniels 2005; Ameel & Tani 2007; Lamb 2010). Détournement is a rerouting of physical structures and behavioural expectations of the public city. However, such rerouting can, in turn, be ­re-​­appropriated by others, for example, for commercial purposes (­F ranck & Stevens 2007, 23; Atkinson 2009, ­p. 172).

­Figure 8.4 Traceurs use even modest changes in elevation for their practice Photo: Unto Ikkala.

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When witnessing parkour, onlookers, too, are invited to see how the everyday city can be rerouted for new purposes, as a potential “ ­jungle gym” or urban “­playground” (­Atkinson 2009). These two terms suggest two different approaches to how parkour changes perspectives not only on the possibilities of public space but also on the possibilities of bodies in public space (­see also the idea of parkour as either “­c raftmanship” or “­play” in Eichberg & Højbjerre Larsen 2019). The idea of the public “­g ym” suggests parkour’s utilitarian purpose and the ­able-​­bodiedness of the traceur. The idea of the city as “­playground” focuses attention on parkour as a playful activity and the city as a “­ludic city” (­Stevens 2007a). Whether considered a playground or a gym or both, parkour transforms urban public space into an unexpected space of performance, in which the boundaries between participants and the public are fundamentally unclear. Stevens notes that practices that loosen space often tend to invite passersby to join in, even for the briefest of moments (­2007b, e.g. p­p. ­86-​­87). The traceurs interviewed recounted how children and teenagers, in particular, mimic their parkour moves, for example, by jumping on small obstacles or running along with practitioners. Whether parkour activities are perceived as part of the urban spectacle in which passersby want to participate, or are seen as strange and undesirable behavior, depends on a range of factors. The parkour practitioners interviewed mentioned that passersby who were acquainted with parkour tend to be positively inclined. For these onlookers, parkour was no longer strange or unexpected, but one of the possible ways to behave in public space. Some of the passersby who were not acquainted with parkour tended to understand parkour as one of several activities they consider undesirable: drunks boozing in public or young people hanging out. According to the interviewees, in cities where parkour is less well known, they encounter more negative reactions from passersby. Traceurs connected the degree of “­loosening” of space and the possibility for unusual behaviour to the locations where parkour is practised, particularly whether these were central or more peripheral locations. Densely used downtown environments, with few permanent residents and with a great variety of functions (­from ­w indow-​­shopping to street performances), tend to have a relatively low threshold of acceptance of the performative activities of parkour practitioners. In videos created by parkour practitioners and in popular movies featuring parkour, centrally located and densely used environments are often featured. In everyday practice, however, traceurs tend to prefer quieter environments, where they are less likely to disturb other u ­ sers – ​­and the other way around. Such environments include parts of the deserted ­post-​­industrial Helsinki waterfront whose rocky boulders offer ideal affordances for varied exercise, quiet corners of suburban environments or forest environments. The differences between these environments demonstrate different faces of parkour: parkour as highly visible performance in the thick of densely used public space, or parkour as painstaking and repetitive practice, pursued away from prying eyes. The former shows spontaneity and easy playfulness; the latter demonstrates the organized, everyday nature of parkour practice. The attentive consideration traceurs give to other users of public space (­especially the more seasoned practitioners who were interviewed) is an integral part of parkour philosophy, which is based on attention and consideration for varied elements of public space. On several occasions, traceurs mentioned that they clean walls if they leave traces of shoe ­m arks – ​­a small symbolic gesture that expresses consideration for the built environment as well as for other users of public space. Traceurs were aware of the possibility of confrontations when they move through public space, being “­on stage” for other users of the same space. The interviewees were aware 119

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of the unwritten rules of acceptable use of public space. When stretching the boundaries of these uses, they experience various types of reactions from passersby, but also from security personnel and (­rarely) also from the police. Encounters with other users follow the kinds of patterns of tension and resistance identified by Franck and Stevens (­2007), with unusual behaviour generating tension and occasionally giving rise to resistance in the form of regulation. For traceurs, arguably the best way to draw attention to underused affordances of public space, and to the possibilities of loosening space, is to let their bodies “speak”. Many of the practitioners interviewed were also happy to discuss their right to be there. There is a clear hierarchy here: less experienced traceurs were advised to avoid confrontations and to move on when challenged, but more seasoned practitioners were not averse to staying and to talking with other users of public space. Many of the more experienced practitioners had extensive knowledge of the uses of public space and the right to the city and were aware of their legal right to public space. Here, the highly organized nature of parkour in Finland is visible as a structuring force. Both the Finnish Parkour Association and the Parkour Academy have clearly outlined guidelines for how to act when confronted and disseminate information about legal rights through training. A fascinating aspect of the right to public space that came up in the interviews was the Nordic customary law “­Everyman’s Right”, which allows free access to private land, for example, to pick berries or to hike. The practice, which is not explicitly spelled out in Finnish law, is typically applied to rural environments but parkour practitioners use it to defend their right to pass through ­semi-​­private spaces such as open space surrounding apartment blocks (­see Franck & Stevens 2007, p­p. ­24 -​­26; Ameel & Tani 2012b). While the public right of way on countryside paths exists in a number of other countries (­notably the UK), we are not aware of parkour practitioners in other countries drawing upon that right. The term parkour itself has roots in the complex history of European rights to public space. In medieval and early modern France, the droit de parcours or right of parcours “­permitted the common feeding of animals on the stubble after the harvest as well as on the fallow and waste land” and was a powerful obstacle to the enclosure of the commons in early modern Europe (­Wallerstein 1989/­2011, p.65). What emerges from traceurs’ encounters with others in public space is a complex tension between a strong sense of entitlement among some users of public space, on the one hand, and a profound lack of clarity concerning what is acceptable behavior and use, on the other. One interviewee noted that he used to practise by using a tree in a small public park but that people living nearby interfered with his practice. For them, this was “­their” tree (­see Ameel  & Tani 2012b, p.22). In strictly legal terms, neither the parkour practitioner nor the inhabitants of nearby apartment buildings had ownership of the tree in question. For both groups, the tree belonged to an everyday, affective geography but in ways that were potentially mutually exclusive. When challenged, the traceurs interviewed for this research preferred to move on to avoid potential conflict and to continue their practice elsewhere. However, in previous research, there are several examples of cities where traceurs found it hard to gain access to public environments where they can practice (­especially when they are members of ethnic minorities or come from underprivileged backgrounds), and in which parkour practice is part of more complex negotiations for access to, and visibility in, public space (­see de Martini Ugolotti 2015; de Martini Ugolotti & Moyer 2016). At one end of the spectrum of loose space/­t ight space are gatekeepers of public and private space, such as police officers and security guards. Surprisingly, the parkour practitioners interviewed mostly reported quite positive encounters with police and private security guards. 120

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Most of the time, such official figures were aware of parkour and this awareness provided the groundwork for acceptance. This foregrounds the importance of mediatized images of parkour, and the effect this may have on providing the public with a positive image of the practice. The positive reaction to parkour did not necessarily mean that the space where it was practiced was made loose for other kinds of unusual behavior. Many of the traceurs interviewed noted that police officers and passersby gave them positive feedback by contrasting parkour as positive, playful, ­sports-​­like and healthy behavior with other forms of unusual public behaviour that are often perceived as unwanted, such as hanging around. Practitioners, too, made a distinction between their activities and other unusual forms of behavior, pointing out they are not noisy like skaters and do not disturb others as alcoholics do when they congregate in busy public spaces (­see Ameel & Tani 2012b, p.23).

Implications The loosening of space is a dialectical process that takes place in particular circumstances and within particular social and legal contexts. In our study of traceurs in Finland, several features of ideal parkour environments as well as the ways in which parkour may loosen urban public space are evident. Parkour can be practiced virtually everywhere, with natural elements in addition to urban public spaces. Even modest differences in height can be used for practice. Solidity and stableness of structures are appreciated and, therefore, concrete walls and metal railings are widely used. One of the interesting features of parkour is the way it changes traceurs’ attitude towards their everyday environment. With their parkour eyes, they give new meanings to mundane environments and thus discover otherwise underused affordances of public space. Playfulness is one special characteristic of parkour practice. When traceurs use their environment in unconventional (­and often playful) ways, they can make other people reflect and ­re-​­evaluate unwritten rules of the “­r ight” way to use public space. The example of traceurs negotiating their access to public space by distinguishing their own practice from other, less desirable forms of loosening space illustrates the complex and sometimes contradictory dynamics at work in the processes of appropriation, discovery, tension and resistance that are working in public space. To a certain degree, parkour practitioners also confirm the unwritten rules of what is possible and desirable in public space, and what kinds of spaces can be appropriated for unusual behavior. They do so by practicing away from crowded areas or by avoiding private spaces or ­semi-​­public spaces such as s­ hopping malls. More research on these themes is needed. One important feature that warrants a closer study is the effect of the institutionalization of parkour on encounters in public space. This has already been studied in New Zealand and the UK (­see Wheaton & O’Loughlin 2017; Puddle, Wheaton & Thorpe 2018). Further examination of parkour in Finland promises to add interesting dimensions to this discussion, with an unusually high degree of institutionalization and organization in the country. Several of the parkour pioneers have started their own businesses to organize parkour courses for children and adults. Some of them emphasize the philosophical side of the discipline, while others concentrate mainly on the physical exercise. The role of indoor and outdoor practice could also be studied further. When the number of organized courses and parkour parks increases, these begin to have an increasing impact on the discipline for newcomers. Gendered perspectives (­see Wheaton 2016) also deserve more attention in future studies. Due to continuing institutionalization in recent years, parkour has started to resemble other physical disciplines. Local and national parkour societies have 121

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started to organize courses, in which beginners and more experienced traceurs receive full training and instruction in a safe and controlled environment. One proof of parkour’s institutionalization is its introduction into schools that have collaborated with parkour associations and firms organizing parkour courses. Inevitably, the increasing organization and institutionalization of parkour has consequences for loosening space. On the one hand, it is possible to argue that the gradual institutionalization of parkour has diminished its ability to loosen space. The everyday parkour practices of the traceurs we interviewed included spontaneous and unplanned activities, alongside set hours for regular practice, a somewhat hierarchical structure of instruction and teaching, and including indoor practice in specially designed gyms. There are many parkour parks in Finland, and there are several playgrounds with parkour features. The traceurs we interviewed emphasized the importance of media visibility and a degree of organization for enabling beginning traceurs to practise safely, for enhancing awareness of the practice among other users of public space and for enabling a low threshold for newcomers to enter the discipline. In both sets of interviews conducted in 2009 and 2020, traceurs expressed their awareness of the risks related to institutionalization of parkour but emphasized that in their experience, the original spirit of playfulness, creativity and spontaneity continues.

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Part III

Commerce

9 What Commerce Can Do The Case of Streets in the US Vikas Mehta

Introduction Cities are vital to human civilization. The agglomeration of large numbers of people creates nearly limitless opportunities for creating and accessing goods, services, information, and experiences. Their size, density, and intensity provide exceptional opportunities for social encounters. As a result, the city becomes a space for exchange of ideas that create possibilities for innovation and growth and, ultimately, for advancing culture (­Chakrabarti, 2013; Glaeser, 2011). Spiro Kostof, the renowned architectural historian, characterizes cities as the “­inhabited settings from which daily ­r ituals – ​­the mundane and the extraordinary, the random and the ­staged – ​­derive their validity” (­1992, p.194). In cities new and old, it is streets that support myriad cultural, economic, political and social activities. Kostof asserts, “­The only legitimacy of the street is as public space. Without it, there is no city.” The street, more than any other space, represents urban life: It is the quintessential public space of the city (­Mehta, 2013). Although the use of the street varies across cultures, as a type it remains a p­ an-​­cultural space. Universally, streets serve the purpose of defining and directing movement and facilitate the exchange of goods. But most importantly, streets have been places for open communication and social exchange. The street is one of the foremost public spaces where people come into active or passive contact with strangers and “­others” who may have a different view of the world and may be more or less fortunate. Sharing the space with strangers is important. This is how individuals become tolerant and learn about new viewpoints and new ways of perceiving, experiencing and understanding the world around them. It is no surprise that the street “­has occupied a cherished place in the lexicon of urbanism” (­Keith, 1995, p.297). Streets hold a special place in the domain of public space and, both literally and metaphorically, are the most fitting symbol of the public realm. Across cultures and over the history of civilization, streets have been places to shop, to meet, to enjoy being a part of a community, and to congregate. For many urbanites, it is the streets that represent the outdoors ( ­Jacobs, 1993). People depend on streets for functional, social and leisure activities, for travel, shopping, play, meeting and interaction with other people, and even relaxation. Streets are a DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-12

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significant part of the informal external public realm, “­Accessible to all, these spaces constitute public space in its purest form” (­Carmona, Heath, Oc and Tiesdell, 2003, p.111). Several factors contribute to the authenticity, visibility and success of the commercial street. Shops providing everyday and special services and goods, catering to different lifestyles, tastes and age groups, places to eat and drink serving different cultural cuisines and more, bring people from many walks of life to it. Yet, there are significant variations in the activities conducted on different commercial streets. Along with local policies and regulations, the neighborhood’s social and physical context, and physical infrastructure, such as transportation, and the composition of businesses determine this. The research that forms the basis of this chapter reveals that the range, type and size of businesses that line the commercial street affect the interactional and sensory qualities of the street. The chapter focuses on commercial streets and examines their importance in urban life, the types of businesses that line them and their role as public space. Cases of streets where commerce is integral to and contributes to public space were selected from: Cambridge, Somerville, the town of Brookline Massachusetts; Tampa Florida; and Cincinnati, Ohio. The findings from observations, interviews and surveys conducted on the streets in these locations are presented in this chapter. These commercial streets were studied between 2005 and 2017. People using the streets, shopkeepers and vendors were interviewed or surveyed. ­Fifty-​­one interviews and surveys were conducted on the three commercial streets in Massachusetts and 16 surveys on Franklin Street in Tampa. Each street was examined for five to eight days and the interviews were conducted during the same time period. Systematic behavior observations throughout the weekday and weekend were conducted and extensive field notes were made. At each street, observations were carried out between 7 a.m. and 11 p.m. on weekdays and weekends with temperatures between 12°C and 35°C.

Importance of Commercial Streets As a fundamental unit of human settlements, all streets both serve and provide access to residential, commercial, institutional, industrial, recreational and other properties and uses (­Moudon, 1987). In many instances, streets serve as the primary public spaces for access and for providing opportunities for gathering, interaction and expression. Nowhere is this more evident than on commercial streets, that is, on local streets that house shops and other businesses. Although commerce can be found in several private and ­quasi-​­public spaces such as shopping malls and lifestyle centers and in public squares and plazas, the majority of shopping in public space is done along streets. Commercial streets are omnipresent in downtowns and form an imageable public realm that business groups want to control. They are also integral to many neighborhoods. Local neighborhood commercial streets help create sustainable places by reducing dependence on the automobile by meeting daily shopping needs within walking or biking distance of people’s homes. The presence of neighborhood destinations that can be reached on foot creates walkable urban places that provide public health benefits. Also, local commercial streets benefit the local economy since money is likely to stay in the neighborhood or the city rather than being transferred to global corporate headquarters (­Carmona, 2015; Fitzgerald and Muske, 2016). Local business owners and workers often become connected to their customers and so become an integral part of the community. Local commercial streets provide opportunities for socializing with friends, acquaintances and strangers, and create a sensory environment that is rich in visual, aural, olfactory and tactile stimuli (­Mehta, 2013). In these ways, the local commercial street is a significant everyday public space for many. 128

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In many cities in the Unites States, the resurgence of public space and public life has resulted in formulaic planning and design strategies. The global or national strategies employed are designed to attract global capital and are aimed to appeal to the downtown employee, the tourist, the conventioneer or the new resident who has moved to the city from the suburbs. In these cases, the resultant public space is often homogenized, ageographic and exclusive, and marginalizes several groups (­Davis, 1990; Kohn, 2004; Miller, 2007; Sorkin, 1992, 2008; Zukin, 1995, 2010). At the same time, there are public spaces that resist the prevalent culture of homogenization and are hospitable to a wide range of groups and activities. The local commercial street is one such space. Due to its location, embedded in local neighborhoods, and its smaller scale, the local commercial street has averted these trends and continues to support an authentic public life. Particular physical features of individual businesses and the commercial street as a whole distinguish it from a residential street. A key feature influencing the street level experience of pedestrians are the articulated walls, floors and ceilings of the commercial street. Unlike numerous other public spaces, the street, in section, creates a distinct, veritable enclosure. The building facades form the edge of the street; the street pavement and sidewalk make the floor; and the natural and ­m an-​­made elements such as tree canopies, awnings, overhangs, projections and canopies define the ceiling. The wall, floor, and ceiling of the street give it character and along with its fixed, ­semi-​­fixed and changeable physical objects provide a source of sensory stimuli. While walking, people seek sensory pleasure and enjoy a certain level of complexity that results from variety and novelty (­see, e.g., Lozano, 1974; Rapoport and Kantor, 1967; Rapoport, 1990), as well as order and coherence (­K aplan and Kaplan, 1989; Nasar, 1998). The shapes, colors, patterns, textures, lights, sounds and smells of the fixed, ­semi-​­fixed and movable elements that characterize the commercial street provide sensory experiences (­Bell, Fisher, Baum, and Greene, 1990; Lang, 1987; Porteous, 1996; Rapoport, 1990). Sensory stimuli that contribute to retaining people include other people and their activities, building features and shop windows, signage, canopies, awnings, street furniture, personalization of shop windows, trees and the density and variety of form, texture, and color of shrubs and plants (­DiVette, 1977 from Ciolek, 1978; Coley, Kuo, and Sullivan, 1997; Gehl, 1987; Grey et al., 1970; ­Hass-​­Klau, Crampton, Dowland, and Nold, 1999; Rapoport, 1990; Share, 1978; Sullivan, Kuo, and DePooter, 2004; Whyte, 1980). The residents, workers and visitors interviewed in this study expressed a preference for standing, sitting, hanging out and occupying the parts of the street that were more sensorially interesting than other parts.

Types of Businesses The range of businesses, including the range of goods and services as well as the range in the cost of those, makes up the variety and diversity of stores, which correlates with the types of activities and people on the street. For example, ­single-​­use commercial streets with only food establishments and limited operating hours render the street empty at off hours. Or streets with only ­h igh-​­end goods and services catering to specific socioeconomic groups become exclusive and tend to be exclusionary in their policies of governing street activities and occupancy. Previous research indicates that eating establishments such as restaurants and cafes, a variety of shops and the presence of retail make streets attractive to people (­DiVette, 1977 from Alexander et al., 1977; Banerjee and ­Loukaitou-​­Sederis, 1992; ­Hass-​­Klau et al., 1999; Montgomery, 1998; Rapoport, 1990; Whyte, 1980). Observations of commercial streets in the US revealed that s­ ociability – ​­the number of people ­ bservations – ​­correlated present and how long they stay, measured by systematic behavioral o 129

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with variety and diversity of businesses. Similarly, interview responses from the users of commercial streets showed that the variety and diversity of stores offering a variety of goods and services on an urban block was the most important factor in users’ selection of and preference for that block. Blocks on the streets that had a wide range and mix of types of commerce supported more exchange and social interaction among the users of the street and provided more sensory pleasure. Most importantly, commerce, when composed of different businesses with diverse owners, workers, customers, goods and services, can showcase different value systems and generate possibilities for greater tolerance. The greater the variety of businesses on the street, the better it serves the neighborhood. Businesses can be classified into types according to how much they contribute to public life on the street. The ones that contribute the most are restaurants and cafés. Those that have spaces to eat outdoors have a much greater use for the sidewalk than other businesses since they use it to set up chairs and tables in good weather. In doing so, they add the presence of people to the mix of visual and sensory pleasures they provide. As importantly, they use the sight of people on the sidewalk patronizing their business as advertisement. Consuming food also requires a longer time presence in public space than walking or shopping. More importantly, food is a catalyst to socializing. Places to eat offer an opportunity to pause and remain in public space, to take a break from the everyday routine of life. Urban researchers have noted that even such banal human activities generate great interest (­Gehl, 1987; Whyte, 1980). The second type of commerce is retail, which includes both small and large grocery stores as well as General Merchandise, Apparel, Furniture and Other Goods (­GAFO) such as bookshops, apparel and fashion stores, music stores, sporting goods and gift shops. GAFO business owners understand the value of creating an interactive interface with the street and pay considerable attention to animating the threshold between private and public space. These business owners personalize the building façade, the show windows and the adjacent sidewalk to create a particular ambience by using fixed and changeable signage, furnishings, decorations and even sound. These businesses add much attraction and utility and contribute to the experience economy promoted by the local street. The final type of commerce consists of businesses such as banks, insurance companies, real estate offices and other services and offices. Although these have a place on local streets since they expand the range of services offered, this type of commerce is insular, introverted and remains isolated from the street. The presence of many such businesses can dominate the street, creating an inhospitable setting with few interactional or sensory qualities. Although many types of commercial uses, individually and collectively, contribute to the public life of the street, there are stark differences between small, locally owned businesses and chain stores, particularly in the Unites States. Any type of commerce can provide interactional and sensory pleasures but the design of most superstores, chain stores and other large businesses follows standardized formulaic guidelines that render them ageographic and often disconnect them from their particular locations. Observations and analysis of the three commercial streets in Massachusetts show that substantially more people engage in social activities on parts of the street fronted by small businesses compared to parts adjacent to large businesses (­Mehta, 2011). The majority of people interviewed on these three streets found that the smaller businesses were friendlier and treated their premises, including the sidewalk and street outside, with more care and personal attention than the larger chain stores. People expressed a preference for small stores not only for the quality and variety of goods and services they offer and the presence of friendly staff but also for their distinctiveness, overall appearance, ambiance and function as a gathering place. These qualities of small businesses made the streets more interesting, attractive, and conducive to lingering, meeting people and participating in public life. 130

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Physical Features of Businesses Businesses on commercial streets depend on people stopping by, looking in and entering to make a purchase. Storeowners employ several means to accomplish this and the existing physical environment plays an important role as well. Permeability, articulation and personalization are key factors for gaining the attention of the passersby. A high degree of articulation of buildings through nooks, corners, small setbacks in adjacent walls, ledges, etc., are important to users of public space (­De Jonge, 1968; Stilitz, 1969, 1970 from Alexander et al., 1977; Gehl, 1987; Joardar, 1977; Joardar and Neill, 1978; Mehta, 2013; Mehta and Bosson, 2018; Whyte, 1980). These design features provide visual as well as interactional benefits (­­Figure 9.1). These articulations create visual variety and novelty, adding complexity to the building façade that heightens interest and increases preference for selecting that location for pausing or remaining on the street. At the ground level, articulated façades provide spaces for storeowners to personalize their interface with the street by placing signs, information boards, decorations, planters, flower boxes and items for sale on the sidewalk. Pedestrians use spaces created by articulated facades to seek shelter from the sun or the rain, to get out of the pedestrian traffic flow for a moment, to socialize, to stop and rearrange their belongings or to use a cell phone. Spaces created by the articulation of the building facades are often spaces of choice for street musicians,

­Figure 9.1  Articulation of the façade provides numerous visual as well as interactional benefits. Commercial streets in Cambridge (­a) (­b), Brookline (­c), and Sommerville (­d) in Massachusetts

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performers and panhandlers. Articulated building facades with ­small-​­scale spaces and levels are also attractive to children for active play. Businesses survive on their ability to attract customers. In order to do so, they rely on permeability. The public space of the street and sidewalk provide the perfect opportunity for businesses to be visible and easily accessible to the public. To take full advantage of this location, most businesses that depend on foot traffic rely on a very permeable interface of their shops with the street. The permeability of the building façade that defines the character of the street is more than just the transparency of the building façade. Permeable street fronts are those that actively reveal the interior to the exterior such that people on the street are able to see, hear, smell and sense what is going on inside the buildings. Marketing and retailing researchers know that in addition to purchasing goods, spending time with their friends and walking around, people go shopping to look around which includes w ­ indow-​­shopping and ­people-​­watching. Sensory stimulation is an important and basic motive for shopping behavior (­Tauber, 1972; Bloch, Ridgway, & Sherrell, 1989; Falk, 1997). Pedestrians experience pleasure from characteristics of the edges of buildings that define the street, including shop windows and the displays and goods in them (­Ciolek, 1978; Whyte, 1980Gehl, 1987; Mehta, 2013). The permeability of the street front is integral to creating a condition for such sensory stimulation. Permeable storefronts create interest and intrigue and provide sensory rewards to the passerby. Observations showed that permeability was an attraction for adults as well as children. Permeable building facades provide the canvas for animating the space for the pedestrian and to communicate and entice the passerby (­­Figure 9.2).

­Figure 9.2  Ways that the stores are permeable, adding to the sensory and interactional qualities of the street. Commercial streets in Sommerville (­a), Cambridge (­b) (­c) in Massachusetts, and (­d) Cincinnati, Ohio

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Business owners, particularly of small businesses, personalize their own interface with the street by displaying their goods and services. This personalization is their way of displaying an image and an identity. This kind of personalization includes designing and decorating the interior of the store as well as its entrances, show windows, canopies, awnings, furniture, and accessories. On a regular basis, business owners change their displays, signs, plants and flowers, decorations and artwork in show windows, the goods they sell and the music they play. This personalization of the private interface with the public realm through shop window design and signage correlated with people’s preference for such spaces because it makes them visually appealing and engaging (­Bentley, Alcock, Murrian, McGlynn and Smith, 1985; Gehl, 1987; Mehta, 2011). Such personalization also makes the street environment appear safer (­Perkins, 1986). Conversely, a lack of personalization communicates a lack of territorial control, making the street environment perceptibly less safe (­Taylor, Gottfredson and Brower, 1984). Personalization also provides stimulation and generates interest, providing a reason to stop and ­w indow-​­shop, further creating opportunities for human interaction in public space. Some stores limit the personalization to their s­treet-​­front show windows and entrances, while others spill over onto the sidewalk with their wares (­­Figure 9.3). Personalization of the storefront adds personality. When personalized, each store appears unique, creating variety on the street that provides interest and engages people in various activities such as reading signs, w ­ indow-​­shopping, touching and smelling objects, browsing through goods and trying

­Figure 9.3  Personalizing the interface between private and public. Commercial streets a), Sommerville (­ b), and Brookline (­ c) in Massachusetts, and in Cambridge (­ ­Cincinnati, Ohio (­d)

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things out. Personalization through signs and displays also provides relevant information about events, goods and services in the stores. All of this leads to more people spending more time in public space and engaging in public life. Articulation, permeability and personalization support encourage people to come to commercial streets and thereby create opportunities to interact with others in a passive or an active manner. As a result, these seemingly simple indentations in the building facades or the porosity of the building edge or the design and decorations in shop windows generate interactional and sensory pleasure.

Commercial Streets as Public Space To engage in the act of shopping in public (­vs. online), people leave their private domestic space to come to q­ uasi-​­public or fully public space. Commerce is thus a catalyst for occupying this public space. Indeed, it is one way that space becomes public. By attracting customers to shop, commercial streets also attract and support other social, political and economic activities including lingering, socializing, performance, panhandling, vending, soliciting, protesting and more. When designed and managed well, local commercial streets serve the commercial, leisure, communication and social needs of people from the neighborhood and beyond. Local commercial streets, regardless of their size, ranging from only a handful of stores to a few urban blocks, create a distinctive urban condition. The shops, although usually private, can only exist by being open to the public. This condition of public use augments the publicness of the spaces that the shops face and that provides access to ­them – ​­streets and sidewalks. Since most shops face the street, the local commercial street attains a higher degree of publicness than residential streets in the area. And to be sustainable, the businesses there welcome customers from beyond the local neighborhood, which adds to the openness and publicness of the street. With its heightened publicness, the local commercial street offers an interface between the parochial (­neighborhood) and the public realms (­city and beyond). Here, the neighborhood meets the city as local residents and workers share the street with visitors and people from other parts of the city. The urban sociologist Lynn Lofland (­1998) notes that “­public realm pleasures” are a result of “­esthetic pleasures” (­the ones experienced through the qualities of the place) that she categorizes as perceptual innuendo, unexpectedness, whimsy, historical layering/­physical juxtaposition and crowding/­stimulus diversity/­spectacle and “­interactional pleasures” that are derived from being in the company of other people categorized as public solitude, p­ eople-​ ­watching, public sociability and playfulness/­frivolity/­fantasy. Similarly, in studying local commercial streets, Mehta (­2013) found that in many cases, the combination of the presence of other people and the visual and other sensory stimuli generated by the presence of fixed and movable signage, decorated show windows and entrances, embellished street fronts, outdoor cafes and displays of their goods on the sidewalk affected user preference for using those parts of the street with those features. People interviewed on the street were asked why they prefer using some blocks more than others. Two reasons were “­meeting place, seeing activities and people” and “­v isually interesting.” When asked why they did not frequent some blocks of the same streets, their reasons included “­v isually uninteresting,” “­not a destination for people” and “­few or no activities here.” Distinct from residential and other uses, the commercial ­uses -​­stores, restaurants and ­cafés -​­create spaces of exchange. Their success as businesses depends on economic transactions. The presence of commerce anchors the street as a public space in the local community and 134

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the city at large. As a central public space in the neighborhood and as a place of exchange, the commercial street attracts people from many walks of life. Whether to consume, relax, socialize or for economic survival or political purposes, individuals and groups with different backgrounds and needs are attracted to the commercial street and so it acts as a stage for much of everyday life. Observations of commercial streets in the US show that most residents, workers, and visitors embrace the diversity of personalities, outlooks and mannerisms of others they find there. People accept others who have different backgrounds and attitudes from their own and they avoid possible disagreements and conflicts by maintaining a civil distance or by using the street at different times. In most cases, the contained public space of the street is the site of informal, often momentary, social encounters, creating a bridge that plays a crucial role in “­promoting cohesion within diversity” (­A lcock, cited in Cattell, Dines, Gesler, & Curtis, 2008, ­p. 547). In numerous ways, the commercial street is a place of expected and unexpected interaction, social contact and experiences of diversity and creative disorder, which, as Sennett (­1971) suggests, is an important role of urban public space. The social qualities of public spaces along with their physical characteristics make them attractive for public life. Repeated experiences with people, places and events contribute to familiarity and to a sense of belonging in the community. Many factors contribute to building community. Certainly, encountering people f­ace-­​­­to-​­face in public space is an important one. Many meeting places that are anchors of community life, which Ray Oldenburg (­1989) calls “­third places,” are located on local commercial streets and are associated with commerce and exchange. Observations and interviews conducted by this author suggest that third places include a variety of commercial ­establishments – ​­coffeeshops, restaurants, bars, bookshops, convenience stores and other types of businesses. The observations conducted on three streets in Massachusetts show an intensity of gatherings at the locations of businesses that users identified as third places. Oldenburg (­1989, 2001) found that through their management, design and operation, business owners and workers of third places often encourage gathering, socializing, playing and other activities beyond shopping. Observations of the streets in Massachusetts corroborate this. Third places support behaviors that are more than just the act of conducting business and help develop what Hester (­1984) calls “­­collective-​­symbolic ownership”. People use these places to spend time, to meet neighbors, friends and strangers, to chat, read, work, play games, listen to ­music – to ​­ hang out and linger. In cases where the physical characteristics of the street support outdoor life, these third places become anchors for sociability (­­Figure 9.4). In neighborhoods with local commercial streets, most residents are able to identify some places as being ­community-​­gathering place. The interviews with users of streets in Massachusetts reveal that while most people visit third places to meet neighbors, acquaintances, and friends, some people described the opportunity for meeting people with different backgrounds as an important quality of third places. Typically, the local commercial street is a public space under the control of local or state jurisdictions. The storeowners themselves, however, have a stake in the appearance and upkeep of the sidewalk and the street adjacent to their shops. Many storeowners claim the street space outside their stores and take care of it, either by themselves or by hiring an agency as observed in cities in the United States. Although there is great variation, in general, business owners are interested in the upkeep of the street to make customers feel welcome. In some cases, business owners are able to claim the street fronting their shops temporarily without creating an exclusive space. One example is putting out movable chairs and tables without barricading the space. In other cases, businesses are given permits to claim sidewalk space and even roadway space (­such as parklets) for the exclusive use of their customers for dining 135

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­Figure 9.4  W ith the presence of Third Places, the street becomes a shared territory. ­Commercial streets in Brookline (­a), Cambridge (­b) (­c), and Sommerville (­d ), in Massachusetts

as is common in several downtowns in cities in the United States. Observations conducted in Tampa, Florida and Cincinnati, Ohio show that along downtown commercial streets and ones patronized by visitors more than locals, many more businesses claimed street space exclusively for their customers by barricading dining spaces and so compromising the publicness of the street. In contrast, most businesses on local commercial streets claim, personalize and care for the public space outside their stores without compromising its publicness. That is, they erect few or no barriers that exclude people who are not their customers. The claiming of public space on the street by ­businesses – ​­by putting tables, chairs, and other furniture on the s­treet – ​­also transfers a degree of control to their customers who can then rearrange furniture to meet their needs. The ability to modify space in this way and to expand or contract their territories in this manner gives people a sense of ownership of public space.

The Future of the Commercial Street The second half of the 20th century witnessed the erosion of much local commerce by the construction and success of shopping malls, chain stores and megastores, particularly in the Unuted States. So far, in the 21st century, we are seeing the impact of e­ -​­commerce on m ­ om-­​ ­­and-​­pop stores and the subsequent deleterious effects on local commercial streets as potential customers turn to the internet to make their purchases. At the same time, the rise of the experience economy, entrepreneurship and café culture has seen the return of neighborhood 136

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businesses. Local commerce in the ­21st-​­century city is an amalgam of ­mom-­​­­and-​­pop shops, immigrant shops, retro culture, hipster entrepreneurship, and ­more – ​­a local and global assortment of offerings (­Zukin, Kasinitz, and Chen, 2016). Today, urban residents value local commercial streets as symbols of localism, as supporting walkability, sustainability and community. Industry experts predict that by the end of the 2020s, there will be some decline in local business, but 75% of retail sales will continue to occur at a physical location (­Townsend, 2018). Without romanticizing the past, neighborhood commerce can still be understood as integral to urbanity and trends indicate that physical retail locations will continue to be valued as a part of an urban lifestyle, especially by the highly educated populace that is moving back to urban cores (­F lorida, 2012). Predictions suggest that urban retail will further benefit from demographic shifts and the changing nature of consumption patterns (­Lipsman, Cakebread, Cheung, Rotondo and Wurmser, 2018). As local commerce shifts from a transactional to an experiential space, catering to consumer needs for identity, social relationships and belonging, the local commerce becomes even more important for public space and public life. Like city centers and urban cores competing for global capital, local commercial streets in the same region compete with each other in an attempt to attract local and regional customers. In doing so, businesses and residents demand, and, with the help of the public and private sectors, deliver public streets that are maintained and cared for. One frequent result is the improvement of the street for pedestrians with the provision of wider sidewalks, street trees and street furniture. In some cases, such spaces become exclusive and lack diversity. But in most cases, benefiting from their location in neighborhoods instead of downtown, and in part due to the types of retail that are able to survive in the 21st century, local commercial streets remain open public spaces that support a diversity of users. The constant flow of people on a commercial street attracts others who are there in order to attract the attention of other users. This includes street musicians, buskers, vendors, panhandlers, and solicitors for donations to political or other organizations, or for signatures on petitions. And for those who live in modest accommodations, have meagre jobs or are unemployed or unhoused, the street is as good a public space as any other to spend most of the day. All these diverse users and actors give the street many dimensions of publicness beyond the consumption of goods (­Mehta, 2019). The local commercial street creates a unique micro zone of space, a type of public space akin to a neighborhood version of what Anderson (­2011) calls a “­cosmopolitan canopy.” This shared space of commerce, where one is likely to find exchange, sensory stimuli, social interaction and other activities, expands the social and cultural palette and so provides increased tolerance and empathy for the unfamiliar. In fact, tolerance for a diversity of people and activities on the local street is itself perceived as an asset and a sign of success that will attract more patrons for the businesses that line it.

Conclusion At the time of this writing in 2021, it is evident that commercial streets regained additional value during the COVID pandemic of 2020. During that time, with the required closing of ­non-​­essential businesses, the pain of the community became apparent on Main Street. Many of those business then went out of business, illustrating how important their presence on Main Street is to their survival. When regulations were lifted on social gathering, requirements for social distancing remained in place and staying outdoors remained preferable to gathering indoors. In response, local governments allowed restaurants and cafes to serve their customers on the sidewalk or 137

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in the street, particularly in what had been parking. In New York City, this practice was so successful that the mayor created a permanent Open Restaurant program. In New York City and other cities around the world, another innovative intervention appeared. That was the closing of roadways to all vehicular traffic, allowing for a variety of uses, including for nonvehicular circulation, for community gatherings, and for children’s play. In cities and towns across the globe, a wide variety of innovative interventions are visible, often as a result of both ­bottom-​­up and ­top-​­down partnerships. Some city governments closed several residential and commercial streets to motorized traffic completely, so that pedestrians and bicyclists could use the roadway. In other innovative partnerships, municipalities have made use of sidewalks for the distribution of goods and services and for providing health care services, including tests for the corona virus. In these various ways, communities have worked together to use residential and commercial streets in creative ways for physically active uses, for public health, for the dissemination of important information, for mutual aid and care, for essential functions of community support, play, recreation and more. The blurring of boundaries between private businesses and public space made the symbiotic relationship of businesses to their adjoining public space glaringly apparent. In this chapter, I have argued that commercial streets provide the necessary conditions for people to gather in public and that the occupancy of the street extends beyond the consumption of goods, food and drink. When the necessary combination of characteristics is present, the commercial street can create opportunities for sensory pleasure interwoven with the interactional pleasures of gathering, lingering, and exchange. When the commercial street is well designed and managed, it can be a rewarding public space where people from all walks of life can experience and share public life in its many forms.

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Davis, M. (­1990). City of Quartz: Excavating the Future in Los Angeles. London: Verso. De Jonge, D. (­1968). Applied Hodology. Landscape, 17(­2), ­10–​­11. Falk, P. (­1997). The Scopic Regimes of Shopping. In P. Falk and C. Campbell (­eds.), The Shopping Experience, p­p. ­177–​­185. London: SAGE. Fitzgerald, M. A., and Muske, G. (­2016). Family Businesses and Community Development: The Role of Small Business Owners and Entrepreneurs. Community Development, 47(­4), ­412– ​­430. doi:10.108 0/­15575330.2015.1133683. Florida, R. (­2012). Death and Life of Downtown Shopping Districts. City Lab. https://­w ww.citylab. com/­l ife/­2012/­0 6/­­death-­​­­a nd-­​­­l ife-­​­­downtown-­​­­shopping-​­d istricts/­1925/ Gehl, J. 1987. Life Between Buildings. New York: Van ­Nostrand-​­Reinhold. Glaeser, E. (­2011). Triumph of the City: How Our Greatest Invention Makes Us Richer, Smarter, Greener, Healthier, and Happier. New York: Penguin Books. Grey, A. et  al. (­1970). People and Downtown. Seattle: College of Architecture and Urban Planning, University of Washington. ­Hass-​­Klau, C., Crampton, G., Dowland, C., and Nold, I. (­1999). Streets as Living Space: Helping Public Spaces Play Their Proper Role. London: ETP/­Landor. Hester, R. (­1984). Planning Neighborhood Space with People (­2nd ed.). New York: Van ­Nostrand-​­Reinhold. Jacobs, A. (­1993). Great Streets. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Joardar, S. (­1977). Emotional and Behavioral Responses of People to Urban Plazas: A Case Study of Downtown Vancouver. Doctoral dissertation, University of British Columbia, Canada. Joardar, S. and Neill, J. (­1978). The Subtle Differences in Configuration of Small Public Spaces. Landscape Architecture, 68(­11), ­487–​­491. ­ ature—​­A Psychological Perspective. New York: Kaplan, R. and Kaplan, S. (­1989). The Experience of N Cambridge University Press. Keith, M. (­1995). Shouts of the Street: Identity and the Spaces of Authenticity. Social Identities, 1(­2), ­297–​­315. Kohn, M. (­2004). Brave New Neighborhoods: The Privatization of Public Space. New York: Routledge. Kostof, S. (­1992). The City Assembled: The Elements of Urban Form through History. Boston, MA: Little, Brown & Co. Lang, J. (­1987). Creating Architectural Theory: The Role of the Behavioral Sciences in Environmental Design. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold Co. Lipsman, A., Cakebread, C., Cheung, M.-​­C., Rotondo, A., and Wurmser, Y. (­2018). The Future of Retail 2019. New York, NY: eMarketer. Lofland, L. (­1998). The Public Realm: Exploring the City’s Quintessential Social Territory. New York: Aldine De Gruyter. Lozano, E. (­1974). Visual Needs in the Urban Environment. Town Planning Review, 45(­4), ­351–​­374. Mehta, V. (­2019). Streets and Social Life in Cities: A Taxonomy of Sociability. Urban Design International, 24(­1), 1­ 6–​­37. Mehta, V. and Bosson, J. K. (­2018). Revisiting Lively Streets: Social Interactions in Public Space. Journal of Planning Education and Research. doi:10.1177/­0739456X18781453. Mehta, V. (­2013). The Street: A Quintessential Social Public Space. London: Routledge. Mehta, V. (­2011). Small Businesses and the Vitality of Main Street. Journal of Architectural and Planning Research, 28(­4), ­271–​­291. Miller, K. (­2007). Designs on the Public: The Private Lives of New York’s Public Spaces. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Montgomery, J. (­1998). Making a City: Urbanity, Vitality and Urban Design. Journal of Urban Design, 3(­1), ­93–​­116. Moudon, A.V. (­ed.) (­1987). Public Streets for Public Use. New York: Columbia University Press. Nasar, J. (­1998). The Evaluative Image of the City. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE. Oldenburg, R. (­ed.) (­2001). Celebrating the Third Place: Inspiring Stories About the “­G reat Good Places” at the Heart of Our Communities. New York: Marlowe & Company. Oldenburg, R. (­1989). The Great Good Place. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Perkins, D. (­1986). The ­Crime-​­Related Physical and Social Environmental Correlates of Citizen Participation in Block Associations. Paper presented to the annual meeting of the American Psychological Association, Washington, DC. Porteous, J. (­1996). Environmental Aesthetics: Ideas, Politics and Planning. London: Routledge. Rapoport, A. (­1990). History and Precedent in Environmental Design. New York: Plenum Press.

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10 Little Damascus A Thriving Commercial Passageway in Sixth of October City, Egypt Amira Mostafa Badran

Introduction In Ancient Greece, the agora was the central public space where people of different backgrounds came to pursue both commercial and political activities. Today, in Egypt, many narrow urban streets serve a similar commercial purpose. They are also gathering places for residents of the local community who consider the streets their outdoor living space. The notion of “­streets as public space” is particularly evident in central Cairo because of its high density of people and buildings. Streets become the shared public space where everyone comes together. This is especially true in informal settlements (­Shehayeb, 2009). However, the newly built cities at some distance from central Cairo are very different. They have wide streets, large squares and wide expanses of open space that are not as intensively used as the streets of central Cairo. One example of such a new development is Sixth of October City. This city has been hosting thousands of Middle Eastern nationals from Palestine, Iraq and most recently from Syria who have sought escape from the war there ( ­­E l- ​­Gundy, 2016). One can still find lively commercial p­ edestrian-​­oriented spaces in the newly built cities. Some are ­m arket-​­driven, while others seem to be naturally grown by the people who live or work there. One good example of such a space is in the heart of Sixth of October City. It is locally known as “­L ittle Damascus.” Little Damascus is an urban block that contains several m ­ ixed-​­use buildings and houses many Syrian businesses. The entire block starts from a building located in front of the mosque, which is formally known as ­A l-​­Amerkeya (­the American), and is bounded by three main streets and the Sixth of October University (­­Figure 10.1). Since 2013, this area has become a popular destination for the diverse residents of Sixth of October City but, more importantly, serves as a r­ e-​­created home for Syrian refugees. What is also notable is that the Syrian business owners and residents of Little Damascus have organized themselves to govern their community. Numerous products are sold in Little Damascus with the label “­m ade in Egypt by Syrian hands” (­Abaza, 2014). These include handicrafts, textiles and food products.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-13

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The Syrian food business has been booming for four years in Egypt, and is not limited in October City or in Cairo. From small catering services to foul (­fava beans) and falafel and shawarma restaurants with affordable prices, it is a whole industry of its own now. (­­El-​­Gundy, 2016, para. 24) Little Damascus has become the most w ­ ell-​­known street in Sixth of October City and continues to draw residents from the City of Cairo who appreciate the handicrafts, the restaurants and the cafes and who wish to escape the crowded city of Cairo. One pedestrian street within the block, profiled in this chapter, is called the Little Damascus passageway. This passage, located between two rows of buildings (­k nown as ­A L-​­Amerkeya buildings), has made its mark in Sixth of October City (­­Figure 10.1). In this chapter, information about the Little Damascus passageway is drawn from field research conducted by the author between February 2017 and April 2017. Field observations were conducted during the day and night to collect two types of data. One type was the documentation of the equity and livability of the Little Damascus passageway and the block where it is located using a metric table created through a literature review (­see Badran, 2017). The other type was the documentation of the number of people visiting the place, their age and activity (­e.g. passing through, stopping to purchase something or coming to eat and socialize with friends or family). With p­ hoto-​­taking and s­ite-​­sketching, a detailed activity mapping was also conducted at different times of the day to document the wide variety of activities that take place such as eating, talking with each another, people watching, using phones and children playing. To gather data about opinions of and satisfaction with the area, a survey was conducted with users of the passageway during the day and the evening over the course of two weekdays.

­Figure 10.1 Little Damascus: (­ a) Research area; (­ b) most food outlets are open 24/­ 7; (­ c) ground floor activity

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Among 110 surveys collected, ten were completed by people from central Cairo and 100 by residents of Sixth of October City. Questions included in the survey were about the purpose of the visit, frequency of visiting, overall satisfaction, expenditures, one thing they liked about the place and recommendations for improvement. Interviews were conducted with four planners in the government sector to better understand and assess the policies about design and management of public space in the old and new towns. Interviews were also conducted with three representatives of the Syrian coalition who reside in Sixth of October City to better understand their refugee status and how they feel about their living situation. Informal interviews were also conducted with shop owners, employees in the shops and visitors to the area.

Sixth of October City and Syrian Refugees Built in 1981, Sixth of October City that covers around 120,000 acres of land was one of the ­fi rst-​­generation desert cities planned in the desert development of the Greater Cairo Region (­GCR). Located west of Cairo’s metropolis, it was originally planned as an industrial city with housing for factory workers (­N UCA, 2017). The original zoning allocated a large portion of the land for industrial purposes. Around it would be public housing in addition to individual subdivisions located to its west. Areas for commercial and office development are located along main ­r ights-­​­­of-​­way that connect to adjacent cities and to Central Cairo. In traditional Egyptian cities, a marketplace (­or souk in Arabic) or a commercial spine of services is often located next to the mosque. Community members who frequent the mosque congregate in the marketplace afterward. In contemporary Cairo, shopping strips and seating have been installed on sidewalks outside cafés or within the traditional layout of a mosque in conjunction with other commercial services. This typical form of land use of a mosque and a commercial hub around it is rare in the newly developed cities, including Sixth of October City. Fortunately, Sixth of October City’s oldest ­m ixed-​­use zone, District 1, does have that traditional urban layout that supports public life. In District 1, locals consider Al Mehwar Al Markazi Street to be the central commercial spine of Sixth of October City. The area around the Al Hossary mosque and square has been locally recognized as the downtown of the city and is home to a diverse user group. Retail and services occupy the ground level with offices and residential units occupying the rest of the building. While some people work there to provide services, many others frequent the place to use the multiple services that are available all in one place. They could be students attending the multiple academic institutions in the district or residents of the area. Age and social group vary widely with a clear mixture of people with different backgrounds. The Little Damascus block that is located across Al Tahrir Street from the Al Hossary mosque comprises several small urban blocks. The Gad walkway, which starts at Al Mehwar Al Markazi Street, leads people to the Little Damascus passageway that is lined with Egyptian and Syrian stores on both sides. Over the last few years, this area has become home to both a Cairene community escaping the overcrowded city center and a Syrian community whose residents have escaped the war there, searching for solace in Egypt. This situation is not new for Sixth of October City. The area has always been an ­A rab-​­friendly place hosting thousands of Middle Eastern nationals from Palestine, Iraq and most recently Syria (­­El-​­Gundy, 2016). In 2011 after the war erupted in Syria, more than 1.6 million known Syrians fled to Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon and Turkey. According to Egyptian government statistics, almost half a million Syrians are estimated to have come to Egypt. Egypt also hosts 56,868 asylum seekers 143

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and refugees mostly from S­ ub-​­Saharan Africa and Iraq (­U NHCR, n.d.). Unlike those coming from other Middle Eastern countries, Syrian refugees are not located in refugee camps. Instead, they are encouraged to live in and to integrate with Egyptian communities. The Syrian community in Sixth of October, profiled in this chapter, exemplifies this integration. Because obtaining work permits in Egypt is expensive and complicated, many Syrian immigrants in Egypt are more likely to work in the informal sector or in jobs with few protections. Also, many of them have started their own businesses by operating restaurants and other services (­Orient Net, 2016). To oversee the planning and maintenance of the new towns, the Ministry of Housing, Utilities and Urban Development (­M HUUD) created a government ­sub-​­agency named the New Urban Communities Authority (­N UCA). NUCA places a local office in each new town to conduct daily government tasks and to provide reports to NUCA regularly. The tasks include providing public services (­e.g. public transportation, garbage collection, water and sewage); providing services to attract and market businesses; conducting urban planning; and financing and building infrastructure. Desert cities do not yet have any local governance mechanisms and so depend entirely on the city authorities assigned to each new town.

Critical Design Features Little Damascus is located in the densest zone of Sixth of October City. The area around it is known as the city’s downtown where many commercial activities and services are located. Schools, universities, social clubs and shopping malls are located in the area around Little Damascus. Commercial uses make Little Damascus vibrant and busy both day and night. These include traditional Syrian restaurants and grocery stores that sell authentic Syrian herbs and spices, Egyptian restaurants and numerous service shops such as those selling mobile phones and stationery and barber shops. The heart of Sixth of October City features a few passageways bordered on each side by shops and other commercial and s­ervice-​­based activities at the ground level and on the first floor. The ground floor of many buildings is mostly occupied by retail shops and Syrian and Egyptian restaurants and cafes. The noticeably open plan on the ground floor level plays a significant role in enhancing connectivity and visibility. With multiple hidden nooks and alleyways within the block, people can easily walk from one end of a passageway to the other and access the commercial establishments on the ground floor as well as on upper floors of the buildings. The proximity of services to residences enhances accessibility and walkability as well as allowing for “­eyes on the street”. Originally, the passageways in Sixth of October City were intended to serve as shortcuts for navigating the block and were not intended to be places for people to remain for any period of time. The present design of the Little Damascus passageway evolved gradually as business owners sought ways to attract people and to create a communal environment. They accomplished this by turning the passageway into a seating area with chairs and tables and by providing good quality Syrian food. The use of the passageway of Little Damascus as an outdoor open space for the community is now being adopted in other nearby passageways. Each of these passageways provides a clear walkway on each side so that the space between the walkways can accommodate seating areas for adjacent restaurants and cafes (­­Figure 10.2). Seating in Little Damascus includes both fixed and movable chairs and tables that remain outside all day long., into the evening and past midnight on some occasions. This movable furniture, provided by the adjacent shops and restaurants, is placed in the street when foot traffic on the adjacent sidewalks increases. At night, the moveable chairs and tables are 144

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­Figure 10.2 Street section of Little Damascus Passageway

stacked on the sidewalk right in front of the shops without being locked up. The seating requires regular maintenance and cleaning which is usually done by staff of the restaurants that line the passageway. Visible signs of wear and tear were observed on the cushions and seats. The fixed seating is like that found in private homes and gardens, which is comfortable but is not easy to maintain. Another critical design feature for fostering a safe and active public space is sufficient lighting. And indeed lighting in Little Damascus contributes to its comfort and safety, particularly for vulnerable groups such as children, women and the elderly. In the evening, lighting for the passageway comes mostly from the retail shops, many of which are open until after midnight. Some, especially food outlets, remain open until 2 a.m. During the month of Ramadan, all food outlets stay open until dawn so that people can eat before sunrise before they start their fasting for the day. Because the sun is scorching, shade is essential for activities to take place in the passageway. The ratio of building height (­27 m/­88 ft) to its width (­­8–​­10 m/­­25–​­32 ft) is about 3:1. This enables these buildings to cast sufficient shade on the passageway (­­Figure 10.2). The construction of some new streets is based on a ­height-­​­­to-​­width ratio of 2:1, which can still provide some shade. Unfortunately, such an important ratio of building height to street width has not been adopted for the main streets in the neighborhood or elsewhere in Greater Cairo’s new cities, where the ratio of building height to street width is 1:3. As a result, social activities rarely occur on these streets (­M ichaelson, 2018). 145

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Multiple entry points enable people to enter the block of Little Damascus from the different streets that surround it. Some of those streets are completely pedestrianized. People tend to use certain access points to Little Damascus more than others. A popular one is the southern access to Little Damascus, the Gad Walkway, a pedestrian walkway lined with retail shops and includes outdoor seating. A good number of ­Syrian-​­owned shops are located along it. This pedestrian walkway attracts more foot traffic than other access points to the block. Its proximity to the Sixth of October University might account for that because university students frequently use this walkway to enter the area. According to informal interviews with employees in the shops in the Gad Walkway, it is considered the main access point to Little Damascus from the main road. Among all important design features, one stands out. Observations show that trash bins in the area are lacking. Only a handful were observed in the passageway.

Use and Users Continuous use of the ground floor level of the buildings in Little Damascus helps to generate a variety of activities. While the design of this space facilitates its use, it is the combination of commercial and social activities that take place there day and night that gives and sustains its liveliness. The place’s mixed occupancy, density and vibrancy attract many regular visitors. Hence, all stores are occupied and thriving. Little Damascus is known for its mixture of services that includes restaurants, cafes, health and body shops and stores selling stationery and apparel. When shop owners extend their hours of operation into the evening, activities in the area happen 24/­7. Such long hours of operation are very rare for shops in desert cities and are more common in central parts of old Cairo. Activity mapping of the passageway and the Little Damascus block revealed various types of activities taking place on different streets at different times of the day. Of all the activities recorded, eating and/­or drinking make up 37%, talking with someone 35%, ­people-​­watching 17%, using electronic devices 6%, panhandling 3% and informal selling 2%. Outdoor praying was also observed in one designated space in the passageway (­­Figure 10.3). In Little Damascus, commerce is the dominant activity. Shops sell local Syrian and Egyptian food. There are also dairy markets, grocery stores, juice shops and herb markets in addition to the stores selling stationery and apparel. Interviews with some shop owners indicate that most of the shops are owned or rented by Syrians except for four that are owned by Egyptians. Regarding the work force, shop owners mentioned that ­Syrian-​­owned shops hire both Egyptians and Syrians. Given their location and quality, food businesses in the Little Damascus passageway are in notable demand. Most of the users interviewed consider the place affordable; the majority indicated that they typically spend 20 to 100 EGP (­equivalent to $1 to 5 US dollars) in the passageway. In addition to the formal, established businesses, informal street vending contributes to the livability and vibrancy of the block. Egyptian street vendors often occupy the entrances to the Little Damascus passageway where they are permitted to do so. When the number of street vendors increases, the areas they occupy extend from the passageway south to Tahrir Street and north to Mehwar el Markazi (­­Figure 10.4). The vendors sell affordable, attractive clothing and accessories that attract lower income people. Shop owners, local residents and students who attend the multiple academic institutions in the district all frequent Little Damascus and the surrounding area. People who choose to drive to the passageway usually park on Mehwar Road, one of the main streets that encloses the block. Some prefer to walk or to take public microbuses or ride motor bikes to the area. 146

Little Damascus

­Figure 10.3 Activities Observed in Little Damascus: (­a) Two Syrian men play backgammon and smoke hooka in the Syrian Passageway; (­b) Muslims gather to break their fast during the holy month of Ramadan and (­c) people watch soccer games in a vacant lot in the Little Damascus block

The results of 110 surveys show that people who visit the passageway use public transit (­43%), car services (­7%), drive private cars (­29%) or walk (­21%). This diversity of types of transportation types reflects the variety of economic classes of the people who frequent the area. Observations reveal the presence of various age groups, including teens, young adults and the elderly. The presence of these age groups in the passageway varies across different times of the day and the evening. The presence of women and children in the evening indicates the comfort and safety of the space. Observations indicate that on weekend evenings, over 50% of people present in the area are women, children and seniors. On weekday evenings, however, men are dominant with a 50% higher presence than women. The total number of people observed on weekday evenings was lower than the number documented on weekend evenings. With regard to nationality, the majority of residents in Little Damascus are Syrian although there are many Egyptians living in the neighborhood as well. The Syrian dialect can be heard on every corner and cafés overflow with customers smoking their argileh. Syrian restaurants and shops line the streets each with a Levantine touch to its name, advertising an array of products, from ice cream and juices, to spices and nuts (­Hassan, 2017) 147

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­Figure 10.4 Use and Conditions in Little Damascus: (­a) Street vendors occupy the sidewalks day and night and (­b) different sidewalk conditions

Interviews with shop owners and visitors indicate that residents and visitors also come from other Arab countries, including Iraq, Jordan and Lebanon. People come to Little Damascus for multiple reasons: to work, to shop, to eat and to hang out. Both informal conversations with visitors to Little Damascus and observations of the area indicate that members of the community recognize each other. Surveys with 110 users indicate that the majority of people come to visit family and friends rather than just to pass through. This has turned Little Damascus into a destination for socializing and for 148

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community gathering and not just for eating and shopping. In addition, Little Damascus attracts groups of visitors which increases social interaction in the space. Counts of people during the day and the evening show that foot traffic is higher in the evening. Observations of street vendors also show that their number increases significantly in the evening and that they gather in areas where people congregate. This finding aligns with other published data that shows that informal vendors in Cairo normally occupy streets and sidewalks with high rates of foot traffic and where multiple different activities are taking place (­Shehayeb, 2009). The presence of street vendors contributes significantly to the liveliness of the Little Damascus passageway and its surrounding area. Little Damascus relies on community surveillance rather than on security cameras and security checks. Contrary to formal public spaces in the new towns, this area does not have security cameras or checkpoints except at indoor malls. Due to the presence of many people throughout the course of the day, p­ eople-​­watching is evident as documented in field observations. Informal practices are not limited to street vending. They also appear in the shop owners’ occupation of the sidewalks. They often place movable plastic tables and chairs outdoors on the abutting sidewalk where customers who have purchased food from the adjacent stores can sit. Some shop owners place displays on the sidewalk adjacent to their businesses. Due to heavy sidewalk activities, the edges of many streets in the area are not visible. The only visible boundaries are the shop storefronts of transparent walls or windows. One social activity that is very common in Egypt is watching soccer games on TV in outdoor cafes and on the street. On Tahrir Street in Little Damascus, south of the passage, a wide screen is often set up to project games during major soccer matches. Seating is organized in a vacant lot to accommodate spectators from the neighborhood and elsewhere. Cafeterias and shops surrounding the lot provide drinks and food but occupying a seat to watch the games remains free of charge. The holy month of Ramadan, when Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset, is another time of year celebrated in the block. People gather to break their fast in the Little Damascus passageway served by the many food outlets lining the space (­­Figure 10.3). Users interviewed and surveyed are very fond of the place’s vibrancy and overall atmosphere. Users repeatedly mentioned food as the place’s jewel. One Egyptian who frequently visits the area said, “­I bring my family here to have lunch more than once during the week. We love the food. It really is special.” Shop owners and workers feel the same way but from an income perspective. Their income is highly dependent on customer satisfaction with the quality of their food services as mentioned by one worker in a Syrian dessert shop, who said that the quality of their food is why “­they keep coming back.” Food concessions have long been part of Egyptian culture and they significantly contribute to the vibrancy of public spaces in Cairo. Little Damascus is typical of this ­well-​­known vibrancy with so many food options available. Authentic Syrian food is widely recognized as one of the most delicious foods and is in great demand in Egyptian and Syrian communities for its quality as well as for its cultural associations. Survey respondents of Syrian origin reported that the food reminds them of home.

Management and Maintenance Technically, the city owns and is supposed to manage and maintain the Little Damascus passageway as well as other passageways in the block. However, government oversight and investment are largely absent, so the shop owners who line the passageway take on the responsibility of managing, which they do in an informal manner. They do this not only as 149

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individuals but also as part of the Syrian Refugee Coalition they have formed. Although the Syrian Coalition is composed largely of residents, it is primarily led by Syrian business and property owners. The Coalition has invested in the repair of sidewalks and pavements to create a welcoming gathering space that is shared by the shops in the block. The costs of installing the needed seating and street elements are also shared among the shop owners. To avoid obstructing pedestrian flow, businesses and property owners maintain a 1.­5 -​ ­meter clear corridor on each side of the passageway for pedestrian circulation and for access to shops. Since there is no designated space for loading or unloading goods, such activities have to take place either very early in the morning or at night when foot traffic is low. The city government retains ownership of the Little Damascus passageway and is aware of its informal use and management by the Syrian Coalition. Consequently, interviews with shop owners reveal their concern that the government could terminate their ways of managing and maintaining the street at any time, a possibility that poses a significant threat. One Syrian shop employee said, “­We like the passageway as it is but we also need to make sure it will be sustainable and improve for the better over the years.” Many interviewees who live there or who frequent the area said that if there is one thing they would like to see it would be for the government to recognize the Little Damascus passageway as a public space and maintain it accordingly. To avoid the removal of informal practices and to thank Egypt for its welcoming reception of Syrians refugees, the shop owners often give credit to the government. In the interviews, they repeatedly mentioned the support they had received from it for their growing businesses. A banner at the southern entrance of the Little Damascus passageway reads: On behalf of the Syrian Coalition in Egypt, we’d like to sincerely thank Egypt: its land, people and city for their warm welcome, treatment and shelter. Praying God to bless this county with peace, prosperity and security and for the good relationship between Egyptians and Syrians to continue and flourish. Shop owners are the main stakeholders in Little Damascus, which raises the question of whether the passageway is actually totally public. This condition also poses a threat of commodification that is very common in the private developments in new cities in Egypt. Currently, food is the main attraction and users are expected to take a seat and to order something to eat or drink. There is almost no space in the passageway where one can sit without having to order something from one of the restaurants. Shop owners need the income from paying customers to ensure that they will be able to maintain the space. Regular maintenance of the area, like collecting trash and cleaning, is the responsibility of the Sixth of October Authority. But often the shop owners in the Little Damascus passageway take on this responsibility for the space in front of their stores. Therefore, there is a noticeable difference in the condition of different areas. Areas with active retailers adjacent to the sidewalk are well maintained and in good condition. In contrast, sidewalks on other streets, without adjacent retail stores and only some foot traffic, are neglected and in very poor condition with an accumulation of trash. These poorly maintained streets demonstrate the absence of governmental services as well as a lack of equity in the distribution of investment (­­Figure 10.4). The liveliness of Little Damascus happens naturally through the daily activities and continuous movement and activity of people passing through or staying. Programmed activities occur seasonally when soccer matches are held or during religious occasions such as Eid to celebrate the end of Ramadan. Shop owners reported holding some community events from 150

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time to time such as typical Syrian oriental dances. However, not many activities are organized by the Syrian coalition or shop owners.

Implications The success of the Little Damascus passageway results from the arrival and display of Syrian culture in that location. Its success demonstrates the value of c­ ommunity-​­led placemaking. Such an approach requires a paradigm shift that recognizes that informal practices can be cultural assets and drivers of economic and social prosperity. This public space has become not only a space of free access but also the main location of social interaction and livelihood in the neighborhood. This contrasts with privatized spaces that are usually gated and support little or no social interaction. The commercial and social success of the Little Damascus passageway demonstrates that the neighborhoods in Cairo’s desert cities can flourish, serving as engines for economic and social success. The government’s planning of new towns is built on the goal of distancing neighborhoods from each other. However, a more m ­ icro-​­scale approach that connects neighborhoods and communities to each other will make common spaces lively and well used. The design of a space contributes to its liveliness. A model drawn from Little Damascus and its surrounding area would include m ­ ixed-​­use, active edges with ground floor retail stores and elements of enclosure. These features could create p­ edestrian-​­friendly environments in the various neighborhoods of the Cairo Metropolitan Area (­GCR). P ­ lace-​­led development would not only connect the spaces between buildings to each other and lead to more socially knit communities but would also support a governance strategy that features ­community-​­based planning and local development. For many Syrian immigrants, the Little Damascus passageway serves as a reminder of home. And it reminds many Egyptians, who now live in new communities, of traditional neighborhoods in Cairo. In this sense, the Little Damascus passageway is not just a “­space between buildings” but a “­place of meaning”. It is important to showcase such examples of ­community-​­led spaces since they are activated by and for people. Designing spaces on paper without paying attention to the community that lives there is no longer valid. We must design spaces that are flexible and address the needs of the particular community being served. To do that, a regulatory framework is essential to ensure that the space is neither under the threat of eradication by the city or turned into a commodity through private development. The case of the Little Damascus passageway suggests how a citywide public space strategy of ­community-​­led systems could build on existing assets to ensure commercial and social success of a neighborhood’s shared spaces. Even more importantly, the Syrian Coalition in the Little Damascus passageway demonstrates how such spaces can be maintained and managed by local residents and business owners.

References Abaza, J. (­2014, September 18). In pictures: Little Damascus of Cairo. Daily News Egypt. Retrieved from https://­d ailynewsegypt.com/­2014/­09/­18/­­l ittle-­​­­d amascus-​­cairo/ Badran. A. M. (­2017). Learning from Little Damascus: A ­community-​­led model for public space in Greater Cairo’s dessert cities (­Master’s thesis, Pratt Institute, New York City, USA). Retrieved from https://­commons.pratt.edu/­m supm/­dpc/­112/ ­E l-​­Gundy, Z. (­2016, March 20). ’A visit to Syria’ in Egypt’s 6th of October City. Ahram Online. Retrieved from https://­english.ahram.org.eg/­NewsContent/­1/­151/­193440/­Egypt/­Features/­­A-­​ ­­v isit-­​­­to-­​­­Syria-­​­­i n-­​­­Egypts-­​­­th-­​­­of-­​­­October-​­City.aspx

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Hassan, A. W. (­2017, April 17). ‘­Little Damascus’ in Cairo. Raseef22. Retrieved from http://­raseef22. com/­en/­l ife/­2017/­03/­26/­­l ittle-­​­­d amascus-­​­­cairo-­​­­safe-­​­­haven-­​­­g hetto-​­syrians/ Michaelson, R. (­2018, May 8). “­Cairo has started to become ugly”: Why Egypt is building a new capital city. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://­w ww.theguardian.com/­cities/­2018/­m ay/­0 8/­­cairo­​­­why-­​­­egypt-­​­­build-­​­­new-­​­­capital-­​­­city-​­desert New Urban Communities Authority (­N UCA). (­2017, April 4). Home project. http://­nuca.gov.eg/ Orient Net. (­2 016, August 28). The forgotten Syrian refugee crisis in Egypt. Ahram Online. Retrieved from https://­­orient-​­news.net/­en/­news_show/­120875/­0/­­T he-­​­­forgotten-­​­­Syrian-­​­­refugee-­​­­c risis-­​­­i n​­Egypt Shehayeb, D. K. (­2009). ­Self-​­governance in informal areas. In S. Issa and D. K. Shehayeb (­Eds). Cairo resilience: City as personal practice (­pp­­ . ­6 –​­10). Stuttgart, Germany: DIWAN Publication. United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (­U NHCR). (­n.d.). Syria Regional Refugee Response in Egypt. Retrieved from http://­d ata.unhcr.org/­syrianrefugees/­country.php?id=8

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11 Using and Negotiating Public Space Street Vending in Taiwan ­Te-​­Sheng Huang

Introduction Street vending in Taiwan is rooted in local culture and has become part of the local urban landscape. By supporting and fostering everyday life in an informal manner, it is a form of “­everyday urbanism” (­Chase, Crawford, & Kaliski, 1999). At different times during the day and evening, vendors sell various goods and services, temporarily and illegally, on sidewalks, in arcades and along roadsides where the sliver of space between sidewalks and traffic lanes is also used for parking scooters and bicycles. They also take advantage of parks, squares and vacant lots either along or close to streets. Vendors’ creative ways of appropriating public spaces that are not intended to be used for vending exemplify the phenomenon of “­loose space” whereby people make use of public space for their own purposes (­Franck & Stevens, 2007). And vendors’ flexible ways of resisting the authorities’ control over public space is an example of “­insurgent public space” (­Hou, 2010). Because of mixed land uses, poorly defined boundaries between public and private space and the need to earn income, street vending has persisted in Asian cities despite governmental efforts to remove it (­Drummond, 2000; Hou, 2016; Kim, 2015; Miao, 2001). Following Asia’s booming economy, many city governments are keen to follow Western urban design and planning principles and so have established policies to remove individuals who are considered disorderly, such as vendors and unhoused people, from public space (­Turner & Schoenberger, 2012). Taiwan’s ­fast-​­growing economy, especially in the 1970s and the 1980s, made it one of the Four Asian Tigers. That economic success significantly changed the central government’s attitude toward street vendors. Since the 1980s, stricter policies have been established in an attempt to reduce the number of street vendors. The central government’s earlier tolerance of vending and its indecisive enforcement of regulations enabled an increase in the number of street vendors during the 1980s (­Tai, 1994; Wu, 2004; Yu, 1997). As a result, the removal of vendors was not achieved. Instead, various kinds of negotiations still occur between the police and the vendors, making it possible for vending in public space in Taiwan to flourish (­Chang, 2012; Chiu, 2013; Chuo, 2005; Yu, 1997).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-14

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This chapter demonstrates how street vendors in Taiwan, with the support of technology, continually appropriate public space for selling and how they negotiate with, and sometimes resist, police officers in order to do so. The information is drawn from observations and interviews conducted in Taipei City, Taichung City and Chiayi City in November and December 2019. Because vendors use Facebook to disseminate information about their schedules and products and to post daily entries to attract followers, data was also collected from their Facebook pages from December 2019 to ­m id-​­2020 to verify information from the interviews with them and to collect additional, more u ­ p-­​­­to-​­date information. Four s­emi-​­structured interviews were conducted with police officers and six with vendors. One interview with vendors was conducted with a couple who sells ­egg-​­packages. Three additional unstructured interviews with vendors were conducted during the period of observations. Of the nine interviews with ten vendors, five were men and five were women. Their ages are as follows: one in the twenties, one in the thirties, five in the forties and three in the fifties. At least half of them were employed in the formal sector before entering the vending occupation. For example, the s­ticky-​­rice vendor had been a sales manager in a pharmaceutical company and the male ­egg-​­pancake vendor had been a computer programmer. Eight of the ten vendors currently operate their vending businesses f­ull-​­time. More than half of them have high school or college degrees. This supports Yu’s assertation (­1997) that an increasing number of people who have higher education abandon formal sector jobs to become vendors because they can earn more income as vendors (­Tai, 1994). Reasons vendors give for becoming a street vendor vary. Vendors interviewed in this study gave four kinds of reasons: to start their own enterprise, to increase their income, to have autonomy and to have a flexible schedule. Flexibility in scheduling is particularly important to p­ art-​­time vendors who would like to earn supplementary income in the few free hours they have each day. That is what the female barber and the woman who sells vegetables in Chiayi Park do while being ­full-​­time housewives. In contrast to other vendors, the ­f ried-​­chicken and ­facial-​­threading vendors are continuing the businesses they inherited from their parents. The f­acial-​­threading vendor said that she had learned facial threading from her m ­ other-­​­­in-​­law. In addition to earning a stable income, she had promised her mother to continue this traditional artistry.

Using Public Space From early morning to midnight, street vending occurs in various locations across the island of Taiwan. Some vendors prefer to be mobile, moving along regular routes or changing their routes every day. Others prefer to visit locations where they remain for several hours. Often, the kinds of goods and services that vendors provide determine where they go. To draw the attention of passersby, vending locations need to be obvious. Therefore, spaces right next to pedestrian and traffic flow are the better choices: roadsides, sidewalks and arcades. In the morning, vendors display their wares (­prepared foods, vegetables, fruit, meat, sea food, snacks, flowers, clothes and household items) on stands, on the ground or in trucks on both sides of the main avenues of the ­Shi-​­Lin Night Market in Taipei City and the ­Feng-​­Chia Night Market in Taichung City (­­Figure 11.1). In Taipei City, a group of women aged 40 to 50 appropriate a sidewalk on Wenlin Road to provide traditional facial hair removal services, called facial threading or wǎn miàn. Each vendor has her own space where she installs a parasol and a tarp to offer shelter from the sun and a few chairs for customers (­­Figure 11.2). 154

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­Figure 11.1 Vendors appropriate roadsides of the main avenue of S ­ hi-​­Lin Night Market in Taipei City to sell breakfasts, fruit, vegetables, seafood, flowers, and clothes

­Figure 11.2 Vendors in Taipei City: (­a)  & (­b) female vendors provide f­acial-​­threading services; (­c) & (­d) A female barber uses an arcade space to offer haircutting and ­hair-​­dying services

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In downtown ­Chia-​­Yi City, a man in his thirties pedals a bicycle to sell ­home-​­made sticky rice. He plays old Taiwanese songs on a loudspeaker to attract potential customers and flies a white flag installed in the back seat to provide information about his product. When customers wave at him, he stops on roadsides or sidewalks to prepare food for them. On weekends, he occupies the sidewalk adjacent to a famous tourist spot, Hinoki Village where several ­Japanese-​­style buildings that have been repaired and preserved have been repurposed to house stores and restaurants. Other vendors occupy parks or vacant lots. Around 15 vendors occupy the northeast corner of a park in Chiayi City, displaying ­home-​­grown vegetables, fruit and other goods from stands or on the ground, selling to people who come to the park for morning exercise (­­Figure 11.3). One woman in her sixties said, “­We don’t have fixed locations except some veteran vendors,” referring to an established, invisible social and spatial order established between veteran and new vendors (­Chuo, 2005). Right next to this vending group, there is another group of five vendors who offer massage services. Intersections are another popular site for vending even though those areas are often marked with red lines that ban the parking of cars and scooters. Vendors of e­ gg-​­pancakes and ­sushi-​­rolls station themselves on one corner, using electric tricycles for their businesses. The couple selling ­egg-​­pancakes explained the importance of that corner: Because we station ourselves in the area where parking is not allowed, people reported us to police officers. We then moved away from that corner to a nearby roadside where parking is allowed. But every time we were in that area, our customers seemed not to see us and called us and asked us why we weren’t in our usual place. The ­sticky-​­rice vendor also described the importance of intersections, “­W hen drivers and bikers stop for the traffic light, they notice me and read the product information posted on the flag. Some of them pull over and purchase sticky rice” (­­Figure 11.3). Even though arcades and sidewalks are public spaces, based on Taiwan’s unofficial customary rules, vendors need to get permission from adjacent property owners before using those locations. Some vendors lease spaces in arcades or on sidewalks from owners of adjacent shops. The vendor who sells vegetarian soups for breakfast from his stand in an arcade in ­Shi-​­Lin Night Market described how property owners lease space in front of their stores to various vendors at different times: I lease the arcade from the property owner from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. Because ­Shi-​­Lin Night Market is a popular tourist site, retail stores here often start operations at 3 p.m., selling food, goods, and services. The owner leases the space I use in the morning to an afternoon vendor who sells snacks until midnight. Another two vendors interviewed also secure their spaces through leasing. A female barber in her fifties provides haircutting services in an arcade in Taipei City where she has a table for haircut equipment, a chair for customers, and a mirror (­­Figure 11.2). In another district, a male vendor in his forties sets his pushcart on the strip of space between the traffic lanes and a sidewalk where he sells fried chicken. The permission extended from shop owners does not guarantee that vendors will be exempt from law enforcement. However, in most cases, police officers overlook extralegal vendors who secure vending locations through leasing. Because famous tourist sites, like Taipei City’s Ximending shopping area, attract crowds of people, vendors often congregate in and around these areas. However, the presence of 156

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­Figure 11.3 Vendors in Chiayi City: (­a) a male vendor appropriates sidewalks and roadsides to sell traditional sticky rice; (­b) a group of vendors appropriates a corner of C ­ hia-​ ­Yi Park to sell fruit, vegetables, dried food, and housewares; (­c) a couple at an intersection sells ­egg-​­pancakes and coffee in the afternoon; (­d) a female vendor appropriates the same intersection to sell ­sushi-​­rolls in the morning

numerous locals and visitors also results in heavy policing. In these areas, vendors who lease an arcade space or a sidewalk space are constantly being fined. After years of exploring ways of avoiding the police, some vendors eventually discovered one approach that is now widely used in the Ximending shopping area. One police officer described this practice: After realizing that police officers target mobile vendors who display goods on the floor of arcades, vendors eventually learned to lease columns in the arcades and build stalls around them. These columns are now very big, probably double or three times their original size. Police officers cannot expel them because these stalls have become parts of buildings that are overseen by another city agency. What we can do is to report these cases to that agency. Around 2 p.m., vendors in this shopping area unfold their stalls attached to the columns and start selling beverages, ice cream and accessories (­­Figure 11.4). Vendors who rent arcade spaces from adjacent businesses not only secure locations but are also sheltered from the weather and often have access to water and power provided by the adjacent store. Those who simply appropriate sidewalks and roadsides face various challenges. According to interviews with vendors who do not rent vending locations, they use umbrellas 157

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­Figure 11.4 Vendors’ Strategies to Avoid Law Enforcement: (­a) & (­b) stalls attached to columns of the arcades in Ximending in Taipei City before and after business hours; (­c) & (­d) scenes before and after presence of police officers in ­Shi-​­Lin Night Market

or tarps to shelter themselves from the sun and the rain. To stabilize the s­ un-​­sheltering system (­e.g. parasols and tarps) during windy days, some vendors install metal hooks on the surface of the sidewalk. Without access to water and power, their vending hours are mostly restricted to the daytime. Also, the food they sell is mostly prepared at home. Using generators, propane tanks and water containers, some vendors do some preparations onsite and, if needed, extend their working hours into the evening. Even though the female barber leases her arcade space from the adjacent store, she does not request access to water and power. To avoid drawing police officers’ attention or being reported by locals, some vendors operate in alleyways rather than on major roads, particularly in larger cities. The vendor who sells fried chickens in Taipei City reported: Vendors in the city retreat to alleyways to avoid being targeted by authorities. Being extralegal, vending on main roads is too obvious. Not only can everyone see it, but it also affects the appearance of the streetscape. Police officers definitely come to get them…If they occupy the sides of an alleyway, they are mostly fine as long as they do not impede traffic and keep their stalls sanitary. Vendors who have not secured regular locations in alleyways have to take risks to vend on major roads. While greeting customers, they need to constantly look around and, if police 158

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officers appear, to be ready to escape to nearby alleyways. “­A s long as they are not on main roads, we won’t run after them. But if they wait until we tell them to leave, we definitely issue them fines,” reported one police officer.

Using Technology Recently established vendors use smart phones to disseminate product and service information, to collect the cell phone numbers of regular customers and to communicate with them instantly. They use various applications, including social media (­e.g. Facebook and Instagram), which also offer messaging services and social messaging (­e.g. LINE, WhatsApp, and WeChat). Among these applications, LINE is highly useful, as the ­egg-​­pancake couple explained: We rely heavily on technology. At first, we used Facebook. But we realized that Facebook doesn’t allow our followers to receive information instantaneously. Despite that, many customers have subscribed to and follow our Facebook page but they might receive our information a few days later…LINE is a messaging app, allowing our customers to receive our messages and vice versa instantly. This immediacy is very important to street vendors like us. So now we use Facebook only for posting weekly or monthly schedules and locations and for branding. Instagram is not ­well-​­used because target customers who have financial means are often over thirty and do not prefer that app, which is more popular among young people. In contrast, the vendors of facial threading and fried chicken do not rely on smart phones at all because, after years of established businesses, they have a group of regular customers. Returning customers call and text them for appointments or to ensure that the stalls are operating. Smart phones also help vendors operate their businesses on rainy days. Through social messaging and customer data they have collected, vendors can send messages to customers, offering to take orders from their homes and to provide free delivery over reasonable distances and with a minimum purchase. To increase sales and to serve those customers who live in other cities, the s­ticky-​­rice vendor uses social media and social messaging to disseminate information about group purchases. He requires information regarding the amount of food, the date, the time, the location of delivery, and in which city. A link to an online survey created through Google Forms is provided, confirming the quantity of food each customer has purchased and whether they have paid for the order yet. D ­ oor-­​­­to-​­door delivery is also provided by vendors themselves or through mobile delivery platforms such as foodpanda and Uber Eats if the order meets a minimum amount. The e­ gg-​­pancake couple also uses one function provided by LINE to offer a rewards program, attracting new and return customers who live or work near their vending location. Because people like to share photos of vendors through social media, vendors use colorful vending stalls and attractive package design.

Regulating, Negotiating, Resisting and Collaborating Over the years, the central government in Taiwan has adopted a variety of polices to regulate street vending. From 1975 to 1980, vending applications were restricted to those people who were poor or did not have other skills, making street vending the occupation of poor people who would otherwise depend on welfare from the government. Since the growing number 159

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of vendors resulted in urban problems of dirt, disorder and traffic congestion, in the 1980s, new policies addressing environmental protection, hygiene and traffic regulation were established to curb vending. However, these policies were not strictly enforced because the central government appreciated the role street vending played in providing an income to those who needed it and believed that vendors would vanish when the economy improved. However, from 1981 onward, despite the improving economy and increasing urbanization, the number of vendors kept growing. Neither strict policies to remove them nor counseling them to find employment opportunities worked effectively (­Tai, 1994; Wu, 2004; Yu, 1997). Also, adopting the Western image of orderly cities, city governments in Taiwan view street vending as an eyesore, a threat to making their cities modern and attractive to investors. Consequently, to regulate vendors, each city establishes ordinances that are enforced by various city agencies and increase the number of legal vending locations, such as marketplaces and night markets (­Tai, 1994; Wu, 2004; Yu, 1997). Since the 1990s when some cities began moving toward a tourism economy, local community alliances have managed some of these sites to attract tourists so that they function like business improvement districts (­BIDs). These alliances include property owners, shop owners and vendors themselves. If they are near temples, temple committees as well as formalized mafias also participate in the alliances (­Chiu, 2014a, 2014b; Hsu, 2010). Because these lawfully designated sites do not have the capacity to accommodate all existing vendors and require fees, some vendors continue their operations unlawfully. To maintain an orderly urban environment, based on the Road Traffic Management and Penalty Act, frontline police officers have become the primary personnel to manage extralegal vendors through fines, warnings, expulsions and confiscations of vending equipment. Over many years, vendors in Taiwan have developed a variety of strategies to maintain their businesses in the face of existing regulations and selective enforcement of those regulations. The strategies that the police employ to reduce the number of extralegal vendors and the strategies vendors use in response have created a dynamic and interactive balance between police officers and vendors, and sometimes between shopkeepers, residents, passersby and vendors.

Negotiating with Police Officers Authorizing the police to remove street vendors from targeted areas over a course of weeks or months is the most effective way to remove them. Recently elected mayors often like to adopt this approach to demonstrate governmental authority. To avoid being caught by police officers, vendors need to react before the police remove them. So, they often develop strong social ties with borough chiefs who receive early warnings from the police in their precincts. According to interviews with vendors, vendors who receive early warnings from borough chiefs take breaks and travel somewhere else. Others, including some f­acial-​­threading vendors, manage to provide services somewhere else temporarily when customers request their services. Vendors who do not have connections with borough chiefs and so do not receive advance warnings are forced to close their businesses or relocate because the fines they would receive cannot be balanced by money they bring in, as the e­ gg-​­pancake vendor reported: Since this September [2019], the government of Chiayi City was determined to remove vendors from several areas. In one week, police officers expelled us several times… Another area where numerous vendors gather to sell various kinds of food were also targeted. Both vendors of shawarma and ­sesame-​­chicken rice managed to relocate to nearby areas while one dessert vendor left the area. 160

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If these regulations are enforced for months and create financial difficulties for vendors, they may simply resume their vending at the same location. Sometimes, enforcement leads vendors to protest at the local police station, demanding the right to sell and gaining support from the public (­Yu, 1997). To increase sales, vendors often flock to tourist sites and public markets where crowds of people go for shopping. At peak hours, traffic around these areas becomes problematic. To ease traffic congestion, police officers not only fine visitors who park scooters and cars illegally but also vendors who appropriate roadsides, sidewalks, and arcades to sell goods and services unlawfully. To avoid being fined and acquire the right to sell, vendors who have operated businesses locally for years tend to contact local legislators and representatives collectively for support. One police officer interviewed described this situation: Vendors who sell goods around the market contact local representatives for a suspension of sanction. When receiving such a petition, representatives will visit the chief of the local police station to seek possible solutions. To respond to that request, the police chief often asks police officers to issue warnings instead of fines temporarily, hoping that vendors will regulate themselves so as not to cause traffic problems. Issuing warnings allows the public to see that police officers are doing their job and that vending is under control. Also, unlike fines, warnings do not cause a financial loss for vendors. So, this is a temporary w ­ in-​­win situation. But if vendors remain unregulated, frontline police officers will eventually get permission from their chief to enforce regulations and charge fines again until extralegal vending is under control. Simultaneously, police chiefs may contact legislators to explain what is being done. They may also explain to vendors in their constituency why police officers are issuing fines again and express the hope that they will regulate themselves. But often they do not. When extralegal vendors receive fines again, they again contact their local legislator. The local legislator will then explain to them again that their appropriation causes traffic problems, which leads to police officers issuing fines. So the situation is brought under control for some months. This cycle repeats again and again. Some vendors pay periodic fines to police officers in order to remain at their locations since they may face a loss of customers if they relocate. Based on their conversations with a ­well-​­known juice vendor who has occupied the same location in Chiayi City for over two decades, the ­egg-​­pancake couple said that the vendor treats the fines as rent to the city because his business is good. If he relocated to another site, he would worry that his customers might not know where to find him. Similarly, the sidewalk location that the f­ acial-​­threading vendors occupy is on a street, historically known as Wedding Cake Street. Moving from there would be a loss of traditional culture. Vendors do not want to be relocated. A group of vendors filed a petition to legitimize their right to sell at their regular locations (­see Chang, 2012 for a description of this process). According to my interview with the ­facial-​­threading vendor, vendors who are located on that sidewalk have agreed that when one of them receives a fine from police officers, vendors who ran businesses on that day will share the fine. Such a strategy allows them to sustain their businesses and to continue to appropriate the sidewalk. In rare cases, vendors refuse to pay any fines at all and do not move when they see police officers. Interviews with police officers indicate that two kinds of vendors do not run despite having noticed the presence of police officers. One kind of vendor is really poor. Those vendors do not have the money to pay any fines because they barely make enough to cover their daily expenses. The other kind of vendors have another strategy. To prevent the city government from confiscating their assets by bringing them to court, they transfer the title 161

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of all their possessions to their spouses or children. Vendors who adopt this approach often have accumulated a sizable number of unpaid fines, possibly amounting to more than several million Taiwanese dollars (­Chuo, 2005). (­One US dollar equals thirty Taiwanese dollars approximately.) To counter this approach, police officers occasionally seize vendors’ vending equipment, which is discarded after a period of time. To reduce the frequency of being caught by the police, some vendors work collectively. Technology allows them not only to communicate with customers instantly but also to develop innovative communication systems among themselves. Observations of ­Shi-​­Lin Night Market and an interview with a vendor there revealed such a strategy. When vendors who station themselves by the entrances to the night market notice the presence of police officers, they pass warning messages to others through w ­ alkie-​­talkies. When they receive such warnings, vendors who are inside the market immediately gather their goods and pushcarts and run into nearby alleyways to hide. When the police officers leave, they r­ e-​­emerge. The scenes before and after the presence of police are dramatically different. Without the presence of police officers, extralegal vendors display goods on the ground in the middle of the street in the night market, making it much narrower and congested but also busier (­­Figure 11.4). One police officer interviewed recalled his experience in S­ hi-​­Lin Night Market when he was a college student (­about 20 years ago). “­W hen people by the entrances repeatedly shout, ‘­Police officers are here’, all vendors immediately run and hide in nearby alleyways until they leave.” Apparently, communication technology at that time was not ­well-​­developed or was unavailable. ­ eng-​­Chia Night Market and in night markets in other Similar scenes can be observed in F cities. When vendors move between several locations, they need to continuously hide from the police. This slowly evolves into a repetitive c­at-­​­­and-​­mouse game. All police officers interviewed agree on this constant ­pull-­​­­and-​­push situation. “­W hen we pay less attention to vendors, they start to misbehave and test our limits. When we tighten enforcement, they are again ­well-​­behaved.” In some situations, vendors get to know the police officers who chase them regularly and they establish a tacit agreement with those officers. This benefits both sides: survival of the vendors who may incur a small financial loss and fulfilling the job responsibilities of the police officers. (­Please also see Chuo, 2005 for this relationship between vendors and the police.) During everyday policing efforts, police officers tend to overlook street vendors because they are less important. The enforcement of regulations regarding vendors varies by city; it is mostly based on professional judgments made by the police and sometimes depends on individual cases, particularly those involving underprivileged and vulnerable vendors. The ­face-​­threading vendor described police officers’ empathy: Most police officers are good…they don’t attempt to remove us. Some police officers who are from ­working-​­class or ­under-​­served families realize that vendors earn money on streets for survival. They try to balance enforcement of the law with allowing vendors to operate. Sometimes they enforce the law strictly. Sometimes they turn a blind eye to vendors. When confronted by police officers, vendors often plead with them to avoid receiving fines. Whether that works or not depends on a combination of vendors’ reactions and police officers’ attitudes toward them. In some cases, as the ­sticky-​­rice vendor described, customers step in and defend vendors from being fined. “­He didn’t make much money. Why do you 162

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want to give him a fine? He is just a young man, trying to run his business. Why don’t you give him a break?”

Maintaining Good Relationships To avoid being reported to local police offices, vendors need to maintain good relationships with neighboring shopkeepers, residents, frequent passersby as well as with other vendors. The female barber in Taipei City reported: Because I have been using this arcade space for some years to provide haircutting services, people know not to use this area to park scooters and bicycles even when I am not here. I am ­self-​­regulated. If I don’t impede pedestrians, they won’t report me. Such ­self-​­regulation was also observed in groups of vendors who offer ­facial-​­threading services. Not only do they maintain a pathway for pedestrians but they also unify the color and style of parasols, tarps and chairs to maintain a consistent appearance of their stands (­­Figure 11.2). All vendors interviewed agree that leaving the sites they occupy clean once they leave for the day or evening is another way to avoid complaints from neighboring residents and shopkeepers. Because some nearby shopkeepers view vendors as a detriment to their businesses, they either file complaints with local police offices or drive the vendors away themselves. New vendors who have not secured a proper location often face this challenge. The ­egg-​­pancake couple recalled, “­A shopkeeper reported one friend of ours who sold breakfast sandwiches to the local police station at 7 a.m. every day for ten days consecutively, forcing her to leave that location eventually.” The s­ticky-​­rice vendor reported similar experiences when he stationed himself on the roadside in front of adjacent shops. Owners of these shops started to push him away when his business improved. Another example he described is when a security guard from the Hinoki Village came after him, saying, “­These stores need to pay rent. Your presence could affect their businesses,” and urged him to leave. However, some shopkeepers recognize the advantages that nearby vendors bring to their businesses. Since the ­sticky-​­rice vendor has now an established reputation and is even featured on one of Taiwan’s TV channels, fans and customers follow him on LINE and Facebook. People sometimes stand in line, waiting to purchase sticky rice. In order to draw crowds of people to their stores, some shopkeepers have attempted to persuade him to station himself in front of their stores. He reported: They took the opportunity to purchase sticky rice from me and asked: “­On what days of the week could I stop by their stores?” ­These stores include pharmacies, tea shops and restaurants. The owners were often very straightforward and said, “­Let’s help each other.” They wouldn’t ask for rent. They believe some customers of mine may visit their stores when waiting to purchase my food. If goods that vendors sell complement the products that adjacent shopkeepers sell, the latter likely allow the former to use storefront arcades and sidewalks adjacent to their businesses. One police officer shared an example: In my patrolling area, a vendor sells grilled sausages in front of a shop that sells noodle soups. To many Taiwanese, these products are a perfect combination. People who come 163

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to buy grilled sausages may also want to eat noodles and vice vera. Whether or not the sausage vendor pays rent, the shop owner told me that they have a good relationship with each other. Because veteran vendors often have resources and strategies for street survival, new vendors, through personal connections or social media (­e.g. Facebook, Instagram, and LINE), attempt to gain advice from them for vending locations, where to purchase supplies and equipment and how to take care of complaints. The ­sushi-​­roll vendor reported that she consulted with the ­egg-​­pancake couple about purchasing a tricycle and potential locations before starting her business. However, not all the vendors like to share their knowledge and experience. The ­egg-​­pancake couple explained, “­Those who are from the last generation or are over fifty are unlikely to share their personal resources. If they do, the information they give is often incorrect.”

Implications Street vending offers opportunities for earning money in the informal sector and is often pursued by poor, uneducated and unskilled individuals (­Duneier, 1999; ­Loukaitou-​­Sideris & Ehrenfeucht, 2009; Turner  & Schoenberger, 2012). However, people who have obtained higher education may also choose to pursue street vending to increase their income and autonomy. As the findings demonstrate, vendors invent various creative approaches not only for appropriating vending sites but also for attracting customers. Many enthusiastically embrace the technology of social media, social messaging and food delivery platforms for instant communication with customers. As telecommunication technology continues to evolve and food delivery becomes more popular, future studies could focus directly on how technology influences street vending. Streets are intended to serve both vehicular and pedestrian transit but they also serve other purposes as well, including street vending which is so pervasive in cities in Taiwan and in other Asian cities. Street vending fosters a lively street life. It is a significant part of the social and cultural landscapes of those cities and attracts both local people and foreign visitors. Some vending stalls become part of the memories shared by locals. Instead of removing street vendors altogether, urban policies and new urban development should accommodate them and enable them to appropriate certain areas of the city at different times of the day, the night and the week. More studies on policies and management of street vending could shed light on how the management of street vending could be improved. When they compare the orderly image of Western cities with their cities, city officials in Asian cities see urban public space in their countries as disorderly and believe that it threatens urban development. However, what has been called “­messy urbanism,” as shown in this chapter, does in fact follow a kind of order that is invisible to outsiders but is visible to participants who shift between the categories of order/­d isorder, formal/­informal and legal/­illegal to conduct vending activities (­Chalana & Hou, 2016). In The Uses of Disorder, Sennett (­1970) provocatively points out that certain forms of perceived disorder may have positive effects that can stimulate awareness of others as much as they arouse fear and desire for withdrawal. In Sidewalk, Duneier (­1999) reports that vendors who appropriate sidewalks in Greenwich Village to sell secondhand goods foster an invisible orderliness that benefits the neighborhood but appears to be disorderly. This chapter suggests that more empirical research about urban activities that some view as disorderly is needed to 164

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reveal the problems they may well create as well as the contributions they make both to the liveliness of the city and to the livelihood of vendors.

References Chalana, M.,  & Hou, J. (­Eds.). (­2016). Messy urbanism: Understanding the “­other” cities of Asia. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Chang, C.-​­Y. (­2012). A place to stick an awl: Ethnographic Study of street f­acial-​­threading vendors in Shilin, Taipei City. (­M aster), National Tsing Hua University, Hsinchu City. Chase, J., Crawford, M., & Kaliski, J. (­Eds.). (­1999). Everyday urbanism. New York: Monacelli Press. Chiu, C. (­2013). Informal management, interactive performance: Street vendors and police in a Taipei night market. International Development Planning Review, 35(­4), ­335–​­352. Chiu, C. (­2014a). From ­self-​­management towards private management: Changing approaches to decentralized management of street business in Taipe. Journal of Urban Management, 2(­2), ­71–​­93. Chiu, C. (­2014b). Rethinking decentralized managerialism in the Taipei Shilin night market. Management Research and Practice, 6(­3), ­66–​­87. Chuo, L.-​­h. (­2005). The vendor and the street: Analyzing the relation of space and everyday life of street vendors in Taipei City. (­Master), National Taiwan University, Taipei City, Taiwan. Drummond, L. B. W. (­2000). Street scenes: Practices of public and private space in urban Vietnam. Urban Studies, 37(­12), ­2377–​­2391. Duneier, M. (­1999). Sidewalk. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Franck, K. A., & Stevens, Q. (­Eds.). (­2007). Loose space: Possibility and diversity in urban life. New York: Routledge. Hou, J. (­2016). Everyday urban flux: Temporary urbanism in East Asia as insurgent planning. In M. Chalana & J. Hou (­Eds.), Messy urbanism: Understanding the “­other” cities of Asia (­p­­p. ­193–​­214). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Hou, J. (­Ed.) (­2010). Insurgent public space: Guerrilla urbanism and the remaking of contemporary cities. New York City: Routledge. Hsu, C.-​­W. (­2010). “­Making streets”: Planned space and unplanned business in New Kujiang, Taiwan. City & Society, 22(­2), ­286–​­308. Kim, A. M. (­2015). Sidewalk city: Remapping public space in Ho Chi Minh City. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. ­L oukaitou-​­Sideris, A.,  & Ehrenfeucht, R. (­2009). Sidewalks: Conflict and negotiation over public space. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Miao, P. (­Ed.) (­2001). Public places in Asia Pacific cities: Current issues and strategies. Dordrecht, The Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Sennett, R. (­1970). The uses of disorder: Personal identity and city life. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Tai, P.-​­F. (­1994). Who are vendors: The historical formation of vendors in Taiwan. Taiwan: A Radical Quarterly in Social Studies, 17, ­121–​­148. Turner, S., & Schoenberger, L. (­2012). Street vendor livelihoods and everyday politics in Hanoi, Vietnam: The seeds of a diverse economy? Urban Studies, 49(­5), ­1027–​­1044. Wu, C.-​­C. (­2004). Everyday geography of farmers’ produce markets in Taipei: Reflections on globalization and marketplace diversity in Taiwan. A Radical Quarterly in Social Studies, 55, ­47–​­99. Yu, S.-​­D. (­1997). Opposition and compromise: An analysis of the relationship between night market traders and Taiwan’s state. Bulletin of the Institute of Ethnology, Academia Sinica, 82, ­115–​­174.

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12 Getting a Spot on the Street Street Vendors’ Access to Public Space in Bogotá, Colombia Ana Maria Vargas

Introduction Selling products or services in public space is common in many cities around the world. Thousands of individuals known as street vendors, street traders or hawkers offer affordable goods to passersby. They sell edible items such as snacks, beverages, ­ice-​­cream or hotdogs and ­non-​­edible items such as clothes, shoes, flowers, cell phone accessories and arts and crafts. Some also provide services such as shoe shinning, loading or unloading trucks, giving massages or providing entertainment in the form of acrobatics. Most cities have regulations that prohibit vending altogether or strictly control the number of vendors (­Skinner & Balbuena, 2019). Consequently, most vendors work in constant fear that they will be evicted, fined or, in extreme cases, arrested by local authorities. Because of high rates of unemployment and a lack of better jobs, many street vendors constantly fight for their right to use public space to earn a living. Numerous academic studies have shown that city governments implement regulations to reduce the number of street vendors and, in many cases, to eliminate this use of public space altogether (­Brown et al., 2015; Cross, 2010; Crossa, 2015; Huang et al., 2014; Spire & Choplin, 2018). One could argue that there is a global trend of ending commercial uses of public space by street vendors. Skinner and Balbuena (­2019) found news articles reporting over 50 evictions of vendors from urban public space in cities all over the world in a period of 18 months between 2018 and 2019. This number is a worrisome indication of the magnitude of this approach since many evictions may only be reported in local newspapers or simply go unreported. Their study also indicates that creating order and eliminating street vending is a common goal of politicians who believe that police forces can make the “­problem of street vending” disappear. But many studies reveal the resilience of those who earn a living by selling items on the street, regardless of possible or actual actions by the police. And, despite the common belief that street vending is part of the past, it continues to be a common occupation ­ edium-​­sized cities of the Global South (­Chirisa, 2007; Crossa, 2015; Vargas in ­large-​­and m Falla & Urinboyev, 2015). This chapter describes a variety of approaches that police and local governments adopt to regulate and control street vending in urban public spaces in Bogotá. The information 166

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-15

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presented here is drawn from fieldwork conducted between 2012 and 2015 for a total of five months. During this period of time, I observed daily interactions between vendors and their customers in three areas of the city of Bogotá. I also interviewed approximately 50 street vendors and seven government officials. A survey was also conducted with 169 vendors in the officially designated vending zones. Being faithful to Clifford Geertz’s approach of “­thick descriptions” (­1973), I use the personal stories of the street vendors who were interviewed to illustrate how vendors design and manage public space to pursue their own commercial activities. To analyze the everyday practices that vendors employ to ensure their survival, I used Asef Bayat’s concept of “­ quiet encroachment,” which are quiet but proactive forms of “­advancement” (­Bayat, 2000, p­p.  ­545–​­546). Examples of quiet encroachment adopted by street vendors include using blankets or pushcarts to occupy small sections of public space, struggling to keep a spot on the street despite police controls and employing tactics to prevent being noticed by the police, government officials and owners of formal businesses. Unlike everyday resistance (­Scott, 1985), quiet encroachment according to Bayat’s use of the term refers not only to efforts to survive financially but also to confronting those in power. After a review of the existence and control of street vending around the world, I describe two kinds of vending in Bogotá: vending without a license and vending with a license.

Street Vending and its Control around the World Street vending is a global phenomenon but it is more frequent in large cities in the s­o-​­called Global South which includes ­low-​­and ­m iddle-​­income countries located in Africa, Asia and Latin America. While street vendors are less common in North America, Australia and Europe, studies have documented large numbers in Los Angeles, Barcelona and New York (­Crawford, 1995; Devlin, 2010). In the Global South, street vending is often a source of income for ­low-​­income people who lack access to better, paid jobs, have low levels of education or are widows or newly arrived immigrants. It is an economic activity that is relatively easy to pursue and often serves as a safety net. Estimating the number of people engaged in street vending globally is challenging because the number is constantly changing. However, national estimates in some countries can provide a picture of the magnitude of this global phenomenon. Vendors represent approximately 15% of the work force in South Africa, 11% in India and 9% in Lima, Peru (­ILO, 2013). In Colombia, there were more than 50,000 registered street vendors but the actual number could be as high as 100,000 (­DANE, 2003). Not all vendors are poor and many claim that they earn more than the minimum wage by vending and that they also have more opportunities to succeed and to create larger businesses than people who are employed (­Bromley, 2000; Vargas, 2016). It is also a good means for newly arrived immigrants to earn money since they have a difficult time finding formal jobs (­F lock & Breitung, 2015; Harney, 2004). Customers buy products from street vendors because of convenience, easy access and price. In tourist destinations, street vending is part of a city’s flare and is appreciated by visitors to carnivals, festivals and other city celebrations. In the Global North, the number of farmers markets, food festivals and food trucks has surged. They resemble the informal, colorful vending found in the Global South but are formalized and controlled by local governments (­Bhowmik, 2005; Bromley, 2000). To control the proliferation of informal commerce and petty trade, many cities have passed laws to prohibit or regulate street vending (­Skinner & Balbuena, 2019). Street vending is regulated for at least two reasons. First, vendors are the target of city regulations aimed to 167

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decrease congestion and disorder. Second, they are the target of local and national regulations that require vendors to register and to pay taxes (­Bromley, 2000). In many cities, the removal of street vending has been part of “­urban renewal” projects intended to improve urban infrastructure and to beautify public space because vending is considered backward and “­out of place” (­Yatmo, 2008, ­p. 387). Ambitious policies to recover public space by removing street vendors have been implemented in Quito, Ecuador (­Swanson, 2007, ­p. 709), Mexico City (­Crossa, 2009, ­p. 44), India (­Bhowmik & Saha, 2012) and South Africa (­Roever, 2016). Policies to eliminate street vending altogether have also been reported in connection with large sports events such as the football World Cup in South Africa (­Lindell et al., 2010). The consequences of such actions are dire. Not only do vendors experience financial losses but also brutal human rights violations, arrests and violence. Governments that enact policies to recover public space from unauthorized use by street vendors often fail to recognize the important role this kind of economic activity plays for the urban poor. A common policy intended to “­end street vending” is to offer vendors retail space in shopping malls (­Donovan, 2008; Spire & Choplin, 2018). Some relocation programs have successfully accommodated many street vendors, improved public space and created better working conditions for the vendors (­Spire & Choplin, 2018). Some studies also describe the challenges of moving street vendors into malls. Malls are criticized because their locations can be bad for vending and because these malls are not designed for the customers vendors usually serve or for the goods they sell (­Carrieri & Murta, 2011; Donovan, 2008). Also, when vendors are moved into relocation malls, new vendors occupy the sites they have left (­Donovan, 2008) defeating the purpose of the relocation malls. Other vendors choose to occupy public spaces located in peripheral areas that local authorities do not prioritize. That way they can operate their businesses without constant fear of the police. While most street vendors operate individually, they often resist and mobilize collectively against government policies and actions intended to remove them (­Crossa, 2015; ­Meneses-​ ­ eyes, 2013; Vargas, 2020). This collectivity is not only essential for resisting removal by R the police. It also creates opportunities for vendors to participate in the development of more inclusive public policies (­Warsono et al., 2016). Vendors also adopt their own strategies of resistance such as ensuring their own mobility so that they can easily pick up their products from the pavement and escape the police (­­Meneses-​­Reyes, 2013). Social networks among vendors are also important so that vendors can inform each other of police raids (­Meagher, 2005; Pena, 2000). In contrast to everyday forms of resistance, vendors in Mexico, Colombia and India have pursued legal actions to claim their right to earn a livelihood on the street (­­Meneses-​­Reyes & ­Caballero-​­Juárez José, 2014). This is a fight for the “­right to the city” as well as for contributing to urban life (­­Bénit-​­Gbaffou, 2016). The International Labor Organization and StreetNet International (­a lso called the International Alliance of Street Vendors) have influenced policies such as the Decent Work Agenda (­Horn, 2009). In fact, street vendors in many cities have gained state recognition and some governments have adopted regulations that legalize street vending in public space. One way to view street vending is to use the “­formalization approach.” That is to recognize that vendors are entrepreneurs who operate informally, without licenses and without paying taxes, because state regulations are too cumbersome (­Sepulveda & Syrett, 2007). This approach comes from Hernando De Soto’s The Other Path in which he argues that instead of eradicating the informal economy (­businesses that are not registered and do not pay taxes), the state needs to embrace it and facilitate the registration of small businesses such as those 168

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of street vendors (­Soto, 2002). The formalization approach for street vendors has also been criticized. It does not comply with public space regulations, causes congestion and, as importantly, does not recognize vendors’ need for mobility and flexibility (­Vargas, 2017). From an ethnographic study of the Lima’s Office of Formalization at the downtown markets of Mesa Redonda and El Hueco, Gandolfo (­2013) concluded that street vendors value mobility and freedom and that street vending is “­deeply rooted in our country.” Some city governments use vending licenses to control the number of vendors and to exclude a great majority of them (­Cuvi, 2017). This not only excludes those who are unable to get a license but can lead to corruption since vendors may have to pay bribes to obtain a license. According to a large census conducted in 2003 (­DANE, 2003), approximately 100,000 vendors were operating in the City of Bogotá. When an office was opened for registering all vendors, it was unable to process all the registrations required and collapsed (­Simanca, 2007). Subsequently, thanks to digitalization, the registry of street vendors was able to process all applications and 50,000 were registered as of 2021. However, the availability of registration cannot ensure that all vendors will receive a license since the number of licenses the city will issue is linked to the size of the public space designated for legal vending. In recent years, vending zones have become another way to regulate public space and allow vendors to operate (­Deore & Lathia, 2019; Mazhambe, 2017). Such zoning provides safe and accessible space for pedestrians while also providing space for street vendors.

Vending without a License In Bogotá, most vendors operate without a legal permit and therefore are exposed to police harassment and the insecurity of not knowing if they will be able to continue working. Because the local government does not use police raids on a daily basis, vendors can maneuver around the sporadic controls. In Bogotá, it is common to see street vendors who wear matching uniforms and use pushcarts that display the logos of large companies. One might conclude that they work for those companies. However, they are still informal vendors because they lack licenses to operate and because they are not employed by the companies whose logos they wear. Instead, they sell on their own in exchange for a small percentage of the profit they make. This business model is very common among ­ice cream companies. The pushcarts the i­ce cream vendors use are called tilin carts because the little bells attached to the carts’ handlebars ring when the carts are moving (­­Figure 12.1). During my fieldwork, I met i­ce cream vendors from at least three different companies. These vendors operate their businesses through a “­structured business model.” During my fieldwork in 2014, I was able to talk with one ­ice cream vendor who works near the Santa Fe shopping mall. By following her at the end of the day, when she returned the cart and the ­leftover ­ice cream to the office of the ­ice-​­cream company, I learned that a man at the company counts the ­ice cream products left and uses a manual calculator to determine the amount she must pay for the ­ice-​­cream she was able to sell. The rest of the money she can keep as her profit while returning the unsold i­ce cream. ­Ice cream vendors can only sell the products provided by the company they work for and the manager of the local company assigns them specific neighborhoods so that they do not compete for the same spots. According to Bhowmik (­2010), large businesses often complain about the nuisance, congestion and the unfair competition caused by street vendors. However, some companies take advantage of the large number of persons who need jobs and use them without recognizing any kind of workers’ rights. Many of the vendors I met explained 169

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­Figure 12.1 Distribution of Crem Helado, called c­ arritos tilines, at the bus station Portal A ­ mericas, 2014

that they had no other choice than to work for the i­ce cream companies because they did not have the money, skills or strength to start their own street vending businesses. However, most of them complain that their earnings were too low compared to the earnings of vendors who work on their own. During my conversation with the man who distributes ice cream to the vendors, I learned that he is a middleman in the business. He is also an independent worker and has no legal employment within the large company. His job is to find reliable street vendors who can sell a lot of ­ice cream and who can be trusted everyday with the pushcarts and the merchandise. His earnings are a percentage of the total sales. He reported that, “­Vendors prefer to use the pushcarts since the cooling boxes are too heavy to carry on the back and sometimes the i­ce-​ ­cream melts and the vendor has to pay for it.” Another challenge he faces is that sometimes unscrupulous persons come who just want to steal the pushcarts or the i­ce cream. Even though the i­ce cream company assigns each vendor to a specific location, flexibility and mobility are essential. Some vendors follow the rules of the company to an extent but treat them as flexible agreements. That is, they still move around to find customers. Other vendors ignore the rules altogether when they can earn more money by taking over a good spot on the street even though that location has not been assigned to them. In order to do so, they need to come to the same spot every day, using the tactic of “­quiet encroachment” in order to be recognized as the legitimate user of that particular spot. Consequently, conflicts are common among vendors who compete for good spots (­Vargas Falla & Valencia, 2019). The second group of street vendors are those who own their mobile structures and operate businesses on their own. There are various forms of mobile structures, including wooden wheelbarrows, metallic pushcarts and rickshaws. One vendor interviewed sells mango and fruit salads. He sometimes stations his pushcart side by side with another vendor who sells ­empanadas, a kind of fried meat patty (­­Figure 12.2). Both use metallic structures that have 170

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­Figure 12.2 Ilegal Vending: (­a) Street vendors use mobile structures to sell at the corner of  Calle 76 Sur with Carrera 1 in the neighborhood of Santa Librada, 2012; (­b) vendors work at a fixed location in the Patio Bonito neighborhood

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wheels for mobility, an umbrella for protection from the rain and sun and storage to carry the products. The interview with him conducted in 2013 revealed his daily routine. For his business to flourish, he moves from place to place, shouting “­m ango, fresh mango” to draw customers from their homes or offices. He also has strategic spots. In the early morning, he goes to the main bus stop. People who did not have time to eat breakfast buy a small fruit salad to go for the equivalent of 30 cents USD. Then, he moves around the neighborhood the rest of the morning. Around noon, he usually stations himself near the supermarket Colsubsidio located in Calle 76 Sur (76th Street in the South) in the neighborhood of Santa Librada. There, office workers buy fruit salad as a healthy, inexpensive lunch option. Around three in the afternoon, he parks his pushcart outside a school to sell to students. After that he walks to a nearby garage where he pays about 30 cents per night to park his pushcart. The vendor of mango and fruit salads came to Bogotá to escape the armed conflict that has occurred in rural communities of Brazil for the last 60 years. He was lucky to have a friend from his hometown who introduced him to the fruit salad and mango business and who lent him the money to buy his cart and start working. Indeed, social networks and family ties are key for many street vendors to start their small businesses but not everyone is able to start a successful one (­Steel, 2012). The third group of vendors are those who always operate their businesses at the same location. According to my interview with a vendor who sells snacks and a traditional drink called forcha, before getting his current vending site he used a rickshaw to bike around shouting “ forcha” so that people would come out of their houses to buy this fermented drink. Similar to other mobile structures, rickshaws enable vendors to move long distances and to escape more quickly from the police than those using pushcarts. While the vendor interviewed enjoyed moving around, he reported that having a “­good spot” on the sidewalk where one can establish oneself is better, not only requiring less effort but also for maintaining a regular base of clients. Getting a “­good spot” on the street is not easy. First, a vendor must find a place with good pedestrian circulation and with good visibility. The problem is that good spots are often occupied by other vendors who have occupied those spaces for a long time. Second, according to many vendors, a vendor must come to the same spot everyday even if only for a few hours. Until other vendors as well as regular customers (­such as private guards or shop owners) recognize that vendor as the legitimate user of that spot. Finally, according to informal social norms, when other vendors recognize a vendor as the legitimate user of that location, they can request new vendors to move away. It is expected that when new vendors wish to occupy empty spots, they must be accepted by the neighboring, established vendors and avoid direct competition with existing businesses (­Vargas Falla & Valencia, 2019). My interview with the vendor of forcha reveals the way that he acquired his spot. He started to visit the site every afternoon. When he was there, he would pass through the site very slowly trying to sell forcha to other vendors and to those waiting for the bus. His interactions with the vendors who were already there (­i.e. those who had claimed an informal right to use the space) enabled him to identify the nicer ones who seemed more approachable. Over time, after talking with them and sometimes offering them a free glass of his drink, those vendors allowed him to sell drinks and food next to them. Eventually, he became one of the accepted vendors in the area and everyone recognized that this was his spot. Vendors also receive help from a family member or a friend to get a good spot. Social networks are key to accessing public space for vending but also to find peace and security on the streets as one can rely on a good friend or family member to oversee selling goods when one needs to go to the toilet or simply if one fears thieves or simply to feel at ease in busy 172

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and sometimes unsafe streets. In the absence of government regulations, family and friends play an important role in accessing good spots on the streets. They also provide security and financial support, for instance, through loans. Public space may also be governed by small ­m afia-​­like organizations comprised of individuals who claim to own the streets and demand money from street vendors to allow them to sell, as demonstrated in the case of vendors in the metro of Mexico City (­Pena, 2000).

Legal Vending in Bogotá The city government of Bogotá is continuously creating new programs to formalize street vending and to offer vendors alternatives to vending on the street. Vendors who participate in these programs enjoy the recognition and the legal status provided by licenses. However, they do not pay any kind of sales taxe and do not have the protection provided by pensions or insurance. Nevertheless, they can work without police harassment. They have secure spots and can rely on some protection from the state. For instance, they received subsidies during the covid 19 lockdowns in 2020. In this section, I present two forms of legal vending that existed in the city in ­2013–​­2015 when I conducted fieldwork there. They are kiosks and vending zones. Both are located in public spaces but they illustrate different forms of management and design of public space. Before presenting these two cases, I describe briefly three of the programs for street vendors managed by the Office of the Popular Economy of Bogotá (­IPES). The first program is called ­Commercial Malls where vendors can rent retail space. These malls were established to provide space for vendors displaced by urban redevelopment projects. The initiative was the result of a Decision of the Constitutional Court to protect the right of vendors who have occupied public space for many years. As of 2013, there were 38 relocation malls with space for 2,663 vendors who pay a monthly rent (­IPES, 2013). While the program has improved, in the beginning, it was criticized for having high running costs and low occupancy rates (­Donovan, 2008). Relocation malls are often seen as an alternative to street vending and many cities have ­ ne-­​ tried this approach, some with the support of international organizations that provide o ­­ size-­​­­ fits-​­all policy recommendations without sufficient knowledge of the needs of the vendors. Several studies have reported the challenges of relocation programs driven by local governments’ ambitions to “­­clean-​­up the city” leading to a decline in their income or to their destitution (­Carrieri & Murta, 2011; Handoyo & Widyaningrum, 2015; Rachmawati, 2013; Spire & Choplin, 2018). However, there are also successful examples where the social organizations of vendors (­Weng & Kim, 2016) and vendors’ democratic participation in local governance have played a key role in relocation processes (­Warsono et al., 2016). The second program is called ­Social Snack. It is an innovative program open to vendors who are in a vulnerable condition (­over the age of 60 without a pension or having a disability). In this program, street vendors can place a small table (­approximately 1.5 square meters) next to the door of a government or private building to sell snacks (­tea, coffee, cake, chips). Instead of having a vending machine, the building has a street vendor who offers different snacks. The space is provided free of charge and some vendors claimed that they earn a good income while enjoying the peace of mind of having a legal spot and the protection of a roof. More recently, the City of Bogotá has implemented a program of rickshaws for street vendors. Currently, there are 373 rickshaws operating. However, this is a new program and the results are yet to be studied. While the city has to assign considerable resources for the management and maintenance of different programs, they only provide legality to a limited number of street vendors. 173

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The following two programs provide a more detailed picture of the design and use of public space by street vendors who have legal permits to operate. Both are located in busy pedestrian areas but their management practices are different. The kiosks are managed by the government while the vending zones allow associations of street vendors to s­ elf-​­organize and to manage the use of public space themselves as an innovative experiment. Both demonstrate that local government can integrate street vendors into public space, providing relevant examples of “­not the end of street vending.” Vending kiosks are common in many cities in different countries. They are often used to sell newspapers, cigarettes, water, snacks and souvenirs. In Bogotá, one can also borrow a cell phone to make calls and pay per minute. In 2010, vending kiosks were created to provide functional but small structures to street vendors as part of modern urban design. As of 2021, there are 643 ­metallic kiosks occupied by vendors who pay a monthly rent. The metallic structures enable vendors to store products safely, which is an important advantage over itinerant vending. To receive a kiosk, several requirements need to be met. A vendor must first register with the IPES (­the government office of popular economy). He or she must be a Colombian citizen, 18 years or older, registered in the mandatory health insurance program, without a pension, owning no property except a primary residence that is less than the value of social housing (­approximately 32,000 USD), and without a close relative who is in a similar program (­Resolución 033 de 2009, 2009). My interview with a vendor who occupies such a kiosk, conducted in 2013, reveals how she obtained this type of space. I moved to this kiosk after I won the lottery for street vendors. Since I was registered with the IPES and met the requirements, they contacted me and told me that I could participate in a formalized program to get a kiosk. I registered to participate in the lottery and two years ago I won. I always thought you needed to have connections to get into the formal programs, but on this occasion, it was just a lottery. After signing a rental agreement to pay 30,000 pesos (­15 USD) a month, they gave me the kiosk. Under this program, the local government manages the kiosks and vendors pay an affordable monthly rent that varies by location. The government official interviewed in 2013 complained that many vendors are late in making their payments and collecting fees creates a big bureaucracy and is costly for the state. The local government must invest in the infrastructure of the kiosks, market them, collect monthly fees and ensure that the vendors comply with the requirements. Both government officials and vendors interviewed complained that many vendors take advantage of the program or do not comply with the law. A government official in the Office of Economic Development interviewed in 2013 said: We know some of the beneficiaries of the kiosks ­sub-​­let them to other people and charge rent for 1 million pesos (­500 USD) while they only pay 30,000 pesos (­15 USD) to the government. The problem is that we are not the police so we can’t go around evicting people for not following the law. First, we need a legal order and then the police have to go inside. In reality, it costs more to enforce the law than the rent collected from these kiosks. I recognize that there are vendors in very bad conditions, working hard to make a living. But, there are others who have been lucky and take advantage of the system. The profitability of kiosks depends largely on their location but good locations are also attractive to vendors without licenses who use the tactics of quiet encroachment to compete with those in the kiosks. Vendors in the kiosks often complain that the space is too small and 174

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that they have to endure unfair competition from itinerant vendors who do not have to pay monthly rent and can move around and be closer to customers. Vending zones are areas of public space where the government has placed a number of tents for street vendors to operate (­­Figure 12.3). Unlike the kiosks, the vending zones are occupied by several vendors and are administered by associations of street vendors. These zones are the result of coordination between different associations of street vendors who asked the city to let them operate in exchange for their agreement to limit their businesses to a designated space that would allow for good pedestrian circulation and that they would keep clean and organized. The city agreed to create vending zones and transferred the management of these zones to vendor associations for two reasons: to incentivize social organizations and to reduce the government’s fiscal burden. In Bogotá, most vendors are not organized. In order for the city to offer them a designated zone, vendors first need to form an association, select representatives in a democratic way and establish rules for the organization. Once the government establishes a zone and erects tents, vendors who want to sell there need to sign a collective agreement that they will not sell pirated goods and will not use child labor. They need to take good care of the space, pick up trash and maintain its cleanliness. Each tent is intended for only one vendor. Vendors must pay a fee for the operation of the association and to pay a security guard who watches the tents at night so that vendors can leave products in their tents. In 2013, there were 16 vending zones in the city occupied by a total of 455 street vendors, each managed by one of the two associations. Each tent has a metallic structure of four poles that support a green tarpaulin providing shelter for the vendors and their products. Most of the tents have counters and shelves to exhibit the merchandise, a small table and one chair. The space inside the tents is small, about t­wo-­​­­by-​­two meters. Some vendors also use the space outside the tent to display their products. So sometimes it is difficult to tell if the products displayed outside the tents are being sold by vendors who have paid to be there or by itinerant vendors. To a certain extent, both groups use similar tactics of quiet encroachment. They start by hanging some products on a rack or putting up an umbrella. If neither the

­Figure 12.3 (­a) Vending zone in the Santa Librada neighborhood that resembles a mini outdoor market with 60 tents where vendors sell clothes, shoes, hats, flowers, books and other items; (­b) a tent in the vending zone near the Tunjuelito Hospital where the vendor sells coffee and tea

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police nor other vendors complain, then it is possible to add more products and to get more established in the use of public space for sales. During my fieldwork, I visited the 16 vending zones in Bogotá and conducted a small survey with 169 vendors in those zones. Most of them reported a high level of satisfaction because they had a safe place to work, the protection of a roof and the opportunity to store their goods. Even though sometimes their sales were few in number, they appreciated the security that comes with working with a legal permit and without having to run away from the police or be exposed to street insecurity. However, the tents were designed as a temporary solution and the government expected that vendors would save money and would be able pay rent in indoor retail spaces elsewhere. However, the vendors report that these tents improve their working conditions but not their sales and that moving is not an option.

Implications This chapter illustrates the many ways street vendors in Bogotá manage to use public space, with and without permits, to sell their goods. While most vendors use strategies of quiet encroachment to occupy public space without a permit from local authorities, others have been able to join government programs that allow them to operate in public space under some form of legality. The two groups sell similar products and, in some cases, have similar vending structures as in the case of rickshaw vendors. Unlicensed vendors require mobility, so they use pushcarts, wheelbarrows and other structures that allow them to move around in search of customers and to move their products to safe locations at night. Mobility is also essential for disappearing in case the police want to confiscate their goods for not having permits to operate. The research presented in this chapter as well as previous studies about street vending suggest that despite efforts to eradicate this activity from public space, street vending continues to be common in many cities around the world. The research reported here suggests that far from experiencing the “­end of street vending,” cities like Bogotá are adapting to accommodate street vendors in their urban plans and in their design of public space. This has resulted from the resistance and constant but quiet encroachment of thousands of street vendors who claim to be legitimate users of public space in the ­twenty-​­first century. Through ethnographic stories, this chapter reveals how vendors use public space, often operating outside the regulatory umbrella of the local government. Further studies can explore other forms of inclusive regulation and the design of public space that supports vending. Looking at the latest news from the office that deals with street vendors in Bogotá, one can see a move toward a more democratic and participatory form of governance of public space. Vendors are able to vote to elect their representatives who can then offer suggestions for policies and programs for street vendors. They are able to represent the needs of the street vendors and to influence local government policies. City governments around the world should engage in more democratic and inclusive forms of governance of public space. Inclusive and democratic governance is not only a matter of a progressive approach. It is also a practical approach as attempts to eradicate street vending have proven over and over again to be both unsuccessful and detrimental to the urban poor.

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13 Food Truck Rallies Communal Eating in Public Space in the U.S. John Jones

Introduction With their mobility, colorful branding, innovative menus and use of social media to connect with consumers, “­gourmet food trucks” have emerged as part of the cultural zeitgeist of ­21st-​ ­century America. In many urban and p­ eri-​­urban regions in the U.S., the number of such trucks is increasing, as is the variety of foods they offer and the locations where they operate (­A nenberg & Kung, 2014). The opportunity to purchase food from street vendors is not new. What best distinguishes this recent, ­post-​­Internet generation of food trucks from their predecessors is their use of social media to alert customers to their locations. Other food trucks, following earlier traditions, return to the same locations on a regular basis and do not use social media to connect with potential or previous customers. This difference may be the result of differences in class and cultural background between the owners and customers of traditional food trucks and those of gourmet food trucks (­Lemon, 2017; Martin, 2014). Emerging around the same time in the early 2000s as the gourmet food trucks is the food truck rally, a gathering of food trucks all in the same location. These gatherings have an appearance similar to street festivals where attendees can purchase food and drink from the back of trucks and from tents operated by local restaurateurs. People can also purchase ­k nick-​­knacks and handicrafts. Previous research about food trucks and their use of urban public space has focused on individual trucks, both alone and in rallies (­Franck & Speranza, 2015; Lemon, 2017; Martin, 2014; Wessel, 2012). This chapter briefly reviews the history of food trucks and food truck rallies. Then, departing from previous research, the chapter documents characteristics of truck rallies and the differences between different types of rallies. To do so, the chapter draws upon data collected at five rallies: two in Brooklyn, New York; one in Indianapolis, Indiana; one in Dayton, Ohio; and one planned rally that did not take place in Cincinnati, Ohio. With the exception of the Red Hook rally in Brooklyn, all of the trucks in these rallies would be considered by most to be gourmet food trucks (­Lemon, 2017). Data is drawn from the author’s observations and unstructured interviews with truck owners or operators during site visits and from archival information on popular media, social media and business websites. Data collection occurred: in New York during the spring and summer of 2014 and DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-16

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2015; in Indianapolis during the summer of 2017 and 2018; and in Ohio during the fall of 2019 through the beginning of 2020.

A Brief History of Food Trucks and Rallies The sale of prepared food on the streets of American cities has a long tradition of vendors selling food from wheelbarrows or metal carts. This informal entrepreneurship was one way for recent, low income immigrants to New York City, likely among other cities, to earn income (­Franck & Speranza, 2015). As industrialization increased during the second half of the 19th century, wage workers needed quick access to food near their residences and places of work. In response to this need, m ­ icro-​­entrepreneurs created the s­o-​­called “­lunch wagons”. These were large transportation wagons with windows cut into the side and limited cooking equipment, to sell food to hungry factory workers (­Engber, 2014; Jones, 2016). Suburbanization in the m ­ id-­​­­20th-​­century drew businesses and workers away from city centers, causing some lunch wagons to close and pushed others to become brick and mortar restaurants. As this suburbanization ushered in the end of lunch wagons, it also ushered in the creation of the ­so-​­called “­lunch trucks” – ​­mobile kitchens mounted on trucks. Operators would position their trucks close to worksites and factories to take advantage of a captive customer base. Some regional differences exist for the names of these operations, including lunch truck, roach coach, and grease truck ( ­Jones, 2016). It is likely that taco trucks or lonceheras first appeared in Mexico City at the beginning of the 20th century to serve industrial workers. This s­treet-​­level food migrated north to the American Southwest and eventually further north and west, including to Los Angeles (­Lemon, 2017; Pilcher, 2017). The taco truck exemplifies the larger s­treet-​­level food system for the proletariat, regardless of ethnic dimensions, as suggested by Larchet (­2014). The transition from the sale of ­pre-​­made tacos from baskets to preparing them in a mobile kitchen follows earlier patterns of street food entrepreneurship by immigrants in New York City during the early 1900s, including the sale of knishes (­baked or fried dumplings) from carts by Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe (­Franck & Speranza, 2015). During 2007 and 2008, a very different kind of food truck entrepreneur emerged: one targeting a more ­m iddle-​­class audience, who decorates the trucks with flashy designs, who serves unusual combinations of food or food of a higher quality than their predecessors and who regularly operates at different locations. Examples of dishes served by gourmet trucks include lobster rolls, tacos served with ­Korean-​­style barbecue sauce and fried chicken and waffles. For these reasons, and maybe to distinguish them from taco trucks and other forms of food vending on streets, they are often called “­gourmet food trucks”. These trucks differ from the still existing loncheras, or “­taco trucks”, in the type of food served, the more middle class customers targeted and their use of social media. The owners of taco trucks may possess cell phones but tend not to use social media to connect with their customer base. Rather, the owners regularly locate their trucks in the same locations to “­capture Latinos’ s­ ocio-​­spatial rhythms” (­Lemon, 2017). Depending upon the source of information, the first gourmet food trucks appeared in either New York City, Los Angeles or Chicago around 2007 or 2008 (­Engber, 2014; Franck & Speranza, 2015; Martin, 2014; The Rise of the Food Truck, 2014). Similar trucks quickly appeared in cities across the nation. Zagat, the renowned national reviewer of restaurants, began reviewing food trucks in 2011, further lending credence to the food truck’s emergence in the cultural zeitgeist (­T he Rise of the Food Truck, 2014). Determining the exact number of food trucks nationwide is difficult, but at least one 2019 industry report estimated that there 180

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were roughly 5,400 food truck and street vendor companies in the U.S. (­Kentley Insights, 2020). The emergence of the gourmet food truck appears to be linked to the rise of social media applications like Twitter and Facebook (­A nenberg & Kung, 2014). In several major metropolitan regions, truck owners use mobile phone applications (­i.e. apps) to inform customers of their ­real-​­time locations (­Wessel, 2012). Research indicates that the presence and frequency of the use of social media by truck owners positively affect business success in Washington, D.C. (­Wallsten and Rhyan, 2014). Anenberg and Kung (­2014) note that truck owners tend to change their locations frequently as a way to capitalize on consumers’ desire for variety. Social media enables owners to advertise current and future locations as a means of ensuring a stable customer base despite their frequent changes of location. Some commentators have speculated that the economic woes created by the Great Recession in 2007/­2008 pushed w ­ ould-​­be entrepreneurs to launch these ventures, noting that a gourmet food truck can be an attractive alternative to starting a brick and mortar restaurant since the initial investment in a food truck is significantly lower (­Irvin, 2017; Martin, 2014; Moroye, 2015). Exact estimates of the cost of launching a gourmet food truck vary, likely depending on differences in regional costs. Some research suggests that the cost is roughly ­one-​­third to o ­ ne-​­half the cost of starting a brick and mortar restaurant ( ­Jones, 2016; Mayyasi, 2013; Saxe, 2018). For example, Jones (­2016) notes that potential food truck entrepreneurs in New York City face high costs, potentially up to $80,000 annually, to secure a health department permit to operate a food truck through the black market trade since there is a fixed number of food truck permits issued ­citywide. Lower startup costs may encourage populations with lower capital for new business investment (­e.g., women, immigrants and LGBT+) and individuals interested in supplemental income to start mobile food businesses (­Saxe, 2018). Some of these owners view starting a food truck as a first step toward a owning a brick and mortar restaurant ( ­Jones, 2016; Lemon, 2017). With the emergence of gourmet food trucks, two types of food trucks now exist: (­1) those that target ­working-​­class, black and Hispanic customers (­a lthough they may well be patronized by other groups also); and (­2) those that target more middle class, white customers, that tend to be owned by that population as well and that rely on social media to attract and keep customers (­L emon, 2017). Other research suggests that public policies that support food truck entrepreneurship are uneven with respect to the race and class of the owners. The most obvious example is the regulatory barriers ­immigrant-​­owners face compared to their majority counterparts. Martin (­2 014) notes that mostly LatinX immigrant street vendors in Chicago struggled for decades to reduce regulatory burdens that prohibited the sale of prepared foods and restricted the days and times when vending was permitted. However, in the span of a few years, “­white, ­n ative-​­born, ­culinary-­​­­school-​­trained chefs” were able to convince city alderman to deregulate in their favor. Writing about Columbus, Ohio, Lemon (­2 017) reports the ­h igh-​­profile presence of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (­ICE) in that city encourages immigrants operating n ­ on-​­gourmet taco trucks to keep a low profile. “­Rally” has become the term commonly used for a gathering of food trucks at a single location at a day and time predetermined by the rally’s organizer. The first food truck rally was likely the “­fi rst annual” L.A. Street Food Fest held in Los Angeles in February 2010 (­Groves, 2010; Hirsch, 2011). The rationale behind early food truck rallies is unclear but may be related to the tensions between food truck owners and brick and mortar restaurateurs over truck owners’ access to desirable retail locations (­e.g., busy streets) without having to pay rent or taxes ( ­Jones, 2016; Wessel, 2012). It is very likely that rally organizers wish to create 181

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spaces where food truck owners can operate away from direct competition with brick and mortar restaurants. According to the Guinness World Records (­2018), the greatest number of food trucks at a single rally occurred at the Penang International Food Festival in Malaysia in 2018 where 158 trucks participated. In the U.S., the largest rally appears to have occurred at the Florida State Fairgrounds in Tampa, Florida on March 24th, 2014. This event holds the Guiness World Record for the largest parade of food trucks with 121 trucks participating (­Guinness World Records, 2020). The organization responsible for the parade in Florida, Generation Food Truck, attempted to break the record held by the Malaysians in late 2018. Organizers claimed that over 200 trucks would participate, but as of this writing, it was unclear if the World Record changed hands (­R imensnyder, 2019).

Spatial Arrangement of Trucks The presence of individual food trucks, hungry consumers and the built environment of the rally site combine to form a novel use of space, similar to street festivals while also possessing its own characteristics. The most obvious characteristic is that the space must accommodate selling, purchasing and consuming food. The spatial arrangement of food trucks is also intended to facilitate the lining up of patrons to purchase food and then to eat the food individually or in groups ­onsite. In some cases, tables, chairs and publicly accessible restrooms are provided. Grand Army Plaza is located at the northern end of Prospect Park in Brooklyn. During rallies, trucks parked in two ­inward-​­facing circles in the section of the plaza that is closest to the entrance to the park. Customers line up in front of the truck they wish to patronize (­­Figure 13.1). Some truck operators bring their own temporary seating, but those options were quite limited. Otherwise, customers sit on stone benches built into the low wall that forms the northern edge of the park to eat their meals, or sit on the grass at the edge of the park. No utilities are available for food trucks. ­City-​­owned public restrooms are located roughly a block away from the plaza. During food truck rallies in Indianapolis, Georgia Street is closed to traffic and the food trucks park in two perpendicular rows on what is otherwise the roadway. The trucks park with their service windows facing inward toward the other trucks and the street’s median. Customers stand on Georgia Street’s median to await service from the trucks. During rallies, a large number of metal tables and chairs are positioned in the median for truck customers to use. No utilities are available for food truck operators. A bank of portable toilets was available at Georgia Street during two observed rallies. The food truck rally in Red Hook, Brooklyn is held at the intersection of Clinton and Bay Streets. Owners park their trucks in the roadway along two sides of the intersection, with their service windows facing the adjacent sidewalks and the adjacent public soccer field. The location of the trucks forms an inward facing, L ­ -​­shaped arrangement (­­Figure  13.2). Consumers assemble in lines on the sidewalk facing truck service windows. People either eat standing on the sidewalk next to the trucks or use red picnic tables located on the grounds of an adjacent public soccer field. No utilities are available for food trucks. No public restrooms are available at the Red Hook rally and the closest public restrooms are a NYC Parks managed facility several blocks away. The rally at Yellow Cab in Dayton occurs in the parking lot of a former taxi company. In this case, the owner benefits from his ownership of this privately owned site that can be made a publicly accessible space when the rally occurs. The lot is surrounded by a ­chain link 182

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­Figure 13.1 A circle of food trucks at Grand Army Plaza, Brooklyn. Operators orient their trucks so that service windows face inward, creating spaces for customers to ­assemble. Photo Credit: John C. Jones

­Figure 13.2 Food trucks in Red Hook, Brooklyn park at the intersection of two perpendicular streets. Their service windows face inward, encouraging customers to eat on the sidewalk and at the park’s red picnic tables. Photo Credit: John C. Jones

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fence that restricts access when the site is closed. The site is a single story building with a large, attached parking lot surrounded by a chain link fence. Two gates provide access during events. No utilities are available for food trucks. Publicly accessible restrooms are available inside Yellow Cab’s main building, which contains the venue’s bar and music space.

Location and Management of Rallies A food truck rally requires that someone take responsibility for the logistics of organizing vendors, preparing the rally site and advertising to potential customers. In some cases, a truck owner, who plans to participate in the rally, will organize it. However, in other cases, the person or the organization that owns or manages the site in question organizes the rally as the cases described below illustrate. The Prospect Park Alliance is a nonprofit organization that partners with the City of New York to manage Prospect Park in Brooklyn. The Alliance sponsored the Grand Army Plaza Food Truck Rally, held in the plaza immediately adjacent to the park on alternating Sundays between April and October, starting in 2013. (­However, it is no longer held.) Since the Alliance does not own Grand Army Plaza, it partnered with the City of New York to manage it. The Alliance furthered its mission of encouraging the use and vibrancy of Prospect Park by sponsoring the rally, and also benefits financially from the participation fees collected from truck owners. The Yellow Cab Food Truck Rally in Dayton, Ohio takes place monthly at the site of the former Yellow Cab Company near Dayton’s downtown. Monthly rallies began in July of 2014 and have occurred continuously since then. Yellow Cab’s owner renovated the former cab building to house a bar and music venue called the Yellow Cab Tavern. The owner organizes the monthly rallies to attract more customers to his music venue, thus benefitting both from additional alcohol sales and from a per event participation fee of $75 from truck owners. During rallies, the owner also allows vendors to sell nonfood items such as homemade soap or art from tents that the vendors erect on the site. In Indianapolis, the city government closes a three block section of Georgia Street in downtown to host public events like food truck rallies. Beginning in the summer of 2015, Downtown Indy, Inc., a nonprofit organization that promotes and sponsors the rallies, which occur every Friday between April and August during lunch hour as well as during special events. The municipal government owns the street and directly benefits both from the vibrancy of hosting food truck rallies and similar events in the space and from fees collected for use of the space. Other groups can also rent individual blocks or the entirety of Georgia Street to host similar events. In Red Hook, Brooklyn, it is the Red Hook Vendors Association that operates a food truck rally at the intersection of Bay and Clinton Streets. The Association is composed solely of food truck owners and they themselves sponsor the rally that occurs on Saturdays and Sundays from late April to October. The individual food truck owners, as members of the Association, directly benefit financially from the rally. The City of New York owns the public streets and sidewalks where the rally occurs but does not benefit financially from the rally beyond sales taxes from food sales. Truck owners at this rally reported that for most of the ­40 year history of this street food service, the owners prepared food in tents erected temporarily on the sidewalk. However, around 2010, the operators transitioned to food trucks in order to comply with new directives from the New York City Health Department. Despite the rally’s deep connections with the surrounding LatinX working class neighborhood, owners invested in trucks with the physical characteristics of gourmet food trucks found elsewhere in NYC (­e.g., vibrant 184

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designs, social media branding and w ­ ell-​­maintained appearance). Several owners indicated that they do not operate at any other sites. In the 2010s in West Chester, Ohio, an affluent suburb of Cincinnati, entrepreneurs planned to renovate a vacant Sonoco gas station to be a food truck “­food court”. They planned to call the site the Queen City Food Truck Court. As of early 2020, inquiries indicated that development of the court had been discontinued for undisclosed reasons but the entrepreneurs did provide site plans and other data about their plans for the site and the rally, which are included in this chapter. As the five cases profiled here demonstrate, rallies are held on publicly or privately owned land and the ownership of the site affects how individual consumers use the rally space. Two contrasting examples are noteworthy. The owners of the Yellow Cab Company in Dayton operate a bar and music venue in the company’s main building. This activity can occur independently of the food truck rallies held in the attached lot that is enclosed by a ­chain-​­link fence. When food trucks are absent, bar patrons have no onsite options for food and when the bar and music venue are closed, the public cannot access the site and no trucks can either. Conversely, the proposed but never developed Queen City Food Truck Court in Cincinnati would have been accessible to the public even when no food trucks were present, as site plans did not indicate the owners intended to build a fence around the former gas station to restrict access. However, with no food trucks present at the court, potential consumers have no reason to use the space. Publicly owned spaces where food truck rallies take place often serve as routes for pedestrian or vehicular traffic. Georgia Street in Indianapolis serves as a regular roadway and sidewalks, on those days when no rallies are held. And Bay and Clinton Streets in Brooklyn, used by the Red Hook Food Vendors Association, are functioning streets for automobiles and pedestrians whether or not food trucks are present. When food trucks are not present, the southern section of Grand Army Plaza is wide open to pedestrians, vehicular traffic and other events.

Site Design Organizers of food truck rallies and owners of the sites may adapt the rally to the constraints of an existing site or redesign the site through renovation or new construction. The redesign of sites may include widened sidewalks and other permanent design features such as permanent seating and utility infrastructure. The owner of the site of the Yellow Cab Company rally has made only minor adaptations to the concrete parking lot where the rally is held. One noteworthy adaptation is a seating area located next to the building housing the bar/­music venue. The seating area is painted white, in contrast to the black asphalt of the rest of the parking lot. The space contains a number of moveable picnic tables and is further segregated from the rest of the parking lot by a Knee high, slatted, ­d ark-​­colored metal fence (­­Figure 13.3). The City of Indianapolis renovated Georgia Street as part of its preparation for the Super Bowl in 2012 to serve as the city’s Super Bowl Village. Planners and architects involved in the project were f­orward-​­looking, creating a flexible space that would still function as a downtown street, but could also be closed to traffic to support special events. Design elements include widened sidewalks, no curbs, a wooden boardwalk down the centerline of the street, a pergola to give shade and support light fixtures and removable metal posts that can allow or restrict vehicle access to parts of the site (­­Figure 13.4). While these design features support the use of Georgia Street as a food truck rally site, this intention was not stated ­publicly (­Hostetler, 2011). 185

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­Figure 13.3 A food truck docked at the Yellow Cab Company in Dayton, Ohio. The placement of the fence intentionally restricts where people can stand. Photo Credit: Sarah Gomes

­Figure 13.4 During rallies in Indianapolis, operators park their trucks on a roadway and o ­ rient their service windows to inward toward the boardwalk with pergola. Photo Credit: John C. Jones

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The sites for the rallies at Red Hook and Grand Army Plaza in Brooklyn exhibit only minor adaptions, all of which involve seating, some of which is permanent. Several truck ­operators at the Grand Army Plaza rally brought a small number of folding chairs and small tables to the site for customers to use. In Red Hook, several red picnic tables are located on the grounds of an adjacent public soccer field. The tables are positioned directly adjacent to the sidewalk where customers access the trucks, but are separated from the sidewalk by a waist high metal fence. Given their size, these tables are likely city owned, permanent fixtures. Additionally, at least one truck owner also provided temporary seating on the sidewalk, in front of his truck. The entrepreneurs behind the never realized Queen City Food Truck Park in Cincinnati planned a very thorough adaptation of an existing s­pace – ​­a former gas s­tation – specifically ​­ to host food truck rallies. Preliminary designs indicate that the parked trucks would circle the existing central building which formerly housed the gas station’s convenience store and cashier, but would now serve as a bar and space for indoor seating. The former gas station’s canopy would shelter most trucks and customers from the sun and rain. A second building on the site, not covered by the canopy, would serve for dish washing and storage, as well as containing public restrooms (­Brownfield, 2018; Journal News, 2018; Yek, 2018).

Use of Social Media Owners of gourmet food trucks, and sometimes their managing operators, use social media programs like Twitter and Facebook to connect with their customers. One might assume that rally owners would similarly use social media platforms to alert potential customers of their next rally. However, cases studied for this chapter indicate that owners post information about their rallies only sporadically. The City of Indianapolis manages a Twitter handle for Georgia Street, @GeorgiaStIndy, which posts information infrequently about food truck rallies held on Georgia Street. The Indianapolis Food Truck Association’s Twitter handle @IndyFTA does not directly mention rallies at Georgia Street, but does retweet individual truck owners’ announcements announcing their locations at the Georgia Street rally. However, the consistency of these announcements seems haphazard. No Facebook page tied to Georgia Street that is managed by the City of Indianapolis appears to exist but the city government maintains a page for the venue space on its website (­https://­w ww.downtownindy.org/­venue/­4145/­­georgia-​­street/). The owner of the Yellow Cab Tavern maintains a Twitter handle named @YellowCabTavern. This account provides information about upcoming bands playing at the venue as well as the regional music scene. The account does advertise upcoming food truck rallies but this advertisement appears sporadic. The owner also maintains a Facebook page as well as a website, www.yellowcabfoodtrucks.com, to advertise and provide information about the rally and both appear to be updated regularly. With the surge of c­ ovid 19 in the U.S., posts indicated that the Yellow Cab rally held its first event in late March 2020 but remained closed throughout April in response to the governor’s orders. When Ohio’s governor eased restrictions on social distancing beginning on May 1st, 2020, posts indicated that the rally resumed operation in early May with carryout and delivery as the only options and included information about how the rally was adapting to the c­ ovid 19 crisis. To combat the business loss, one food truck participating in the rally used its website to coordinate virtual orders for the four participating food trucks. The Prospect Park Alliance maintains the Twitter account @propsect_park. However, the account’s managers have not posted information about the food truck rally at Grand 187

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Army Plaza since the end of the rally’s 2015 season. Similarly, the Alliance also maintains a Facebook page but the page’s managers do not post information about food truck rallies at Grand Army Plaza. Several Twitter and Facebook accounts exist for Grand Army Plaza, but as of early 2020, none appear to be managed by any official authority connected to the Plaza nor do these accounts post about food truck rallies in the Plaza. It appears that no food truck rallies have been held in the Plaza since 2015. The Red Hook Food Vendors collectively coordinate several social media efforts. They manage an austere, official website that links to their Twitter and Facebook pages (­https://­w ww.redhookfoodvendors.com/). The Vendors operate a very active Twitter account under the handle @RedHookFoodVend. The account’s managers posted about the rally each day of its operation during the 2018 and 2019 seasons, and also posted about the rally’s closure in April and May due to the ­covid 19 epidemic. Their Facebook page is similarly updated and includes videos likely shot with cell phone cameras during ongoing rallies. An actively managed Instagram account under the handle @redhookfoodvendors also exists and displays pictures of the rally and the food served by participating vendors. Despite these collective efforts, the individual food truck owners and operators do not appear to use social media to promote their individual trucks. ­Table 13.1  Characteristics of Five Food Truck Rallies Ownership

Grand Army Plaza Food Truck Rally in Brooklyn, New York George Street in Indianapolis, Indiana Red Hook in Brooklyn, New York Yellow Cab Food Truck Rally in Dayton, Ohio Queen City Food Truck Court in West Chester, Ohio (­suspended)

188

Management

Design Promoting via Social Media

Is the Space Publicly Accessible?

Tables/ ­Seating

Permanent Restrooms

Rally Site

Organizer

Publicly owned

The Prospect Park Alliance

Not active

Yes

Limited

No

Publicly owned

The City of Indianapolis

Not Active

Yes

Plentiful

Publicly owned

Active

Yes

Limited

Privately owned

Red Hook Vendors Association Yellow Cab’s Owner

Portable toilets are sometimes available No

Active

Only during the rally

Plentiful

Yes

Privately owned

Local N/­A entrepreneur

Yes (­based on plan)

N/­A

Yes (­Based on plan)

Food Truck Rallies

Implications In light of the theme of this ­book – ​­the design, use and management of public ­space – ​­it is worthwhile to review a few key findings presented in this chapter. One is that there is a continuum of how much existing spaces have to be adapted. Grand Army Plaza in Brooklyn, already a pedestrianized space adjacent to the park, requires no temporary changes for holding rallies. And other public events, such as watching fireworks on New Year’s Eve or Black Lives Matter protests, can be held there, with permission from the Prospect Park Alliance. At the other extreme is some physical reconfiguration of a privately owned space, such as that owned by the Yellow Cab Company in Dayton, where the owner made changes to the parking lot, albeit only a few, to accommodate the food trucks. The planned but so far unrealized Queen City Food Truck Court in greater Cincinnati exemplifies the other end of the continuum: intentional redesign of a built environment to host food truck rallies as its primary use. The City of Indianapolis’s renovation of Georgia Street represents a m ­ idpoint example on the ­adaptation-​­redesign continuum. The initial development of Georgia Street was the construction of a Super Bowl Village adjacent to the city’s stadium that could be used for public events after the Super Bowl. Based on the research reported here, it does not appear that food truck rallies were an expected use of Georgia Street in Indianapolis as part of the street’s renovation. Internet searches reveal other examples of sites whose primary purpose is to hold food truck rallies, sites that were either adapted or deliberately constructed for that purpose. Examples include Detroit Fleat, a food truck park in Detroit, Michigan and the Broken Sprocket food trailer park in Brownsville, Texas. The blogger problogic (­2018) created a list of all food truck “­courts, lots, parks and pods” in the U.S. but their selection criteria included rally sites where no adaptation or design for food trucks occurred, as well as sites where adaptation or design did occur. Researchers interested in pursuing the topic of food truck rallies could investigate sites that have been intentionally constructed to serve food truck rallies in order to document their characteristics and to determine how they differ from sites that have been adapted for occasional use for a rally. During the time period covered in this chapter (­2014 to 2020), organizers of food truck rallies only sporadically advertised their rallies through social media outlets like Twitter and Facebook. This might mean that rally organizers defer this communication burden to the individual truck owners. However, given the limited number of rallies studied in this research, this is speculative and could be a topic for future research. Wessel (­2012) suggests that in the future, urban communities will be created through virtual communication rather than by people sharing physical spaces. Marketing through social media, either by rally organizers or by individual food truck owners, can create community based on virtual rather than physical interaction. Applied to food truck rallies, this would suggest that the location of a rally site is less important than the virtual marketing urging people to come to that location. A hypothetical example of this might be a food truck rally held inside a large former factory; people would not be able to learn of the rally’s existence by walking down the adjacent street but could learn about it through social media. An unspoken assumption seems to exist among reporters and truck owners participating in rallies that the food offered is of “­gourmet” quality although professionals and citizen journalists reporting on food truck rallies never acknowledge this possibility. Over roughly seven years of visiting, reading about and researching food truck rallies, this author has never encountered a food truck rally composed of ­non-​­gourmet “­t aco trucks” or lonceheras, with the 189

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potential exception of the trucks at Red Hook. However, the author’s investigation focused on Eastern and Midwestern states; research into other regions of the U.S. could reveal other findings. Researchers interested in further investigations of food truck rallies might well consider the following questions. Should government or private land owners adapt or design public spaces specifically to encourage food truck rallies? Which redesigns might inform those choices? What features of the built environment raise challenges for food truck rallies? If found to be true in a larger data set, why are organizers of food truck rallies disinterested in promoting their own rallies? Finally, does the spatial arrangement of individual trucks affect sales?

References Anenberg, E.,  & Kung, E. (­2014). How smartphones and social media dialed up the food truck boom and increased access to food variety. The George Washington University, Department of Economic. Retrieved from https://­economics.columbian.gwu.edu/­sites/­g /­fi les/­z axdzs1936/­f /­ downloads/­M icro%­20-​­%20ak_foodtruck_2014_mar_submit.pdf Brownfield, A. (­2018, October 4). Queen city food truck court delayed. Cincinnati Business Courier. Retrieved from https://­w ww.bizjournals.com/­cincinnati/­news/­2018/­10/­04/­­queen- ­​­­city-­​­­food-­​ ­­t ruck-­​­­court-­​­­was-­​­­slated-­​­­to-​­open.html Engber, D. (­2014). Who made that food truck. The New York Times Magazine. Retrieved from https://­ www.nytimes.com/­2014/­05/­04/­m agazine/­­who-­​­­m ade-­​­­that-­​­­food-​­t ruck.html Franck, K. A., & Speranza, P. (­2015). Food, time and space: Mobile cuisine in New York and Portland. In M. Lozanovska (­Ed): ­Ethno-​­Architecture and the Politics of Migration (­p­­p. ­181–​­198). London: Routledge. Groves. (­2010, February 14). LA Street Food Fest attracts thousands. Los Angeles Times. Retrieved from https://­w ww.latimes.com/­a rchives/­­l a-­​­­x pm-­​­­2 010-­​­­feb-­​­­14-­​­­l a-­​­­me- ­​­­s treetfood14-­​­­2 010feb14- ​­s tory. html Guinness World Records. (­2018). Largest food truck rally. Guinness World Records. Retrieved from https://­w ww.guinnessworldrecords.com/­­world-​­records/­­455075-­​­­largest-­​­­food-­​­­t ruck-​­rally/ Guinness World Records. (­2020, May 4). Largest parade of food trucks. Guinness World Records. Retrieved from https://­w ww.guinnessworldrecords.com/­­world-​­records/­­largest-­​­­parade-­​­­of-­​­­food-​­t rucks Hirsch, J. (­2011, October 1). The food truck revolution revs up, with a little help. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­2011/­10/­02/­us/­­the-­​­­food-­​­­t ruck-­​­­revolution-­​­­revs-­​­­up-­​ ­­w ith-­​­­a-­​­­l ittle-​­help.html Hostetler, J. (­2011, September 15). Then and now: Harness factory Lofts and the Georgia street improvement project, ­30–​­34 E. Georgia street. Historic Indianapolis: All Things Indianapolis History. Retrieved from https://­h istoricindianapolis.com/­­then-­​­­a nd-­​­­now-­​­­harness-­​­­f actory-­​­­lofts-­​­­a nd-­​­­the-­​ ­­georgia-­​­­street-­​­­i mprovement-­​­­project-­​­­30-­​­­34-­​­­e -­​­­georgia-​­street/ Irvin, C. (­2017). Constructing hybridized authenticities in the gourmet food truck scene. Symbolic Interaction, 40(­1), ­43–​­62. Jones, J. (­2016). The regulation of mobile food vending in New York City. Graduate Journal of Food Studies, 3(­1), ­29–​­42. Journal News. (­2018, September 20). Vacant gas station in Butler County to become region’s first food truck court. ­Journal-​­News. Retrieved from https://­w ww.­journal-​­news.com/­business/­­vacant-­​­­g as-­​ ­­station-­​­­butler-­​­­county-­​­­become-­​­­region-­​­­fi rst-­​­­food-­​­­t ruck-​­court/­3VFwQkyNrPVWZZXBndnJqL/ Kentley Insights. (­2020). Food Trucks and Street V ­ endors – 2​­ 020 U.S. Market Research Report (­­p. 36). Kentley Insights. Retrieved from https://­w ww.kentleyinsights.com/­­Food-­​­­Trucks-­​­­a nd-­​­­Street-­​­­Vendors­​­­i ndustry-­​­­m arket-­​­­research-​­report/ Larchet, N. (­2014). Learning from the corner store: Food reformers and the black urban poor in a southern US city. Food, Culture & Society, 17(­3), ­395–​­416. Lemon, R. (­2017). The spatial practices of food trucks. In J. Agyeman, C. Matthews, & H. Sobel (­Eds.), Food trucks, cultural identity, and social justice: From Loncheras to Lobsta love (­p­­p. ­169–​­188). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

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Martin, N. (­2014). Food fight! Immigrant street vendors, gourmet food trucks and the differential valuation of creative producers in Chicago. International Journal of Urban & Regional Research, 38(­5), ­1867–​­1883. Mayyasi, A. (­2013). Food truck economics. Priceonomics. Retrieved from http://­blog.priceonomics. com/­post/­45352687467/­­food-­​­­t ruck-​­economics Moroye, C. M. (­2015). Serving up food for thought in the age of the mobile food truck. Curriculum and Teaching Dialogue, 17(­1/­2), XV. Pilcher, J. M. (­2017). Planet taco: A global history of Mexican food. New York: Oxford University Press. problogic. (­2018, May 22). A tally of food truck courts, lots, parks, and pods. Panethos. Retrieved from https://­panethos.wordpress.com/­2018/­05/­21/­­a-­​­­t ally-­​­­of-­​­­food-­​­­t ruck-­​­­courts-­​­­lots-­​­­parks-­​­­a nd-​­pods/ Rimensnyder, J. (­2019, August 9). “­The World’s Largest Food Truck Rally” is coming to Clearwater in November. Creative Loafing: Tampa Bay. Retrieved from https://­ w ww.cltampa. com/­­food- ​­d rink/­­food- ­​­­d rink- ​­e vents/­a rticle/­21081772/­­t he-­​­­worlds- ­​­­l argest-­​­­food- ­​­­t ruck-­​­­r ally-­​­­i s-­​ ­­coming-­​­­to-­​­­clearwater-­​­­i n-​­november Saxe, L. (­2018, December 12). Want to know the future of food trucks in 2019. Forbes. Retrieved from https://­w ww.forbes.com/­sites/­l izzysaxe/­2 018/­12/­12/­­want-­​­­to-­​­­k now-­​­­t he-­​­­f uture- ­​­­of-­​­­food-­​­­t rucks-­​ ­­i n-­​­­2019-­​­­read-­​­­this-​­report/ The Rise of the Food Truck. (­ 2014, November 24). Restaurant engine. Retrieved from https://­ restaurantengine.com/­­r ise-­​­­food-​­t ruck/ Wallsten, S. J., & Rhyan, C. (­2014). Social media and entrepreneurship: The case of food trucks. Washington, DC: Technology Policy Institute. Wessel, G. (­2012). From place to nonplace: A case study of social media and contemporary food trucks. Journal of Urban Design, 17(­4), 5­ 11–​­531. Yek, G. (­2018, August 14). Get ready for region’s first food truck court. WCPO. Retrieved from https://­w ww.wcpo.com/­news/­i nsider/­­food-­​­­t ruck-­​­­f ans-­​­­w ill-­​­­want-­​­­to-­​­­be-­​­­at-­​­­t he-­​­­opening-­​­­of-­​­­t he-­​ ­­region-­​­­s-­​­­fi rst-­​­­food-­​­­t ruck-­​­­court-­​­­oct-​­5

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Part IV

Protest

14 The Life and Death of Tahrir Square From Protest Platform to Roundabout Mariam Abdelazim

Introduction For many people, Tahrir Square remains both the site and the symbol of the Egyptian Revolution that erupted in early 2011 and then had a ripple effect on other Arab countries and the rest of the world. Today, Tahrir Square is an urban space that appears to be accessible and democratic but is also carefully surveilled and controlled by the authorities. So, from being the ­well-​­recognized platform for political expression in 2011, it has become a controlled space that, through redesign, was converted to a touristic venue. The original name of the square when it was founded around 1869 was Qasr e­ l-​­Nile. In 1919, it acquired the name Ismailia Square, and finally, it earned its current name Tahrir, following the 1952 coup d’etat. The design and use of Tahrir Square reflect the history of modern Cairo and, arguably, the history of Egypt: the rise and fall of the monarchy, modernism, colonialism, nationalism, capitalism and globalization. This chapter examines these changes in design and use from its foundation as a roundabout in modern Cairo in 1869 until early 2021. To track its history, I have relied on archival material, including maps and photographs, travelers’ accounts, published books and articles and film footage. Site observations were conducted in 2019 to document the social activities and recreational uses taking place at that time. Photographs and ­t ime-​­lapse videos reveal the use of the square in 2021. And so, this chapter demonstrates how its redesign over a ­150-​­year period echoes the political, social and cultural conditions in Egypt during pivotal moments of its history. The square is strategically situated in downtown Cairo, which locals call West el Balad, meaning the city center. Tahrir is accessible from 16 streets, making it a convenient and accessible meeting point for most Cairenes (­Salama, 2013). It is a major transportation hub since it is the site of one of the city’s main subway stations and its principal bus stops. The buildings that surround the square give the square great symbolic importance. On the south is the most visually significant ­building – ­​­­Al-​­Mogama. Inaugurated in the early 1950s, this ­large-​­scale structure is an embodiment of Egyptian bureaucracy. Most Egyptians have paid this governmental building a visit in order to receive a birth certificate, a passport or other vital documents (­A lSayyad, 2011b). However, the Sisi government plans to move most of the Mogama functions to other locations. The processing of passports has already DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-18

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been moved to a different location. And the new administrative capital, located on the outskirts of Cairo, will house the new municipality building that is equivalent to Mogama. The plan is to repurpose Mogama to serve as a hotel (­Abdelrahman, 2020), which will emphasize the Square’s touristic function. To the east of Tahrir stands the ­Neo-​­Mamluk building, the former campus of the American University in Cairo. This university, founded in 1919, once enlivened the square since thousands of students and scholars, including myself, passed by it almost every day to eat or shop or simply to move from one university building to another. In 2008, the university moved to its new campus in the 5th Settlement, at Cairo’s periphery, which diminished the liveliness of the square that previously hosted more socially and ethnically diverse pedestrians. What had been the campus is now the School of Continuing Education where cultural events also take place. The ­salmon-​­colored building that overlooks the square on the north side is the Egyptian Museum. This n ­ eo-​­classical building, which opened in 1902, is considered Egypt’s most important cultural institution since it houses a large collection of ancient Egyptian artifacts, mummies and statues (­Rabbat, 2011). The fate of this building remains uncertain since the Egyptian Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities is transferring many of its vital Ancient Egyptian artifacts to other locations, such as the New Grand Egyptian Museum and the National Museum of Civilization. An important religious symbol stands next to Mogama. That is Omar Makram Mosque. An Italian architect, Mario Rossi, designed it in a ­Neo-​­Mamluk style. Opened in 1956, this mosque has been the venue for many noteworthy events, including funerals of famous artists and key political and religious figures (­N. AlSayyad, personal communication, June 2020). The headquarters of the Arab League, built around 1960, is also located on the Square. This building is a manifestation of P ­ an-​­Arabism reflecting the unity that Abdel Nasser created among Arab countries when he was the president of Egypt from 1956 to 1970 (­Rabbat, 2011). The ­R itz-Carlton Hotel (­formerly the Hilton), built in 1959 and located to the west of the square, symbolizes Egypt’s desire to be on the global map.

Evolution of a Modern Square: 1 ­ 600s–​­1980s The western definition of a public space did not arrive in the Middle East or North Africa until the beginning of its modernization in the m ­ id-​­19th century, which was driven by colonial influence. Before then, public spaces were usually the open spaces in front of mosques that could accommodate the overflow of people during prayers and other religious events (­A lSayyad, 2011b). In that way, what approached a public square in the Middle East was an extension of a religious space until the 19th century. A square at the location of what is now called Tahrir Square did not exist until the beginning of the 19th century. In ancient Egypt, the space was a patch of desert that the River Nile flooded during the Fatimid era in the 1600s. By the end of the eighteenth century, the land had dried up and was used as a military camp by the French troops who invaded Egypt in 1798. A few years later, Mohamed Ali, the founder of modern Egypt, built barricades to control the flooding, thus preserving Tahrir Square as a dry ­500-​­acre parcel of land consisting of gardens and cultivated fields between the royal palaces (­A lSayyad, 2011a). Preliminary planning of the layout for the square occurred during the planning of Modern Cairo. Following a visit to Haussmann’s Paris in 1867 where he was impressed by modern urban planning, Ismail, Egypt’s ruler from 1863 to 1879, was determined to turn his Cairo into “­Paris along the Nile”. Between 1867 and 1869, he embarked on his grand modernization 196

The Life and Death of Tahrir Square

project. He assigned Mubarak, his trusted henchman and Minister of Public Works and Education, the daunting task of planning, drawing the layout and creating the modern capital of Cairo, which he did (­­Abu-​­Lughod, 1971). Tahrir Square was part of this project. As planned, it consisted of a large traffic circle, named Qasr ­el-​­Nile rond point, surrounded by residential palaces for foreign and local h ­ igh-​­ranking officials (­Owen, 1997). The square would be situated in the modern neighborhood of Ismailia, a name that paid homage to its founder and that was laid out à la française with wide ­t ree-​­lined boulevards and axial streets radiating from several traffic circles. With his lavish spending on creating a modern façade for Cairo for the occasion of the Suez Canal inauguration, Ismail bankrupted Egypt. He had borrowed over 90 million pounds from British and French banks to finance his modernization project (­­Abu-​­Lughod, 1971). After he failed to pay the debt, Egypt fell under British occupation in 1882. When the British settled in Cairo, they used the Qasr e­ l-​­Nile barracks as a base for their army from 1882 to 1947. Said Pasha, who had ruled Egypt from 1854 to 1862, founded those barracks during the 1850s to host the ­Ottoman-​­Egyptian Army (­The ­­K asr-­​­­El-​­Nil Barracks  –​ ­ ‫ثكنات قصر الني‬ – ​­La Fabrique Du Caire Moderne, n.d.). Thus, what was then called Qasr e­ l-​­Nile ‫ل‬ Square became the site for British military training and daily parades (­Owen, 1997). As such, it was a physical manifestation of British colonialism in Egypt. In 1947, British troops evacuated the barracks and Farouk, Egypt’s king at that time, ordered their demolition, planning to repurpose the square to be a civic center. During that same year, an Egyptian architect, Moussa Qattawi, proposed a new urban scheme for Qasr ­el-​­Nile Square. After the British evacuation of Egypt and the end of the monarchy in 1952, Tahrir Square became a manifestation of the nationalist Egyptian republic (­A lSayyad, 2011a). When Gamal Abdel Nasser came to power in 1954, he initiated a series of grand projects in Tahrir Square that not only reflected his political agenda but also turned the square into a public park and a popular venue for tourists and locals. To enforce his Arab leadership, he built the Headquarters of the Arab League in 1959. Nasser’s desire to put Egypt on the global map was achieved through the Hilton Hotel, which he inserted right next to the Arab League building in the same year. The Hilton represents the International Style with one side looking at Tahrir Square, while the other side gets a Nile view. And to complete this ensemble, he also founded and constructed the Nationalist Democratic Party structure that ruled Egypt at that time. This series of buildings overlooked a vibrant park (­­Figure 14.1). It had several axial intersecting pedestrian pathways that led to a central fountain enclosed by a low fence to protect the plants and surrounded by benches where people could sit and socialize or have some rest while enjoying the fountain, greenery and colorful flower beds, and the surrounding architecture. It was not only a popular leisure venue for ­m iddle-​­class Egyptians and an attraction that appeared in Egyptian movies, but was also interesting to tourists and researchers who visited Egypt in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s as illustrated in the photos they took of the square. The Tahrir Park became so popular that it replaced the Pyramids and Sphinx on Egyptian postcards. In addition to frequenting the park, Egyptians populated the square during major public events, including funerals and processions of public popular figures that emanated from Makram Mosque into the square. The mosque became known as the venue for funerals of the elite, including Mustafa A ­ l-​­Nahas Pasha, Egypt’s former prime minister, Om Kolthoum and Abdel Halim, prominent Egyptian singers and artists (­Owen, 1997). When Gamal Abdel Nasser died in 1970, Tahrir Square was packed with crowds of Egyptians coming from everywhere to mourn his death (­A nderson, 1970). When Sadat ascended to power in 1970, Tahrir Square had already been transformed into a civic, cultural, and touristic center. The square had been suffering from severe traffic 197

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­Figure 14.1 An aerial view of Tahrir Square during the 1960s showing it as a public park and transportation hub. Source: UWM Digital Collection

congestion such that pedestrians could not safely cross the streets or walk through the square. To alleviate the traffic problem, in the early 1970s, the government constructed overhead pedestrian bridges over the heavy vehicular traffic. Egyptian movies in the 1970s and early 1980s illustrate the use of these walkways (­Abouseif, 1973). For over two decades, from the 1950s to the 1980s, Tahrir Square was used as a public space for recreation and enjoyment besides being a major traffic and transportation hub.

A Platform for Political Expression: 1919, 1952, 2011, 2013 In 1919, 1952, and 2011, the strategic location of the square made it an attractive stage for political dissent and freedom of expression for three reasons. First, it is central and easily accessible from various main streets. Second, it is surrounded by important governmental, political, and cultural institutions. Third, although the configuration of the square is irregular, it still forms an enclosure due to the height of the tall buildings that surround it. Also, since the British occupation in 1882, Tahrir Square has been a stage for confrontations between the people and the ruling regime since the headquarters of the British Army barracks were located there, where many clashes occurred between Egyptians and the colonizers (­Fahmy, 2011). The first incidents of protest at the square took place in 1919 during the first revolt of Egyptians against British occupation led by Saad Zaghloul, an Egyptian political leader who became known as the father of Egyptians (­Rabbat, 2011). At that time, Tahrir (­then called Qasr ­el-​­Nile Square) had not yet gained the political significance it gained later since Abdeen Square, where the royal palace was located, was the epicenter of this revolution (­A lSayyad, 198

The Life and Death of Tahrir Square

2011a). It was right after the protests of 1919 that the square acquired the name of its founder and was renamed Ismailia Square. In the summer of 1952, a coup d’etat led by officers from the Egyptian military overthrew the monarchy. Often referred to as the July 23rd Revolution, this military coup resulted in the termination of British occupation that had lasted for over 70 years. Since Ismailia Square was the public platform of the 1952 Revolution, the new national Egyptian government renamed the square Tahrir, which means liberation. A pedestal placed in the main roundabout was supposed to hold a statue of Khedive Ismail, but the pedestal remained empty for over 25 years, symbolizing the fall of the monarchy. There was another brief moment of dissent in 1977 when the bread riots erupted in Tahrir when Egyptians complained about the rise in prices of basic goods, including bread (­Said, 2015). The government contained the riot and since then has continuously surveilled Tahrir to prevent any further unrest. It also implemented the Egyptian Emergency Law that first appeared in 1958 which prohibits any public assembly of more than five people who can be deemed a threat to public safety and as a result may be prosecuted (­Shehata, 2006). Since its foundation, Tahrir Square was never intended or designed to serve as a recreational public space. During the 1990s, Tahrir, along with other Cairene open spaces, were enclosed with fences to discourage people from using them for social activities or for protests (­Salama, 2013).

A Political Platform becomes a Bazaar: ­2011–​­2016 In 2011, Egyptians occupied streets and squares in Cairo and in other cities around Egypt to protest the Mubarak regime. Tahrir Square was reclaimed as a platform for protest. The protestors chose the anniversary of the Egyptian Police Day, January 25, as the date to ­occupy the square. Violence between forces of the Ministry of Interior and protestors broke out in an attempt to empty the square. The government’s attempts to control the crowds in the square with the use of excessive force led to an even larger protest on January 28. According to Elshahed (­2011), over 30,000 people gathered in the square (­­Figure 14.2). State security realized the growing symbolism of Tahrir, where thousands of protestors convened to demand their rights for 18 consecutive days, and decided to employ more vigorous measures to contain the situation by using tear gas, rubber bullets, water cannons, and live ammunition against the crowds who documented what was happening using their cellphone cameras. Soon Tahrir Square became the epicenter of the Egyptian Revolution of 2011. On February 2, President Mubarak paid thugs to attack the crowds, using knives, Molotov cocktails, and sticks. He also sent people on camelback and horseback to terrify people and disperse the crowd. On February 4, the public gained control of the square as police forces retreated. The protestors erected makeshift barriers to create an enclosure and established entry points to check anyone attempting to enter for weapons and identification and to deny access to members of the Interior Ministry or people sent by them. The access points were indicated and protected by protestors. Those entrances were blocked by corrugated metal sheets or wooden bars. As soon as visitors or supporters were granted access, they were welcomed by everyone inside with cheers and smiles. The eastern side of the square, with the backdrop of colonial buildings, was designated the space for intellectual and artistic activities. Martyr memorials, newspaper stands, and art exhibits were created and placed there. The center of the square was the space for praying as it was the most secure area. On the western side, 199

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­Figure 14.2 Tahrir Square during the 2011 revolution. Source: Wikimedia Commons

adjacent to a construction site, people located restrooms and trash bins. Clinics were laid out on the edge to facilitate the transfer of the injured to hospitals. Landmarks, including the Mogama, KFC, and the Egyptian Museum, became reference points for people’s navigation in the square. Even Omar Makram’s mosque reclaimed the original role of a mosque in being a ­socio-​­political space for discourse. Also, a nearby church acted as a clinic to aid injured protestors (­Elshahed, 2011). Members of the military stood next to the access points to help secure the area. By early February, an estimated 400,000 people had assembled in Tahrir, which was now controlled by the public. For 18 days, the square was not only a site of protest and public dissent, but also became a community, a place where people slept, ate, prayed, and socialized. It was a small ­self-​­sufficient city within the city (­Rabbat, 2011). People built tents, restrooms, and stages and allocated areas for prayer, social gatherings, and forums (­Salama, 2013). And depending on the turn of events and the authority’s reactions, whether violent or peaceful, the mood in Tahrir changed from celebration to caution and depression. In three days, Tahrir had been transformed from a profane space into a sacred one. The square also became a common ground for people of different s­ocio-​­economic backgrounds to gather to reach a shared goal. People from all over the country came together to claim their rights and to topple the despotic regime. Liberals and Islamists, Muslims and Christians ­co-​­existed and women wearing jeans and ­t-​­shirts stood next to women wearing niqabs, reflecting social, class, and ethnic diversity. The revolutionary vibes seemed to break the longstanding class and gender barriers and to demonstrate that Egyptians were able to communicate and unite for one cause. During the revolutionary occupation of the square, Tahrir not only acquired political significance but also became a place for social and cultural activities. People sold food and 200

The Life and Death of Tahrir Square

drinks, created signs and banners, set up tents and toilets, and took care of the logistics of daily life. Musicians and poets wrote songs and were testing them out on site with the audience. Filmmakers interviewed protestors and took videos of what was happening. Artists were painting, producing, and displaying artworks while doctors and nurses were providing help for the injured. Tahrir was transformed into a social hub where c­ ommunity-​­led events and activities took place. The square was also both displayed to the world and connected to it through social networks and media. Information flooded into and from it through photographs, tweets, emails, Facebook posts, and YouTube videos. And so people all over the world witnessed the peaceful occupation of Tahrir. They also witnessed confrontations between the police forces, the army, and the protestors. After 18 days of encampment in the Square, President Mubarak had to respond to the Egyptians’ demands and he stepped down on February 11. Egyptians had taken it upon themselves to cleanse their country and to get rid of the “­t rash” of the old regime by literally sweeping the streets, painting the walls, and wiping away a­ nti-​ ­regime graffiti. A sense of civic pride had blossomed in a new Egypt. A week after toppling the regime, the military helped the activists to organize an official celebration in Tahrir which resulted in an assembly of over 1.5 million people who realized that their real power lay in their ability to convene as a group in a large public space and so gain unity of purpose ( ­Elshahed, 2011). However, the spirit of celebrations and national pride did not last long. According to research conducted by Attia (­2 011), Tahrir Square changed from being a public space with both political and social meaning to a ­law-​­free zone with unauthorized street vendors who set up their stands and tents, selling cigarettes, flags and accessories at the roundabout and elsewhere in the square. In 2011, after the ousting of Mubarak, Sahar Attia carried out site surveys and interviewed vendors to track the changing use and their territorial behavior on the square. She compared the types of activities that occurred during the 2011 Revolution, a few days after toppling Mubarak, and one year later and found that some commercial activities remained with vendors settling in the square as their live/­ work place. She also reported that those vendors had occupied the same location since the revolution in 2011 and until a year after in 2012, manifesting a degree of ownership of their commercial activity and its location on the square. The researchers’ interviews with vendors showed that the small businesses they established there were their only source of income. They had no government permits and therefore were illegal. Other vendors brought chairs and sold tea, creating small cafes. Whenever the vendors heard threats about government eviction from the square, they packed up their stuff and left and then came back later to resume their activities. Small camps and tents were also set up at the center of the square. Some of them were political statements and the others were erected by people who had no other place to live. The researchers reported that adjacent store owners expressed their discontent regarding this situation as it disturbed their businesses as well as bringing chaos to the square and its surrounding areas. They also remarked that with such unauthorized activities and chaos, Tahrir had lost its symbolism and powerful image. Reuters also reported that Tahrir had become a grand, open bazaar where vendors were selling ­revolution-​­inspired products such as flip flops with pictures of Mubarak, “­Tahrir Licorice Juice,” and “­25th Revolution Tea” written on them (­Reuters, 2012). Street vendors remained in Tahrir Square from 2011 to 2013 since no strict regulations were employed to remove them, allowing them to territorialize streets, sidewalks and public squares (­Malsin, 2015). In 2013, the government banned all unapproved protests. This coincided with the 201

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campaign of embellishing and cleaning up the downtown area to showcase a civilized image of Cairo. This included reducing the number of street vendors in the square. In 2012, on the anniversary of the January 25 Revolution of 2011, members of the Muslim Brotherhood gathered in Tahrir to celebrate their victory in the parliamentary election held from November 2011 to January 2012. Banners with slogans such as “­we want the state to be Islamic” were raised and people prayed and invited Sheikhs and ­religious figures to the podium they had erected (­Telmissany, 2014). For several days, ­organizers allocated tents to Internet bloggers, provided food service and installed medical clinics. In June 2012, their candidate Mohamed Morsi, became the first democratically elected president of Egypt. As a result, his supporters flooded Tahrir with celebrations. Then, after only one year, a series of demonstrations were held in the square asking for the removal of Morsi from power since a significant percentage of the Egyptian population considered him to be a traitor who only served the Muslim Brotherhood. The Egyptian military intervened and ousted him. Egyptians poured into Tahrir to celebrate, raising Egyptian flags. Fireworks and green laser beams filled the sky. Demonstrators used the dominant facade of Mogama Building to project statements like “­G ame Over” and “­T his is not a coup” (­Baladi, 2013). In 2014, Egypt elected President Al Sisi who brought political stability to the country. After a large celebration in Tahrir Square, it returned to its function as a traffic junction with a central roundabout. In 2016, the square was redesigned and fences were constructed to prevent any access by the public. On the 5th anniversary of the 2011 revolution, the authorities warned against any ­anti-​­government protests, leaving the square mostly empty. Only a few clusters of people waved flags and held flowers, surrounded by hundreds of police (­­El-​ G ­ hobashy, 2016).

Moving toward a Redesign: 1970s, 1980s, ­2019–​­2021 During the 1970s and 1980s, Tahrir Square became a more prominent traffic and transportation hub with a bus stop located in front of the museum and a busy circular pedestrian bridge extending over the roundabout (­Seif, 2014). The government converted the area in front of the hotel and the Arab League into a park with plants, a fountain and benches where people sat or strolled. During the 1980s, the government installed an underground metro line and station, demolished the pedestrian bridge and removed the pedestrian bridge. In August 2019, the government announced a renovation project to preserve this redesigned Tahrir as the most prominent square in Egypt and as a symbol of modernism (­Marie, 2019). The Egyptian prime minister, Mostafa Madbouly, gave a commission for the latest Tahrir Square redesign to Shehab Mazhar, a renowned Egyptian landscape designer and engineer who is known for his luxurious landscape work for private villas in gated communities (­Egypt Today, 2019). His vision was to transform the square into an “­­open-​­air museum” where the ancient Egyptian identity could be displayed (­Ibrahim, 2020). The implementation of the project started with planting trees that were common during ncient Egyptian times, including palm and olive trees, around the square and removing all signs that undermine the beauty of the surrounding buildings such as garbage and w ­ orn-​­out street furniture and shop signs. It also entailed installing an ancient Egyptian obelisk at the center of the square and flanking it with four sphinxes brought from Luxor’s Karnak Temple. In addition, the plan included the installation of streetlights and painting the facades of adjacent shops. The aim was to make Tahrir Square one of the important historic venues in Cairo, accentuating its role as a touristic hub. 202

The Life and Death of Tahrir Square

According to AlSayyad (­ N. AlSayyad, personal communication, June 2020), Shehab Mazhar does not have any expertise in designing public spaces and does not fully grasp the contested history and meaning of Tahrir Square. As a result, his design consists of several unprogrammed green areas, some consisting of artificial grass, lined with a number of flower boxes with some granite benches scattered here and there. Tarek Naga, an Egyptian architect, theorist and educator, also denounced Mazhar’s design as it does not speak to the original identity and symbolism of the square as a stage for political dissent (­Naga, 2020). He also alluded to the fact that the latest redesign did not respect the surrounding urban context and fabric. Naga added that the placement of an obelisk at the center of the roundabout on a pedestal is a poor reproduction of nineteenth century European squares which failed to properly use and install the obelisks they had acquired since ancient Egyptians never placed obelisks on pedestals.

Still a Surveilled “­Public Space”: ­2019–​­2021 The fieldwork for this chapter included a few visits and site observations at the square in December of 2020. An initial visit on December 12, 2020 reveals the difficulties I had in conducting my observations. Upon strolling around the different spaces of the square, and as soon as I sat on one of the benches, a security guard asked me to leave immediately. He also did not allow me, or another visitor whom I observed, to take any photos of the square. I then tried sitting on the lawn adjacent to the Mogama building, where other people were also sitting, but after about 15 minutes security guards and police officers asked everyone to leave the space. There were several other security guards and police officers either standing, patrolling or sitting in different spaces of the square to control access to it. There was also a police truck standing on the eastern edge of the square. The whole square seemed heavily surveilled. On the morning of December 14, 2020, the security situation was the same. When my husband tried to take a picture of Mogama while walking by, he was stopped by a security officer dressed in regular clothes and was asked what picture he had taken and told him that he should delete it. When I asked the security guard the reasons for these restrictions, he replied that it was because of the inauguration of the newly designed square and that we would be able, hopefully, to take pictures after that inauguration. We asked about the time of the inauguration and were told that it was supposed to have been held two weeks earlier and that there was no indication of when it would happen or whether the public would be allowed to attend. It looked as if the square was being prepared for a grand celebration since metal scaffolding and extra lights were being installed. On the balcony of a hotel that overlooked the square, using a ­Go-​­Pro camera, I created a ­time-​­lapse video of one active open area of Tahrir, which is the public space in front of Mogama. The recording started before noon and ended at 6 p.m. That day, security guards were still strolling and observing people who were mostly crossing the square or sitting on the benches for short periods of time. There was also an old lady who was sitting in the middle of the space adjacent to Mogama, selling vegetables right below an Egyptian flag that was installed at the center of the space. Another three or four vendors had spread their products on the ground at the edge of the eastern wall of the Mogama building. It seemed as if security guards were using their own judgment as to which people represented a threat and which people were allowed to stay. A few other drives around the square toward the end of December and in early January of 2021 showed the same situation (­­Figure 14.3). In 2021, in a staged celebration of the Egyptian Police Day, which also happened to be the 10th anniversary of the January 25, 2011 Revolution, Egyptian police officers distributed chocolates, flowers and blankets to people driving and walking in Tahrir 203

Mariam Abdelazim

­Figure 14.3 Tahrir Square in 2020

Square. Surveillance throughout the square in the background of the broadcasted video shared by media outlets and newspapers is certainly visible (­V ideoYoum7, 2021). Both the video and the newspaper article show security forces around the square, suggesting a desire to erase any remaining traces of the pivotal role Tahrir Square played in the Egyptian Revolution of 2011 and that should be registered in Egypt’s history (­V ideoYoum7, 2021). On April 3, 2021, Egyptian television stations aired the grand event of the Egyptian Mummy Parade (­Ebrahim, 2021). With extravagant symphonic music, 22 Pharaonic mummies were paraded from Tahrir Museum in elegant, ­pharaonic-​­inspeired vehicles that circulated around the Tahrir roundabout as they headed south to the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization located in Fustat. The whole ­event -​­-​­the organization, the setting, the music, the performers’ costumes and the c­ horeography -​­-​­was to show Sisi’s Egyptian identity to the rest of the world. The promotional videos and statements by the event’s host and Tourism and Antiquities Minister, Khaled a­ l-​­Anany, expressed Egyptian pride as they showed that Egyptians orchestrated every aspect of the entire event. It was an impressive and powerful statement to reposition Egypt’s status globally.

Implications By understanding the evolution of this single square, one can grasp the social, cultural and political transformations of the entire nation. Pivotal moments in the timeline of Tahrir Square’s history reveal the ­socio-​­political directions that successive Egyptian administrations 204

The Life and Death of Tahrir Square

­Figure 14.4 Figure-ground diagrams depicting the design and use of Tahrir Square in different time periods. Reproduced by author from original maps

pursued. The edge of the ­square -​­-​­as defined by the surrounding buildings with their individual meanings, architectural styles, uses and changes in ­function -​­-​­is also important for understanding urban planning dynamics in Cairo (­­Figure  14.4). The plan is to move the bureaucratic, cultural and educational uses out of the square to a new center in the New Administrative Capital in the outskirts. These changes are reminiscent of Ismail’s grand modernization project in the second half of the nineteenth century that relocated the center of Cairo from the medieval city to the Abdin royal palace in the “­modern city” downtown, close to Tahrir Square. The ongoing shift is from Khedivial Cairo in the downtown area to the “­­post-​­modern” new capital at the outskirts. I also argue that the Sisi government, which came to power in 2013, reduced the g­ lobally-​­recognized symbol of freedom to a polished “­­open-​­air museum”, – ​­not only effacing but also defacing the memory of a once commemorated Egyptian revolution. One question ­r emains – ​­what will the fate of Tahrir Square be? Should it be celebrated as a symbol of democracy and freedom? And, if so, how? Or should it be turned into a public space for recreation and leisure? Or a tourists’ stop for taking pictures? Should it remain manicured and neatly designed but controlled and surveilled, reflecting the interests of the current political regime? It is likely that after the planned deactivation of all the important buildings that surround it, including the relocation of Mogama, the Egyptian Museum and the American University, Tahrir Square will gradually decay and return to its original ­condition – ​­an undefined open space with a central roundabout. 205

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References Abdelrahman, A. (­2020). ‫ تطوير ميادين مصر واستغالل مجمع التحرير بشكل استثماري‬:‫الحكومة‬. Retrieved from https://­w ww.dostor.org/­3139619 Abouseif, S. (­1973). Malatily Bathhouse [Film]. ­Abu-​­Lughod, J. L. (­1971). Cairo: 1001 years of the city victorious. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. AlSayyad, N. (­2011a). A History of Tahrir Square. Harvard University Press. Retrieved from https://­ harvardpress.typepad.com/­hup_publicity/­2011/­04/­­a-­​­­h istory-­​­­of-­​­­t ahrir-​­square.html AlSayyad, N. (­2011b, April 14). Cairo’s Roundabout Revolution. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­2011/­04/­14/­opinion/­14alsayyad.html AlSayyad, N. (­2020, June). Public Space in Cairo [Zoom Video Call]. Anderson, R. (­1970). Nasser Funeral is disrupted by frenzy of millions. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­1970/­10/­02/­a rchives/­­nasser-­​­­f uneral-­​­­is-­​­­d isrupted-­​­­by-­​­­f renzy-­​­­of-­​ ­­m illions-­​­­throngs-​­swarm.html Attia, S. (­2011). Rethinking public space in Cairo: The appropriated Tahrir Square. Trialog, 109, ­10–​­15. Baladi, L. (­2013, September 16). When seeing is belonging: The photography of Tahrir Square. Creative Time Reports. Retrieved from https://­creativetime.org/­reports/­2013/­09/­16/­­lara-­​­­baladi-­​­­photography­​­­of-­​­­t ahrir-​­square/ Ebrahim, N. (­2021, April 4). Egyptian mummies paraded through Cairo on way to new museum. Reuters. Retrieved from https://­w ww.reuters.com/­a rticle/­­us-­​­­egypt-­​­­a ntiquities-­​­­convoy-​­idUSKBN 2BQ04T ­E l-​­Ghobashy, T. (­2016, January 25). Egyptians mark day of their uprising quietly. The Wall Street Journal. Retrieved from https://­w ww.wsj.com/­a rticles/­­five-­​­­years-­​­­later-­​­­egypts-­​­­t ahrir-­​­­square-­​­­stands-­​ ­­quiet-​­1453739442 Elshahed, M. (­2011). Tahrir Square: Social media, public space. Places Journal. Retrieved from https://­ doi.org/­10.22269/­110227 Egypt Today. (­2019, August 18). PM unveils plan to renovate Cairo’s historic Tahrir square. Retrieved from https://­w ww.egypttoday.com/­A rticle/­1/­73967/­­PM-­​­­u nveils-­​­­plan-­​­­to-­​­­renovate- ­​­­Cairo-­​­­s -­​­­h istoric-­​ ­­Tahrir-​­square Fahmy, K. (­ 2011). Tahrir Square. Cairobserver. Retrieved from https://­ cairobserver.com/­ post/ ­9991455253/­­t ahrir-​­square#.­Y DfuV-​­h Kh9M Ibrahim, M. (­2020). ‫ جريدة الدستور‬.»‫ ح وَّلناه إلى «متحف مفتوح‬:‫ مصمم الشكل الجديد للميدان‬..»‫معجزة «التحرير‬. Retrieved from https://­w ww.dostor.org/­3109079 La fabrique du Caire moderne. (­2019, May 30). The K ­ asr-­​­­El-​­Nil B ­ arracks – ‫­النيل‬ ​­ ‫ثكنات قصر‬  – ​­La fabrique du Caire moderne [Blog]. La Fabrique Du Caire Moderne. Retrieved from https://­sites.duke.edu/­ cairemoderne/­2019/­05/­30/­­the-­​­­kasr-­​­­el-­​­­n il-­​­­barr acks-​­%d8%ab%d9%8 3%d9%86%d8%a7%d8%­aa-​­%d 9%82%d8%b5%d8%­b1-​­%d8%a7%d9%84%d9%86%d9%8a%d9%84/ Malsin, J. (­2015, September 5). Cairo street traders squeezed out in push to make city “­revolution free.” The Guardian. Retrieved from http://­w ww.theguardian.com/­world/­2015/­sep/­05/­­cairo-­​­­street­​­­t raders-­​­­squeezed-­​­­out-­​­­city-­​­­revolution-​­f ree Marie, M. (­2019, December 30). All you need to know about renovating Tahrir Square. Egypt Today. Retrieved from https://­w ww.egypttoday.com/­A rticle/­4/­79190/­­A ll-­​­­you-­​­­need-­​­­to-­​­­k now-­​­­about-­​ ­­renovating-­​­­Tahrir-​­Square Naga, T. (­2020, June 8). ‫اخي را خرج شهاب مظهر من صمته‬. Facebook. Retrieved from https://­w ww.facebook. com/­631165670/­posts/­10157131942360671/?d=n Owen, R. (­1997). The metamorphosis of Cairo’s Midan a­ l-​­Tahrir as public space: 1­ 870–​­1970. Harvard Middle Eastern & Islamic Review, 4(­­1–​­2), ­138–​­163. Rabbat, N. (­2011). Circling the Square: Architecture and revolution in Cairo. Artforum International, 49, ­182–​­191. Reuters. (­2012, March 14). Street vendors cash in on revolutionary spirit. Egypt Independent. Retrieved from https://­egyptindependent.com/­­street-­​­­vendors-­​­­cash-­​­­revolutionary-​­spirit/ Said, A. (­2015). We ought to be here: Historicizing space and mobilization in Tahrir Square. International Sociology, 30(­4), ­348–​­366. Salama, H. (­2013). Tahrir Square: A narrative of a public space. International Journal of Architectural Research, 1. Retrieved from https://­a rchnet.org/­publications/­6928

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Seif, O. (­2014, January 25). Tahrir Square before it was iconic ­worldwide—​­Photo ­Heritage—​­Folk. Ahram Online. Retrieved from http://­english.ahram.org.eg/­NewsContent/­32/­138/­92373/­Folk/­ ­Photo-​­Heritage/­­Tahrir-­​­­Square-­​­­before-­​­­it-­​­­was-­​­­iconic-​­worldwide.aspx Shehata, S. (­2006, July 19). Contemporary conflicts. Retrieved from https://­web.archive.org/­web/­ 20060719220640/­http://­conconflicts.ssrc.org/­m ideast/­shehata/­pf/ Telmissany, M. (­2014). The utopian and dystopian functions of Tahrir Square. Postcolonial Studies: Imagining the revolution, 17(­1), ­36–​­46.

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15 City of Protest From Exterior to Interior Public Space in Hong Kong Tom Verebes

Introduction Throughout history, crowds taking to streets and squares have triggered revolutions, making such traditional public spaces key sites of protest. In the 20th and 21st centuries alone, examples proliferate. In China: the 1911 Boxer Revolution, the Communist Revolution in 1949, the Cultural Revolution (­1966 to 1976), and the Tian’anmen Square Uprising in 1989. Hong Kong’s resistance to China, and paradoxically, its Maoist riots of 1967, all happened outdoors, in full public view. Examples are many in the West and the Middle East. They include the suffragettes, the American civil rights movement, the a­ nti-​­apartheid movement, the Velvet Revolution in Europe in ­1989–​­1990, Arab Spring across cities in the Middle East and North Africa in 2011, the color revolution in Turkey in 2012, and more recently, the Black Lives Matter protests in the U.S. in 2020. History reveals that the occupation of public space is vital to revolutionary practices. That public space has largely been streets and squares. The need to be seen outside, and recorded on camera, has shaped the tradition of using public squares and exterior spaces adjacent to government buildings as the preeminent political spaces of cities and the locations of public protests. However, in addition to exterior public urban spaces, many cities, especially more dense and compact ones, now have public urban spaces embedded within the interiors of large buildings. In Hong Kong, interior forms of urbanism have grown, multiplied and densified, becoming ubiquitous. Despite the fact that the ideologies and practices of megastructural architecture and urbanism were discredited in the West during the demise of modernism by the 1970s, s­uper-​­sized buildings have continued to be built worldwide since the late 20th century, most notably in East Asia (­Banham, 1976). In Hong Kong, the 1950s and 1960s megastructural dreams of the a­ vant-​­garde have been actualized, recombining and integrating “­department stores, malls, skybridges, super blocks, ­mega-​­blocks and towers” (­Shane, 2016, ­p. 36). This proliferation of dense urbanism upends the traditional understanding of exterior space as public space and the interiors of buildings as private. It is precisely the resulting spaces which have become, more recently, the sites of protest in Hong Kong: the infrastructural armature of footbridges and tunnels; connections to public transportation; and the vast interiors of the city’s shopping malls. During the Umbrella 208

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-19

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Movement of 2014, protestors occupied exterior public spaces in Hong Kong for 79 days, including the principal ­h igh-​­speed thoroughfare of the city, Connaught Road, adjacent to the Legislative Council of Hong Kong (­LegCo) building. In the summer of 2019, after several weeks of the largest protest marches in the streets ever to take place in Hong Kong, protestors moved indoors, initially to occupy the interior of the Hong Kong International Airport for four days, and soon after, into the privately owned public spaces of its shopping malls, the Mass Transit Railway (­MTR), its pedestrian armature and the interior of the LegCo Building. After five months of protest, protesters then seized the interior of several university campuses, fortifying and holding out at Hong Kong Polytechnic University until early 2020. All through these events, protestors used social media and mobile telephones to communicate with each other and the wider public, for all stages of organizing and mobilizing daily protests. This chapter investigates how protesters used the ambiguous interiority and exteriority of Hong Kong’s public spaces as well as various ­media – ​­protest signage, online media, social media and news reportage. Information is drawn from the author’s firsthand observations in 2019. A series of online interviews were conducted with four experts: Professor Lo Shiu Hing Sonny from The University of Hong Kong HKU Space, political consultant and Emeritus Professor David Zweig from The Hong Kong University of Science and Technology; Paul Zimmerman, a public space advocate and director of Designing Hong Kong; and Jeffie Lam, a Senior Reporter with the South China Morning Post, on the ground in Hong Kong. All supporting images are stills from the film “­Love in the Time of Revolution” (­2022) by Twinkle Ngan Chi Sing.

Hong Kong’s Public Spaces Given the challenges of constructing a city on steep and mushy topography, and the prevalent scarcity of ground suitable for development across the territory, Hong Kong grew into a high rise city. New towns were organized as arrays of uniform housing towers sprouting from podia that contain public spaces for shopping and links to public transportation. The tower and podium typology emerged in the 1960s as a distinctly Hong Kong model of ­transport-​­oriented development. Podium tower complexes tend to be located along Hong Kong’s pervasive infrastructural armature of footbridges, tunnel and connections to public transportation systems. As gross floor area was maximized, ­podium-​­tower projects of the 1960s grew in size, number and degree of integration into the city. The interior void spaces became larger as atria served as mixed use public spaces, albeit privately owned and maintained (­Shelton, Karakiewicz, & Kvan, 2011). The resulting urbanism is a complex of shopping, hotel atria, corporate office lobbies, food and beverage outlets, cinemas, churches and manifold connections of these urban interiors to the MTR, train stations, taxi ranks and bus terminals. Public space in Hong Kong is at once dense, hyperconnected and mediated. Advertising and signage cover nearly all surfaces. The visual field of atria and exterior facades, and a nightly light show on office tower facades, create a recurring spectacle. Public navigation, information and communication are enhanced by the infrastructural connectivity and proximity of public spaces. The interior public spaces are less localized enclaves than armatures to other public interiors ( ­Jameson, 1991). Hong Kong’s atria are haphazard, heterogeneous and embedded into a dense urbanism, an accumulation of actions and that compound discreet connections and the expansion of the network over time. Interior urbanism in Hong Kong 209

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has grown incrementally, as much the outcome of bottom up, smaller interventions as of larger scale planning (­Frampton, Solomon, & Wong, 2011). From afar, Hong Kong appears as fields of towers poking out of its lush jungle topography, when in fact, it is a densely packed, granular mass. The urbanism created by the atrium is more complex than simply “­the inside secured against the outside”. In John Portman’s atrium hotel projects, there is a “­constant phasing of interior and exterior sensibilities and experiences” (­R ice, 2016, p­ . 7). Hong Kong both replays these sensibilities and multiplies them. Public space is further interiorized through an absence of simple thresholds between exterior and interior spaces. The conventional relationships of the city and architectural interiors, landscape, environmental design and interior furnishing, and distinctions between inside and outside, public and private, are reshaped. In terms of the topological qualities of Portman’s hotel atria, the external facades of this relatively new typology of public space are involuted, appearing on the interior, not the exterior. Interior spaces, day and night, are transformed by the simulation of continuous daytime. Airlocks limiting the loss of a­ ir-​­conditioned air are the only discrete threshold between interior and exterior (­R ice, 2016). Landfills comprise the vast extent of developed land in Hong Kong and Kowloon. The ground surface of the city has been transformed by extensive land reclamation in Victoria Harbor and also by an intensified pedestrian infrastructure of footbridges, escalators and tunnels. Deep podia obliterate the ground. Their connectivity occurs at multiple levels, further diminishing the importance of the ground. Hong Kong’s lack of ground, both visually and practically, diminishes the value of the ground as a political space for expressions of difference, conflict and representation. In Hong Kong, the absence of a single ground plane requires the negotiation of topographical gradients, datums and levels. In Hong Kong, ­three-​­dimensional connectivity has been boosted to render the ground residual, becoming a “­city without ground” (­Frampton et  al., 2011). Exterior public space is often secondary to the commercially driven interior public spaces of its malls and infrastructural hubs. The extensive pedestrian networks in Hong Kong Island and Kowloon grew incrementally, eventually extending and encompassing connections between discrete buildings. Rather than diminishing the preeminence of the ground, Hong Kong’s pedestrian network multiplies and augments it (­Solomon, 2013). In Hong Kong, the public transport system and the ubiquitous pedestrian network of footbridges and tunnels feed the malls with crowds moving into and through them in the trajectories of everyday life. As a “­city of malls”, Hong Kong is oriented toward consumption, with the highest concentration of malls of any city. Al (­2016) coined the term “mall-oriented complex” for these interior urban volumes that integrate m ­ ulti-​­modal transportation hubs with large shopping malls. Monumentalizing the “­cultural logic of late capitalism”, the vast urban interiors dedicated to shopping as leisure, along with their connective appendages, supersede the public ground of the city, as the prime civic spaces of the city ( ­Jameson, 1991). Since they are located at the intersection of all pedestrian flows, entering a mall in daily life in Hong Kong is an “­inevitability not a choice”. As clusters of islands with deep public interiors, “­m all cities” form archipelagos in the densest parts of the city, conflating shopping with public urban space (­A l, 2016). The malls are the armature which mitigates the city’s subtropical climate, hermetically sealing the public into the private space of interiors. Promoted on the basis of the “­symbolically resonant and convenient code language of climate and exposure”, these malls are “­laminated onto the core areas” of cities, creating a “­complete and autonomous urban 210

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realm” (­Boddy, 1992, ­p. 140). The malls are deeply integrated into the fabric, functioning, mobility and social order of the city. Shopping malls in Hong Kong are not immune to nor insulated from the public, but rather extend public space into these interiors so that they become the prime locus of the public realm (­A l, 2016). Older malls, such as New Town Plaza in Shatin in the New Territories, were conceived and designed through consultation processes, creating civic meaning and ownership. Promoted by its investors and the city government as “­community development”, the vast interior network of interior urban spaces of New Town Plaza was embraced by local citizens as the prime local civic space of Shatin (­Chu, 2016). In contrast, Times Square Mall in Causeway Bay in Hong Kong Island, a vast vertical atrium mall 16 floors high, also makes a contribution to public space. Yet, it was conceived as a hypercommercialized interior. So, when compared with New Town Plaza, the relative absence of local community is evident. A comparison of New Town Plaza with Times Square Mall reveals great differences in the social cohesion of a local community and the sense of belonging in Hong Kong’s malls. While Times Square is newer and caters to a luxury market, the residential community of Shatin, from its outset and ever since, has forged a connection to New Town Plaza as its public civic space. In 2010, the exterior plaza of Times Square Mall in Causeway Bay was ­re-​­designated as a public space. Despite the explicit outlawing of “­demonstrations, dogs, birds, and musical instruments”, the public was granted permission to enter the Times Square building to access the MTR (­A l, 2016). Legally defined as private spaces, in Times Square and other privately owned public spaces regulations are used to express and maintain social order through the prohibition of behaviors deemed unsocial. Hong Kong’s dense urbanism, inside and out, compresses economic classes. Locals, mainland Chinese, expats, tourists and foreign domestic helpers all occupy public space. This demographic mix sets the stage for Hong Kong as a city of protest. Over several decades of development, the malls have grown from isolated destinations of private interiors to a highly connected pedestrian network of public interiors. The public’s use of Hong Kong’s pedestrian networks creates a political “­tension…usually seen in terms of public and private interests that are deemed to be separate and opposed” and fundamentally unresolved (­R ice, 2016, ­p. 7).

City of Protest: ­1997–​­2019 For much of its history, Hong Kong has been a holdout city on the edge of China, with a long tradition of resistance within its unique brand of everyday stability. Borne out of the moral failure of British colonialism, Hong Kong is one of the preeminent accidental cities of the 20th century, repeatedly demonstrating its capacity to manage extreme population influxes as well as exoduses, during a century of densification amidst its exceptional, complex history. Driven by a blend of Confucian values and blatant capitalism, Hong Kong has generally been stable throughout its history, despite having overcome the exodus of most of its population during WWII and Japanese occupation, the Maoist riots (­1967), the Asian Currency Crisis (­1997), the SARS epidemic (­2003) and the Global Financial Crisis (­2008) ( ­Verebes, 2017). People’s empowerment and participation can be classified as a “­ladder of citizen participation”, from lower levels of involvement to higher levels in d­ ecision-​­making, from “­­ non-​­participation” to increasing gradations of involvement (­A rnstein, 1969/­2011). Lacking popular representation, there is a long tradition, especially since 1997, of Hong Kong exercising its rights to peaceful assembly, free speech, expression and journalism. These rights 211

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require “­spaces for representation” for the public to exercise these rights (­M itchell, 2003). These spaces in Hong Kong, as in most cities, have been exterior public spaces, including major streets, urban squares and parks. In 1949 the British colonial government in Hong Kong resisted the Communist Revolution. On October 10, 1956, one of the deadliest incidents of civil unrest happened on the ­so-​­called “­Double Tenth Day”, when fighting broke out between ­pro-​­Communist and ­pro-​ N ­ ationalist factions. In 1966 Edinburgh Place Ferry Pier, often referred to as the Star Ferry Peer, was the site of riots in response to raising the price of a ferry ride between Hong Kong Island and Kowloon peninsula. In 1967 during the Maoist riots, those in favor of communism battled the Hong Kong government. Eventually this grew into l­arge-​­scale protests against British colonial rule. These protests were quickly put down and order was restored to the colony. Between the handover of Hong Kong to China in 1997 and 2003, there were not many protests in Hong Kong. On a yearly calendar of protests, a candlelight vigil in Victoria Park, commemorating the Tian’anmen Square Massacre in Beijing on June 4, 1989, has regularly attracted up to 500,000 protestors. The anniversary of the handover of Hong Kong from the UK to China on July 1, 1997 had been marked with a yearly protest march through the major thoroughfares of Hong Kong Island until 2020, when this yearly protest march was banned by the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region (­H KSAR) of the People’s Republic of China. In 2003, a National Security Law (­NSL) was proposed, leading to a protest march by 500,000 people to the government headquarters in Central, and onto the China Liaison Office in Sheng Wan. The proposed law was rescinded. Like many s­ tudent-​­led movements before it, Occupy Hong Kong, or the Umbrella Movement, in 2014, was a decentralized movement with three distinct groups, each with leaders. The three groups converged on the LegCo building on Friday, September 26, 2014. By Sunday evening, thousands had stormed and occupied Harcourt Road and the surroundings of LegCo. Eventually, two more sites were occupied, in Causeway Bay and in Mong Kok. After 79 days, on December 15, 2014, police cleared Harcourt Road. Following a traditional pattern of protestors occupying politically symbolic ground, Occupy Hong Kong was largely a peaceful movement, a prolonged occupation of the city in which nightly speeches in the same location galvanized support for the movement. Organized through smart handheld devices that were also a means for recording, in real time, this political movement unfolded from ­bottom-​­up. During the 2014 Occupy Hong Kong protests, traditional streets, thoroughfares and urban s­quares -​­-​­altogether the public ground of the c­ ity-​­-​­were the loci of all protest activities. Despite being a united and largely peaceful movement, many saw Occupy Hong Kong as a failure to meet the Umbrella Movement’s goal of achieving universal suffrage for Hong Kong. There was much finger pointing for the disappointing outcome. Occupy was later perceived as being too moderate, failing to paralyze the city. Over the subsequent years, o ­ ne-​­day protests, rallies and marches continued, although with fewer participants.

City of Protest: ­2019–​­2020 In 2019, the HKSAR government proposed The Extradition Bill which would permit Hong Kong citizens to be extradited to mainland China to face trial. The Hong Kong ­a nti-​ ­extradition and ­pro-​­democracy movement in ­2019–​­2020 launched the largest and longest running protests ever held in Hong Kong. The movement soon split between a large, predominantly peaceful group and a much smaller minority who advocated violence. 212

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Several of the early protests in June and July 2019 attracted half a million, a million and even two million people. On June 16, 2019, the equivalent to 29% of the population of Hong Kong demonstrated peacefully in marches in the streets of Hong Kong. From August to November, 2019 outdoor protests occurred each lunchtime for one hour on most weekdays in Central, in the financial center of the city and at the intersection of Queen’s Road Central and Pedder Street. In the fall of 2019 regular protests flowed across the city, often a­d-​­hoc, impulsive and spontaneous. Protestors would disperse and break into smaller groups to move in different directions, leading to confrontations with the police on numerous occasions. There was tacit agreement between the majority of the generally peaceful protestors and the smaller more violent groups that te two groups would refrain from blaming each other, as summarized in this Cantonese saying, “­We both sleep on the same matt, so do not cut the matt into two parts”. In summer 2019 protests migrated to Hong Kong’s interior public spaces and, by the end of 2019, battles were raging at several university campuses in Hong Kong. In a strategic evolution from 2014 to 2019, a g­ uerilla-​­style tactical approach, without weapons, emerged. The movement adopted the slogan:“­Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless, like water” from a TV drama acted by Bruce Lee. The term “­be like water” was used to describe the strategy of the m ­ ovement -​­-​­to behave and flow like water (­SCMP Reporter, 2018). Leaderless protest groups used a dynamic, ­non-​­territorial strategy of planning on the fly, showing up, acting and disappearing. Aided by the arbitrary distinctions between interior and exterior public spaces, the groups were mobile, quick to react, flexible and adaptable, able to move easily from exterior to interior and vice versa. For the easiest way to retreat from a protest site, whether interior or exterior, protestors used the MTR as escape routes, like water flowing into the MTR, through the interior malls and along footbridges. About 50 groups of protestors kept the police out of sync, as malls were used to hide and the MTR for ways to escape. “­Be water” became a h ­ it-­​­­and-​­run game almost daily, from 3 p.m. to midnight. After several weeks in the summer of 2019 in Central HK, the protests spread to public spaces in housing estates in Kowloon and the New Territories, also connected to the MTR. Aside from street battles, the prime sites for many of the 2019 and 2020 protests were the city’s public infrastructure and its privately owned public spaces. Violence throughout most of the protests was not random. Early in the protest movement, a “­yellow economy” and a “­blue economy” had emerged, corresponding to the two groups, ­pro-​­and ­a nti-​­movement. On the basis of the “­political symbolism” of particular shops, brands, mall owners, and the MTR were strategically targeted for p­ ro-​­Beijing, ­pro-​­H KSAR government, or ­pro-​­police views of these companies, organizations, or owners (­Dittmer, 1977). The MTR is symbol of government and, ultimately the Chinese Communist Party (­CCP). Initially, the police were kept out of the interiors of the MTR, as well as Hong Kong’s atrium shopping mall complexes. Actions such as disallowing protestors into the MTR to escape, shutting down lines, stations and exits, were understood as the MTR siding with the government, allowing police to arrest protestors. There were increasingly violent battles and riots inside MTR stations, aimed at disabling the mass transit infrastructure of the city. Protestors turned against and targeted the so called “­blue shops” that supported the police. Several interiors of restaurants and shops were vandalized, but no looting or stealing took place (­Lo, Hung, & Loo, 2020). Times Square has been a principal space of peaceful protest, often involving the making of paper origami cranes. At New Town Plaza in July 2019, exterior protests moved inside, and for the first time, riot police pursued and made arrests, as protestors tried to escape to the MTR through either directly from ­street-​­level entrances to the MTR, or through the interior of malls connected to the MTR. Because mall management and 213

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private security generally control interior spaces in Hong Kong, the public perceive malls as private space, and therefore safe from the police being allowed into the mall by law. Local citizens organized a mass ­s it-​­in at New Town Plaza. The mall managers at Festival Walk, a luxury shopping mall in Kowloon Tong, initially did not let the police into the mall, but then allowed police access to the malls to pursue protestors. Consequently, the public’s anger at shopping mall managers and owners was growing. In Festival Walk, the protestors strategically burned a vast Christmas Tree and damaged the skylights in Festival Walk for retaliation, intending to undermine the mall and disrupt the functioning of its business. Singing protest anthems and Glory to Hong Kong, the unofficial anthem of the protest movement, in shopping malls became a recurring, distributed, flash mob tactic. Much smaller groups of counter protesters would sing the Chinese national anthem. In the Amoy Shopping Mall in Amoy Gardens, Kowloon p­ ro-​­police and ­pro-​­Beijing protestors clashed with p­ ro-​­democracy protestors. Initially, both groups singing their anthems led to scuffles, acting out the divided political identity of Hong Kong. In another instance, a large vigilante group of ­white-​­shirted Triads (­the name for organized criminal gangs) waited for protestors to arrive at Yuen Long MTR station, assaulted them with batons on trains, platforms and outside the station. Footbridges that protestors initially used to survey the police from an elevated position above the street were later used to launch ballistics of bricks and petrol bombs at the police on the street below. Traffic was stopped on the main highway to the border with Mainland China by using footbridges to block the road. Roads to Hong Kong International Airport were initially taken over on July 26, 2019, followed by the partial occupation of the airport twice in July, and a f­our-​­day occupation on August 9­ –​­12, which concluded with the temporary shutting down of the airport, the grounding of all flights and the airport being cleared of protestors. The airport protests were mostly peaceful, successfully disrupting the normal operations of the airport. Eventually, injunctions were served to prevent anyone other than travelers from entering the airport.

­Figure 15.1 Interior protests at Hong Kong International Airport. © Twinkle Ngan Chi Sing. Stills from the film, “­Love in the Time of Revolution”, 2022

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Some of the most dramatic and troubling events were the pitched battles that occurred on several university campuses in November 2019, between protestors and elite ­a nti-​­riot police. Campuses at The Chinese University of Hong Kong (­CUHK) in Shatin, City University of Hong Kong in Kowloon and The University of Hong Kong (­H KU) were all taken over and occupied for a few days. The turning point of the protest movement occurred when over 1,000 people were holding out inside the Polytechnic University of Hong Kong in Kowloon for over a week. As of sedentary, claiming and holding ground, protestors thus abandoned the “­be water” strategy. The police could not find the protestors; yet, the protestors were sealed into the campus by the police and could not escape. Nearly all the protestors were eventually arrested and classes in Hong Kong universities were suspended for nearly two months. Without a doubt, the interior chamber of the LegCo Building is the most significant political space in Hong Kong, effectively serving as the parliament of the HKSAR. On the night of July 1, 2019, after the largest protest march ever to take place in Hong Kong’s history marking 22 years since the handover of Hong Kong to China, protestors forced their way into the LegCo Building and vandalized the interior. In addition to the occupation of exterior and interior spaces, protestors used a variety of traditional media to disseminate their messages, including banners, flags, umbrellas, and masks. The painting of protest banners is perhaps the oldest form of media, specific to the protest culture of East and Southeast Asia, paraded in protest marches and hung on mountain cliffs in Hong Kong. Flags of the U.S., the U.K., Taiwan and British colonial Hong Kong have also been used in marches for the political significance. Perhaps the most identifiable symbol of the p­ ro-​­democracy movement is the umbrella, giving the name the Umbrella Movement (­Verebes, 2021). From the outset of the Occupy Hong Kong protests, protestors used umbrellas to defend against pepper spray launched by the riot police during the only street battle on September 28, 2014. The wearing of masks had become contentious by the authorities in Hong Kong. On October 3, 2019, masks worn by more than 30 people in group in public were made illegal. The ­anti-​­mask law was eventually struck down by challenges in the courts. Deriving the name Lennon Wall from the wall in Prague, which symbolized the freedom of expression before the fall of the Soviet regime in the Czech Republic, the first Lennon Wall was created alongside the LegCo Building in Hong Kong during the Umbrella Movement in 2014. In 2019, many of Lennon Walls appeared all across the city. Messages, the size of ­Post-​­it notes and larger messages, appeared on the infrastructural armature of the city’s footbridges and tunnels. For communication during the Umbrella Movement, leaders used o ­ ne-​­way communication techniques such as speeches and announcements in public space. The “­be water” strategy created a leaderless movement whose participants communicated through Wi-Fi and ­Bluetooth-​­based apps and platforms on smartphones. Connectivity through these media had a catalyzing effect of empowering and democratizing communication. After several months of the protest, smaller, o ­ ff the radar groups formed. To share and discuss strategies of actions and movements, the provision of supplies, and to identify the police’s movement, protestors used Wi-Fi-based apps such as WhatsApp, Facebook Messenger, Signal, and other m ­ ulti-​ ­ luetooth-​­based apps such as Telegram, ­category forum websites such as Reddit and LIGHK. B FireChat, and Bridgefy were quickly adopted because they are not as easily surveilled as ­Wi-Fi-based communication. Among many groups of protestors, activists networked and took on highly differentiated roles. Some subgroups would buy and distribute supplies. Others were posted at MTR sta­ ne-​­way MTR tickets and distribute them to protestors to avoid being tracked tions to buy o 215

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­Figure 15.2 Protest media and mass protests, outside in the street (­a, b) and outside in Times Square (­c, d). © Twinkle Ngan Chi Sing. Stills from the film, “­Love in the Time of Revolution”, 2022

by using subways cards (­a ka Octopus Cards). Some supporters acted as Uber ambulances or ­school buses to collect and drop off protestors, while others provided financial assistance in support of the movement. Expanding networks of protestors, mobile communication enabled the balkanizing into smaller, more efficient groups of protestors, and for a network of collaborators to be distributed according to their roles. The ubiquity of photojournalism and protest reportage has been available on demand, often as livestreams on social media, by Hong Kong journalists on the ground, from the Apple Daily, South China Morning Post, Hong Kong Free Press and many other foreign news media.

After the ­2019–​­2020 Protest Movement During the p­ ro-​­democracy protests of 2019 and 2020 the distinctive urbanism created by the fluidity of exterior and interior public spaces, was interfaced and navigated. The HK protest movement disrupted commerce and mobility in a city which conflates public spaces of the city with spaces primarily dedicated to entertainment and the consumption of merchandise. The movement of the protests to Hong Kong’s interior urban environments is evidence of the determination, escalation, and radicalization of the p­ ro-​­democracy movement, viewed by some as Hong Kong’s last stand against China’s authoritarianism, and by others loyal to Beijing, as tantamount to terrorism, sedition, and separatism. By January 2020, the covid 19 pandemic had dampened the protest movement by quarantine and social distancing orders. As Hong Kong emerged out of lockdown in summer 2020, the NSL and the National Anthem Law were enacted on July 1, 2020, giving the HKSAR and central government’s new powers and resources to make thousands of arrests, by tracking people’s digital footprint. There have been numerous political resignations, emigrations, removal of university professors from their positions and removal of books from schools and universities. Imposed by Beijing, not Hong Kong, the impact of the NSL has already been immense to quash the 216

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­Figure 15.3 Handheld mobile telephony using social media on Wi-Fi​­and ­Bluetooth-​­based connections. © Twinkle Ngan Chi Sing. Stills from the film, “­Love in the Time of Revolution”, 2022

­pro-​­democracy movement, and there is a renewed sense of hopelessness and powerlessness in the City of Protest. The commonly held view is that the protest violence only helped China form its official narrative of the battles between protestors and the riot police, to its much larger mainland population. Evidently, the street, or more broadly, urban ground, as it was during Occupy Hong Kong in 2014, is no longer the preeminent space of representation and conflict in Hong Kong. During the protests of 2019 and 2020 the city’s pedestrian and public transportation systems and the communication media of mobile devices facilitated the flexible and adaptable strategy of “­be water”. The migration of the protests to the interior urban spaces of Hong Kong accelerated the movement as did the response of the riot police and enduring measures in the aftermath of the movement. Hong Kong’s public university campuses have effectively become private spaces to enter the campus IDs are required from students, faculty and administrators, or clearance as a visitor. Some very limited disruption and civil disobedience continue with groups singing in shopping malls. And protestors have made human chains in public space. Surveillance of public space has increased along with an increase inprivate security staff in malls and the MTR. And various new specialist police squads have been launched. This “­reinforcement of surveillance”, in turn, makes the boundaries between public and private domains ambiguous in digital space (­Picon, 2015). Police officers are no longer approving marches or rallies, and the number of people l­egally ­allowed to gather has been limited at different times, under the name of covid 19 measures. In ­2019–​­2020, over 70 km of length of uniform steel railings lining Hong Kong’s streets, separating pedestrians and cars, were systematically removed and used as weapons for constructing barricades in street battles with the riot police. The vast majority of the railings removed from exterior public spaces in ­2019–​­2020 have not been replaced with new railings. Designing Hong Kong, a public space advocacy organization, directed and championed by the longstanding advocate of public space in Hong Kong, Paul Zimmerman, has taken the opportunity to lobby for the removal of additional pedestrian handrails. 217

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­Figure 15.4 Battles between protesters and riot police (­a) riot police, (­b) Mass Transit Railway Station, and (­c, d) Polytechnic University of Hong Kong. © Twinkle Ngan Chi Sing. Stills from the film, “­Love in the Time of Revolution”, 2022

Another, nearly opposite effect of the Hong Kong protests has been the fortification of key buildings in the city. Water barriers and more permanent barriers have been installed around government buildings and compounds, police stations, mainland Chinese banks branches and office buildings, and People’s Liberation Army installations. The public, exterior ground floor of the Hong Kong Shanghai Bank, designed by Norman Foster & Partners (­1984), is now no longer accessible, as it had been for decades. After substantial damage to the entrances of numerous MTR stations, stations have replaced the former glass doors with doors made of r­ iot-​­proof steel grills. Many facades in the city have been covered with scaffolding, or steel plate or plywood sheets, as defensive armor. Many footbridges are now wrapped in steel grills, preventing them from being used to throw projectile ballistics onto the streets below where police patrol.

Digital Connectivity Internet connectivity propelled the political consciousness of Hong Kongers. ­Eighty-​­nine percent of the population are Internet users, compared with 54% in mainland China, or a total of more than 765,000,000 people (­Verebes, 2021). The density of people in Hong Kong and the proximity created by its infrastructure, along with an intensity of media communication, have contributed to the democratization of information and the perception of the territory as an open society. The mobile communication tools used by protest groups embraced the culture of apps and interfaces with open access to data and participatory processes. This is what can be called a “­d igitally enhanced democracy” (­Goldsmith & Crawford, 2014). As with most protest movements during this century, the ­2019–​­2020 ­pro- ​­democracy/­­a nti-​­E xtradition Law movement would have been impossible without each protestor having a mobile digital communication device on hand. The r­eal-​­time acting out of protest groups on these networks demonstrates the potential for ICT to disrupt the status quo. Digital communication media 218

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has accelerated the capacity of groups to organize and augment communities. Surpassing print media, radio and television, ICT has increased interaction between citizens and active participants especially in smaller communities, thereby further expanding the traditional role of public space (­Del Signore & Riether, 2018). Electronically networked environments create “­a galaxy of machines” for learning, feedback and the acquisition and instrumentality of intelligence (­McLuhan, 1962). The ubiquity of technologies has enabled community formation and the social order of the Hong Kong p­ ro-​­democracy movement to become more fluid and ephemeral. Coupled with the spatial organization of the city’s intense urban network of footbridges, the MTR and the dense clustering of interior urban public spaces, ­Wi-Fi-based and ­Bluetooth-​­based communication apps facilitated and augmented communication between protestors during the 2­ 019–​­2020 protests. Hong Kong’s network extended the city into tits already existing interior public spaces, thus increasing the complexity of its connective armature and the ambiguity of boundaries between interior and exterior spaces. The field of spatial operation of the protests has allowed these protests to behave as a liquid state of urbanism. Locating the boundaries of public and private spaces in the new ubiquitous digital domain is still in formation. Equally, the complex delineations between interior and exterior public spaces, along with their complex nuances of private ownership and management, remain ambiguous and in abeyance. A ­tightening-​­up of security within Hong Kong’s interior urbanism persists to escape conventions of public and private authority and responsibility for maintaining social order. Traditional urban hierarchies of public and private, outside and inside still upended and also still in formation. The flip side of free and open communication is the ease with which surveillance by public authorities can be rolled out as a form of invisible control over the city’s citizens. The NSL has enacted legislation which applies to all Hong Kong permanent residents, whether or not currently based in Hong Kong. The specter of surveillance and legal prosecution now hangs over all Hong Kong citizens and permanent residents. Mass arrests of protestors in 2020, at the time of writing, are evidence of the impact of the NSL. In November 2020, the mass resignations of nearly all of the elected p­ ro-​­democracy LegCo members had effectively left no opposition in the LegCo to the overtly p­ ro-​­Beijing HKSAR government.

Implications Possibilities for protest in Hong Kong have significantly decreased, as both exterior and interior public spaces are increasingly monitored and controlled. During the remainder of 2020, nearly all applications to the police for permission for protest marches and rallies were rejected, making protest effectively illegal in Hong Kong. In advance of the enactment of the National Security Law in the summer of 2020 some smaller exterior spaces such as small squares and parks, along with shopping malls, have been used more spontaneously for protests. Since all forms of protest signage and even singing protest anthems became illegal as a result of the NSL, the protests have been largely silent ones, some with people gathering in public space to hold up blank white signs, standing in silence. At the time of this writing, in December 2020, the ­pro-​­democracy movement has been effectively silenced by covid 19 and the National Security Law. The flexible and responsive strategies of “­be water” entailed continually changing protest strategies and tactics but it now seems that the impetus of the movement has diminished. During the protest movement, citizens used mobile telephony to interface and navigate the complex t­hree-​­dimensional 219

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networks of Hong Kong’s involuted urbanism, becoming “­d igital individuals”, who could also be precisely identified by the authorities with geolocation and biometry (­Picon, 2015). Deleuze (­1995) called the enduring power of regimes over their citizens “­continuous control”. By the end of 2020, the disparity between the will for further democratization and the tightening of state surveillance had appeared. Debates about the “­smart city” have not yet resolved the struggle for empowerment by the people and their suppression by the authorities. In the name of “­law and order”, the state is determined to prevent any “­existing fissures that, under pressure”, may erupt into “­conflict or cascade into collapse” as a result of the city’s own DNA (­Townsend, 2013). The NSL has enacted a regime of state surveillance in Hong Kong and has extended its control by instilling fear of arrest through ­self-​­and ­mutual-​­surveillance. Surveillance with cameras, facial recognition and biometry can be continuously monitored and cross referenced. The new National Security Force in Hong Kong is actively using r­eal-​­time surveillance of public spaces to maintain “­law and order” and to mine the Internet for legal evidence on protestors, especially those engaged in violence. The authorities have been emboldened. Hong Kong remains at the front line of the battleground between the s­elf-​­organized, ­open-​ ­source culture of democratization and the pervasive systems installed to maintain state authority over the public the state serves. “­Further controls levied on Hong Kong’s network of interior urban spaces, exterior public spaces and the use of the Internet render citizens submissive to the state. There now appears a risk that Hong Kong will become an innocuous theme park of consumerism, hosted by the city’s interior privately owned public spaces, through homogenization of the city’s interior and exterior urban spaces and through constraints placed on the rights and freedoms of its citizens (­Sorkin, 1992). The ­A nti-​­Extradition Law and the ­pro-​­democracy movement in Hong Kong now seem to be a failed movement. As a last stand for Hong Kong, these events drew the world’s attention, yet they resulted in little meaningful action by the international community in support of Hong Kong, and few statements of condemnation of the HKSAR government or Beijing.

References Al, S. (­Ed.) (­2016). Mall city: Hong Kong’s dreamworlds of consumption Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Arnstein, S. (­1969/­2011). A ladder of citizen participation. In R. T. LeGates & F. Stout (­Eds.), The city reader, 5th edition (­p­­p. ­240–​­250). New York: Routledge. Banham, R. (­1976). Megastructures: Urban futures of the recent past. New York: Harper and Row. Boddy, T. (­1992). Underground and overhead: Building the analogous city. In M. Sorkin (­Ed.), Variations on a theme park: The new American city and the end of public space (­pp­­ . ­123–​­153). New York Hill and Wang. Chu, C. L. (­2016). Narrating the mall city. In S. Al (­Ed.), Mall city: Hong Kong’s dreamworlds of consumption (­p­­p. ­83–​­92). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Del Signore, M., & Riether, G. (­Eds.). (­2018). Urban machines: Public space in a digital culture. Trento, Italy: ListLab. Deleuze, G. (­Ed.) (­1995). Negotiations. New York: Columbia University Press. Dittmer, L. (­1977). Political culture and political symbolism: Toward a theoretical synthesis. World Politics, 29(­4), 5­ 52–​­583. Frampton, A., Solomon, J. D., & Wong, C. (­2011). Cities without ground: A Hong Kong guidebook. New York: ORO Editions. Goldsmith, S., & Crawford, S. (­2014). The responsive city: Engaging communities through ­data-​­smart governance. San Francisco: ­Jossey-​­Bass. Jameson, F. (­1991). Postmodernism, or, the cultural logic of late capitalism. Durham: Duke University Press.

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Lo, S. S.-​­H., Hung, S. C.-​­F., & Loo, J. H.-​­C. (­2020). The dynamics of peaceful and violent protests in Hong Kong: The ­anti-​­extradition movement. Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan. McLuhan, M. (­1962). The Gutenberg galaxy: The making of typographic man. Toronto, Canada: University of Toronto Press. Mitchell, D. (­2003). The right to the city: Social justice and the fight for public space. New York City: The Guilford Press. Picon, A. (­2015). Smart cities: A spatialised intelligence New York: Wiley. 2016). Interior urbanism: Architecture, John Portman and downtown America. New York: Rice, C. (­ Bloomsbury. SCMP Reporter. (­2018). How Bruce Lee classic quote ‘­be water’ from fictional US TV series came to be attributed to him. South China Morning Post. Retrieved from https://­w ww.scmp.com/­culture/­­ film-​­t v/­a rticle/­2155586/­­how-­​­­bruce-­​­­lee-­​­­classic-­​­­quote-­​­­be-­​­­water-­​­­fictional-­​­­us-­​­­t v-­​­­series-­​­­came-​­be Shane, D. G. (­2016). A short history of Hong Kong malls and towers. In S. Al (­Ed.), Mall city: Hong Kong’s dreamworlds of consumption (­p­­p. ­35–​­52). Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Shelton, B., Karakiewicz, J., & Kvan, T. (­2011). The making of Hong Kong: From vertical to volumetric. New York: Routledge. ­ ong – ​­Aformal urbanism. In R. E ­ l-​­Khoury & E. Robbins (­Eds.), Shaping Solomon, J. D. (­2013). Hong K the city: Studies in history, theory and urban design (­p­­p. ­109–​­131). New York: Routledge. Sorkin, M. (­Ed.) (­1992). Variations on a theme park: The New American city and the end of public space. New York: Hill and Wang. Townsend, A. M. (­2013). Smart cities: Big data, civic hackers, and the quest for a new utopia. New York: Norton. Verebes, T. (­2017). Hong Kong: Appearing dense, yet growing smarter. In J. H. P. Bay & S. Lehmann (­Eds.), Growing compact: Density, sustainability and urban form (­p­­p. ­253–​­270). New York: Routledge. Verebes, T. (­2021). Protest city: Social media, (­un)-​­civil disobedience, and Hong Kong’s interior urbanism. New York: Routledge.

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16 Displaying and C ­ ontesting State Power The Story of Taksim Square and Gezi Park, Istanbul Zehra Betül Atasoy

Introduction Gezi Park is one of the few green spaces left in Istanbul. On May 13, 2013, thousands of people from different class backgrounds gathered in the park to protest the government’s plan to tear down trees in the park, which was the first phase of building a replica of the Taksim Artillery Barracks. This protest drew attention all over Turkey and around the world. In this chapter, I review the history of the design and use of Gezi Park (­­Figure 16.1: a) and the adjacent Taksim Square over three distinct periods from the late nineteenth century to 2013. Then, I focus on the protests that occurred from the 1930s up through 2013 and the Gezi Park protests in 2013. Finally, I describe the consequences of the protests in the political sphere and in the physical changes to the area.

History of Design and Use of Taksim Square and Gezi Park Taksim Square has a short history compared to other districts of Istanbul. It was not until the twentieth century that it became one of Istanbul’s city centers.

From the Nineteenth Century to the Early Twentieth Century: 1 ­ 806–​­1922 During the first half of the eighteenth century, before Taksim became a square in the twentieth century, a water distribution chamber (­Taksim Maksemi) was built and became the first edge of the square (­­Figure 16.1: e). Then in 1806, the Artillery Barracks were built along with other military structures such as Taşkışla (­­Figure  16.1: h) marking the city’s limits since at that time there was no settlement beyond today’s square. The Grand Rue de Pera (­now İstiklal Street) was the main axis of Beyoğlu on the northern side of the Golden Horn (­­Figure 16.1: g). The open space at the end of the İstiklal Street developed spontaneously until the Republican period (­Gülersoy, 1994; Batuman, 2015). After the foundation of the Republic of Turkey in 1923, Taksim became a formally designed public square and took its place in the collective memory of the city’s inhabitants. 222

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-20

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­Figure 16.1 Taksim Square and its surroundings: (­a) Gezi Park; (­b) Monument of the Republic; (­c) extension of the square toward the west; (­d) construction of new opera building on location of Atatürk Cultural Center (­AKM); (­e) historic water distribution chamber; (­f) Taksim Mosque; (­g) İstiklal Street; and (­h) ITU Faculty of Architecture (­Taşkışla) ( ­yandex.com.tr)

The Republican Period: ­1923–​­2002 As one of the critical places for communicating the state’s ideals, Taksim Square became the public space in Istanbul most closely associated with Republican modernization, secular ­nation-​­state ideals and urban planning principles in Istanbul. A ­rearrangement of the square started in 1928 with the demolition of Taksim Artillery Barrack’s stables and with the placement of the Monument of the Republic (­­Figure  16.1: b) (­Gül et  al., 2014). This monument displays the birth and the ideals of the newly forged ­nation-​­state. The side of the monument facing north depicts the War of Independence (­­1920–​­1922) with the founding father, Atatürk, in military uniform. The south side of the monument portrays the secular state with a statue of Atatürk and his comrades dressed in modern clothing, presenting them as a statesmen (­Tekiner, 2014). The square, commemorating the formation of the Republic, became both a place that reflects political power and the location of official celebrations and political demonstrations. In the late 1920s and early 1930s, the area surrounding the square, which had previously been a training ground for the barracks toward the north of the square, was opened for new construction. Here, ­five-​­to ­six-​­story apartment buildings were built. Subsequently, an entertainment venue, Kristal Gazino, which had a curved form following the contour of the roundabout circling the monument, was built on the square’s edge (­it was later demolished in the late 1950s). In the 1930s, Taksim Square was an easily perceivable open space surrounded by buildings that followed the form of the square (­Kuruyazıcı, 1998). The most significant transformations of Taksim Square occurred during President İsmet İnönü’s time in office from 1938 to 1950. In 1938, Taksim Square and its surroundings were 223

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mainly a green area with a designated residential district that had replaced the Armenian Cemetery next to the Artillery Barracks (­Bilsel, 2010). In 1936, the French city planner Henri Prost was invited by the Istanbul Municipality to prepare a master plan for Istanbul. In 1939, he proposed the demolition of the barracks to create Gezi Park, which was intended to be the starting point of a green belt called the Second Park. The demolition of the artillery barracks started in 1940 and Gezi Park was opened to the public in 1942. The purpose of building Gezi Park next to Taksim Square was to create public spaces to support a modern lifestyle, namely a place where men and women could spend time together. The modernization of cities was expected to be achieved by implementing comprehensive plans. This included creating settlement areas supportive of modern lifestyles and hygiene, along with creating outdoor public spaces that would contribute to a thriving civic public realm (­Bilsel, 2007). In 1940, the Taksim Municipality Gazino was built at the park’s northeastern corner. Gazinos were entertainment venues where people could have drinks and food and enjoy musical and ­non-​­musical shows such as variety shows and comedies. The Taksim Municipality Gazino, which was demolished in 1968 to build the Sheraton Hotel, displayed secular norms of leisure (­Bozdoğan & Akcan, 2012). Prost also planned a theater, a conference hall and an exhibition and a sports hall on the extensive empty land where the barracks were located. Because of the financial shortcomings resulting from World War II, these proposed buildings were never constructed (­Üzümkesici, 2011). The rectangular extension of the square to the west and the creation of Gezi Park eliminated the centrality of the Monument of the Republic and the area lost its easily perceivable open space characteristics. In the early 1940s, İnönü struggled to legitimize his authority. He planned to erect a statue of himself at the entrance to Gezi Park that would overshadow the existing Monument of the Republic. Although the statue was completed in 1943 and its pedestal had already been placed in Gezi Park, the statue was never placed on that pedestal due to political circumstances (­­Figure 16.2). In 1946, the s­ingle-​­party era came to an end. In 1950, the Democrat Party (­DP) was the first opposition party to rise to power. However, the DP could not politically afford to erect a large statue of İnönü in one of the most significant urban spaces in Republican memory. DP members were not the only people who opposed raising this statue. People close to İnönü believed that a second monument would overshadow the Monument of the Republic and hence would show disrespect of the founding father, Atatürk (­K reiser, 2002). In the end, İnönü’s attempt to display his power through creating tangible images of himself was unsuccessful. Another development in the area was the construction of the Atatürk Cultural Center (­A KM) (­­Figure 16.1: d). The AKM opened in 1970 but was damaged by a fire that broke out on opening night. The AKM, which dominated the square with its iconic façade, was rebuilt and opened to the public in 1978 (­Atatürk Kültür Merkezi, 1994). After that no l­arge-​­scale interventions were made in the square or in Gezi Park. However, the area’s density increased and a series of hotel buildings, including the Hilton and Sheraton hotels built in 1955 and 1975, respectively, interrupted the green belt called the Second Park. Turkey went through a politically unstable period. Military coup d’etats occurred in 1960, 1971 and 1980. Although several interventions were proposed for Taksim Square, including proposals from the International Taksim Square Urban Planning Competition in 1987, they were not realized in a period of political turmoil and financial struggles.

Period of the Justice and Development Party (­AKP): ­2002–​­2013 After the Justice and Development Party came to power in 2002, a market economy became the country’s principal economic model. The AKP government implemented an assertive 224

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­Figure 16.2 Monument of the Republic and Gezi Park in the 1940s. The pedestal for the statue of İnönü can be seen at the entrance to Gezi Park. Kristal Gazino, which follows the form of the roundabout, is at the top left side of the photograph (­Atatürk Library Digital Collection: Krt 014487)

privatization plan throughout Turkey. The AKP’s neoliberal strategy supported those companies with professional and family ties to the party in order to centralize and unify the wealth of those companies and party members. Also, elected after the 2001 economic crisis, the AKP promoted urban planning and development projects to improve the economy by bolstering the construction industry (­Eerdi Lelandais, 2016). With the Urgent Action Plan (­Acil Eylem Plan) passed in 2003, the AKP government introduced ­state-​­led urban development. The threat of earthquakes and a housing shortage legitimized this plan. The government granted the Mass Housing Administration (­TOKİ) legal power to build housing on s­tate-​­owned land. Because TOKİ could extend credit to and collaborate with private companies, it profitably constructed large housing complexes and shopping malls all across the country. In addition, the government proposed many mega infrastructure projects in Istanbul such as the Third Airport, the Third Bridge crossing the Bosporus and a ­50-​­km canal called Canal Istanbul that would connect the Black and Marmara Seas. Through these aggressive urban interventions, the AKP government continued to escalate the neoliberal policies adopted in the early 1980s, creating a wealthy elite that shared the party’s ideology and practices (­A kcan, 2015). During an election rally in 2011, Erdoğan made public his vision for 2023, which would be the centennial of the founding of the Republic. He announced that the government would realize 23 projects with the motto of “­Turkey is Ready, the Goal is 2023” (“­Türkiye Hazır Hedef 2023”). One of the projects was to move the vehicular traffic around Taksim Square below ground and make the area between the Atatürk Cultural Center (­A KM) and the entrance to İstiklal Street a pedestrian zone. This plan also included rebuilding the Taksim Artillery Barracks on the site of Gezi Park (­Proje yağmuru, 2011). The first 225

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planned function for the reconstructed barracks would be an underground parking lot and the building’s first floor would still be a park. After the expression of public discontent, the government repeatedly changed the functions for the project: from a mall to a hotel and even to a museum (­Koç, 2012). All these plans fit the AKP’s agenda but were not the result of any contextualized development project. There was no intellectual background for these projects. The building’s function did not matter if public wealth could be transferred to private capital. Overall, each plan for Gezi Park was a haphazard decision that fit the government’s agenda of promoting the Ottoman past, striping the Republican history from the cityscape and generating profit for private companies. However, the insistence on rebuilding the barracks to fulfill any function sparked a massive public reaction starting in 2013, since it would convert a public space for private gain without any kind of consultation with the public.

Place of Protest: 1930s to 2013 With its openness and its political meaning, Taksim Square has consistently been a place of protest under different political regimes.

Student Rallies, May Day Celebrations, Feminist Night Marches and Pride Parades: Early 1930s to the early 2000s Because Taksim Square has a symbolic meaning by housing the Monument of the Republic and being the location for official ceremonies, it has also been a good space for gatherings of people holding various political views. Until 2013, Taksim Square was the main stage for protest, while Gezi Park remained a secondary place. In 1933, when a Turkish officer, working at a French railway company called W ­ agon-​­Lits, was fired allegedly because he was speaking in Turkish on the phone, ­pro-​­state students gathered in the square and marched along İstiklal Street where they assaulted the company office (­Batuman, 2015). Taksim was frequently the location of political demonstrations, especially after the student rally in 1969 known as Bloody Sunday. Leftist students protested the visit of the U.S. Sixth Fleet to Istanbul. They gathered in Beyazıt Square and marched to Taksim Square. There, they were attacked by a c­ ounter-​­revolutionary group. Two people were killed and over 100 were injured (­Batuman, 2015). In the 1970s, May Day celebrations by leftist demonstrators also took place in the square. On May 1, 1977, the square witnessed a massacre when 30 people died in the chaos that occurred after guns were fired on the crowd. None of the perpetrators was apprehended or prosecuted. The year 1978 was the last year a May Day celebration was held in the square until 2010. The 1980 coup d’etat suppressed all political movements and hence any demonstrations anywhere (­Batuman, 2015). Beginning in the 2000s, many political groups started to raise their voices using Taksim Square to do so. In 2003, the first Feminist Night March, like its counterparts such as Take Back the Night and Reclaim the Night, took place in Taksim. Likewise, the LGBTQ+ Pride Parade was held here for the first time in 2003. Participants gathered in Taksim Square and marched down İstiklal Street. However, with the democratic backsliding in Turkey, celebrations were banned from Taksim Square: May Day celebrations in 2013, the Pride Parade in 2016, and the Feminist Night March in 2019. Participants still tried to assemble in Taksim Square each year despite police intervention (­Uşaklılar, 2021). 226

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Gezi Park Protests in 2013 The civic public sphere throughout Turkey had been shrinking and then was gradually suffocated after the AKP came to power in 2002. In 2012, during the pedestrianization of Taksim Square, some trees in Gezi Park were marked with a red “­X.” The municipality did not take responsibility for this marking (­İ nce, 2012). Although no trees were removed, such a controversial practice of marking the trees created discontent in the city during the construction of the pedestrianization project. After bulldozers arrived to remove some trees from Gezi Park on May 27, 2013, without any warning or the announcement of any project, representatives of Taksim Solidarity (­Taksim Dayanışması), a coalition of NGOs, political groups and professional organizations, started gathering in Gezi Park to protest the removal of the trees. These groups had already been actively opposing the conversion plans for the park. The next day, a group of environmental protesters organized a peaceful s­ it-​­in in Gezi Park. Police then used excessive force to clear the park (­tear gas and plastic bullets). After video footage showing the police setting the tents of the protesters on fire was shared on social media and with various news outlets, the number of protesters grew. Because violent police interventions continued against peaceful protesters all across Istanbul, mass protests spread to Ankara, Izmir and other cities by May 31 and became a nationwide movement. On June 1, the police retreated from Taksim Square and Gezi Park. However, police interventions continued in other parts of the city (­A mnesty International, 2013). The park, as a public space, had become both a location where citizens could express themselves and a symbol of such freedom. The goal of the Gezi movement was to protect this public space from destruction since it was both the location and a symbol of freedom of expression. The state’s commercialization of the park and its transformation to a place that only generated profit was seen to do just that (­Göle, 2013). Overall, the Gezi Park protests addressed issues of environmentalism, lack of free speech and the shrinking of the public sphere, all a result of the political oppression and neoliberal policies the AKP government pursued and still pursues in 2021. After police withdrew from the park on June 1, 2013, the Gezi camp evolved organically and a festive atmosphere emerged. A common kitchen was established and food was served to everyone. Classes were held ranging from yoga to mathematics. Bands played music. Physicians and medical students helped the injured in makeshift infirmaries. A library was created where many donated books were stored. There were several tents for those who occupied the park overnight in case of a police raid. Various NGOs and other groups holding different political ideologies set up desks. Diverse perspectives and social classes became visible and there was an exchange of ideas. After the sudden eviction of protesters from the park by the police on June 15, 2013, ­protestor-​­police standoffs and confrontations continued most evenings and nights in Taksim Square, along İstiklal Street and in other neighborhoods for several weeks. However, the eviction was not the end of the movement since other protests occurred including the “­earth table” organized by the ­A nti-​­Capitalist Muslims during Ramadan where people sat together in public spaces, breaking the fast together at sunset. Everyone was welcome at these gatherings. Many stairs around the city were painted in rainbow colors supporting the LGBTQ+ community. Other creative forms of protest like “­the standing man (­duran adam)” emerged. Erdem Gündüz, a dancer and a performance artist, stood in the square, facing the Atatürk Cultural Center for eight hours with his backpack at his feet. Fellow demonstrators joined him and the hashtag #duranadam quickly became popular on social media. Although the 227

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police intervened, after that many people started to practice passive disobedience by just being present in many squares across the country (­M ing, 2013). Subsequently, people started to hold public forums in the Abbasağa and Yoğurtçu parks in the districts of Beşiktaş and Kadıköy, respectively. These democratic forums and meetings spread to other cities. Traditional tactics of opposition were used but were dominated by new ones such as the earth table and the standing man.

A Personal Narrative In October 2013, in a workshop organized by the History Foundation (­Tarih Vakfı) and titled When Today Becomes History (­Şimdi Tarih Olurken), many scholars asked questions such as: “­W hat will become the memory and the lessons of the Gezi experience? How should different experiences be recorded and represented?” I will attempt to answer these questions at a ­m icro-​­scale, notably that of “­the self.” These questions have been discussed with a history of the present (­l’histoire du temps present) approach (­Ekşi, 2014). I attempt here to convey my Gezi experience through the perceptions of Generation Y. Many participants in the 2013 Gezi Park protests belonged to Generation Y. In addition, half of the participants had never joined a mass protest before. Generation Y was considered to be familiar only with virtual spaces such as social media (­Patten, 2013). (­A lthough the use of social media in the Gezi Park protest is beyond the topic of this chapter, it is important to note that social media was a prominent tool for tracking the locations of heavy police intervention throughout the protest.) I attended the Istanbul Technical University (­ITU) Faculty of Architecture (­­Figure 16.1: h). Its campus is close to Gezi Park. The building, originally constructed as military barracks during the Ottoman period and called Taşkışla, was transferred to ITU in the 1940s (­Batur, 1994). I was an undergraduate and later a master’s student in Taşkışla from 2005 to 2012. Although Gezi Park is near the campus, it was not a place where students mingled or spent time. Instead, it was usually used as a shortcut from Taksim Square to the campus. The park had no attraction for students other than a couple of tea houses. And it was poorly maintained. The square’s occupants could be considered people at the margins of society. Before 2013, the park had been a ­hook-​­up spot for gay men seeking casual sex and a popular location for young underage rented boys, transwomen selling sex and new transgender and gay refugees seeking links with other queers (­Zengin, 2013). The unhoused and also people who collect recyclable materials frequented the square to rest. It was not a place of recreation for students of ITU or for many city inhabitants. Since my parents had suffered from being vocal about the political system in Turkey and its injustices before the 1980 coup d’etat and during its aftermath, they raised my siblings and myself to be apolitical. When we were growing up, they advised us to keep silent about injustices and to enter the system without causing trouble. Nonetheless, I did participate in the Gezi Park protests. During that time, I was working at the Arkitera Architecture Center as an editor of the Center’s website. My colleagues and I closely followed architectural and urban developments. I went to the park on May 30 to cover the press conference that the organization Taksim Solidarity gave to publicize the injustices. After the press conference, the crowd, including myself, chanted in front of the park to protest the clearing and closing of the park by the police that morning. Drivers passing by joined us by honking their horns. Suddenly, the police attacked without any warning. It was the first time I had been exposed to police violence in the form of tear gas. As I did not have any experience with mass protests, I did not know what to do but run, which I did. Protesters dispersed in smaller groups in 228

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different directions. I ended up at a familiar ­place – ​­the grand entrance of ­Taşkışla – ​­but the security guards there did not let us into the university campus. That day, I became an active participant in the protests. After that I participated in the Gezi protests without being affiliated with any political group or NGO. I went to the park every day after work with my friends until the police cleared the park on June 15. We tried to spend as much time as possible in the park chanting, chatting, eating and drinking. After Gezi Park was cleared by the police who used excessive force (­tear gas, water cannons and plastic bullets), I continued to participate in protests in areas close to Taksim Square. Like everyone else, I documented my surroundings by taking photographs of banners, graffiti, barricades that protestors had created using different building materials and buses they took over. I took photographs both to share what was going on in social media since the mainstream media was silent or spread misinformation and to document a historical event. Previously Gezi Park had not had much significance in my life but then the Gezi camp was an e­ ye-​­opening experience for me. I fully experienced how public space is indeed the main arena for communal practices, events and relationships during protests. I witnessed how people’s resistance has the power to transform a public space. Gezi Park, used by a limited group of people before then, was transformed into a commune where people exchanged ideas in an unimaginably ­non-​­judgmental atmosphere. One of the most notable aspects of the body of protesters was the plurality of ideological and religious views. There were feminists, LGBTQ+, human rights groups, environmentalists and members of trade unions. People from various professions and ideological views were present, including ­white-​­collar workers, students, academics, professionals, nationalists, liberals, ­left-​­wing revolutionaries, Alevis, ­A nti-​­Capitalist Muslims, Kurds and Turks. Fans of different soccer teams who would not be imagined to be united before were protesting next to each other. The demonstrations were a rare case of how diverse groups of people from different ideologies and class backgrounds could be unified in a public space. Not only because of my education but also because of the constant destruction of the physical and cultural environment of the city, we developed a sense of belonging after every decision affecting the city’s inhabitants and physical environment. The social upheaval about urban space during the Gezi Park protests reshaped my perspective on the layered meanings of space. Our spaces not only confine us; they also define us and shape our behavior. However, in a broader sense, the Gezi Park protests were an ­in situ crash course in how we can shape the space around us and how everyday perceptions of space are linked to social and political developments. An area used by only a few groups was turned into almost a microcosm of society. What were the symbols and the triggers of this movement? A couple of trees? Planning to rebuild a ­long-​­gone barrack? Of course, it was not that simple. Participants had various reasons for participating, including accumulated frustration with government policies. The violent interference by the police triggered an outburst by people from various social strata and with various political views. During the uprising, Taksim Square changed from being just a place for expressing discontent to being a place that was collectively “­owned”. Our generation quickly adjusted to what was happening and discovered appropriate tactics. For example, after the dean of the ITU Faculty of Architecture did not allow the graduation ceremony to take place in the courtyard of Taşkışla (­which has been the traditional place for graduations), the new graduates organized their own ceremony in front of the gates. They even prepared their own diplomas (­Atasoy, 2013). The Gezi movement was the outburst of a mostly apolitical generation discovering and expressing what they had not been aware of or had been allowed to talk about. All those who 229

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participated in the protests by being in the squares, being in virtual spaces or banging pots and pans from their windows and balconies now have a collective history shared with people they might not have imagined previously. The protests did not only change the protestors. They also changed the course of politics in Turkey.

Aftermath of the Protests and Remaking the Square: 2 ­ 014–​­2021 A number of authoritarian actions by the government followed the protests. On July 15, 2016, the military launched a coordinated operation in several major cities in an attempt to topple the government. The next morning, the operation was stopped by the government. Then, the attempted coup brought about an aggressive restructuring of the state by Erdoğan. And control by the government was tightened (­Turkey’s failed coup attempt: All you need to know, 2017). Fortunately, Gezi Park remained intact, thanks to the significant public outcry in 2013. However because the government could not implement its agenda, it attempted to revise the Republican history of Taksim Square by attacking two other sites in the area. First, the Atatürk Cultural Center (­A KM) was demolished to be replaced by a new one. Second, the ­long-​­desired mosque was built by Erdoğan. During his term as the mayor of the city between 1994 and 1998, Erdoğan had proposed building a mosque in the area. At that time, it received significant criticism and the need for a mosque was scrutinized (­Yazcan, 1997). Erdoğan did not have the political power to build a mosque in this “­secular” public space during his time in the office as the mayor but did as the president. The building of the mosque was intended to change the public image of the square from a Republican public space to a political Islamic space. As Istanbul is the economic power house of the country, local elections are crucial to political parties. The local election in Istanbul held in 2019 was a major political event nationwide. Although the opposition party won, the Supreme Committee of Elections decided to conduct a ­rerun of the first election claiming that it had been rigged. The AKP expected to win the election ­rerun. It did not. The decisive win by the main opposition party’s candidate, Ekrem İmamoğlu, prompted hope for economic and political changes in the city (­Ellyat, 2019). The fizzling of the protest movement after 2013 and the subsequent pressure on any opposition to the Erdoğan’s government disillusioned the protesters. This pressure and the attempt to erase the social unrest from urban memory also materialized in Taksim Square and Gezi Park. First, the Taksim Pedestrianization Project was finalized. The project ultimately ­relocated the vehicular traffic below ground. The square became a vast concrete surface without any greenery or identity. The municipality’s response was to put large pots of plants to provide the illusion that the square has greenery. Removal of the Atatürk Cultural Center (­A KM) was added to the government’s plan even during the uprising. While the protests were ongoing, Erdoğan declared that the building would be demolished and a new opera house would be built in its place. The AKM became a target because the building was gradually covered with banners, posters and flags during the social unrest. Its façade became proof that there were several political groups and communities, not a single leader (­­Figure 16.3). After the police replaced the posters and banners with flags of Turkey and a portrait of Atatürk, the standing man remained immobile for several hours staring at the flags and the portrait. The government attempted to erase the AKM’s association with the Gezi upheaval from collective memory. The building of a new opera building was announced in 2017 (­A KM’nin 230

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­Figure 16.3 Before Police Evicted the Protestors: (­a) people participated in various activities or just spent time in the park; (­b) the watermark of the Gezi Library (­Photographs: the Author); (­c) the façade of the Atatürk Cultural Center covered with banners, posters and flags of different political groups (­Photograph: Kutlukhan Kutlu)

yerine yapılacak yeni bina tanıtıldı, 2017). The AKM’s demolition was completed in 2018 and the new opera house was opened to the public on the 98th anniversary of the proclamation of the Republic, 29th of October, 2021 (­Yeni Atatürk Kültür Merkezi Cumhuriyet’in 98. Yıl Dönümünde Hizmete Açıldı, 2021). The new AKM has changed the relationship between the façade of the building and the square with the addition of an imposing red spherical volume inside the opera house. Taksim Mosque (­Fig 16.1: f ), with its ­large-​­scale and subtle Ottoman references, is the ultimate symbol of the new state structure controlled by Erdoğan. Although it is not centrally located in the area, the large mosque overshadows the Monument of the Republic. Erdoğan opened the mosque in May 2021. A large crowd gathered for the first prayer in the mosque despite ­covid 19 measures (­Taksim Camii ibadete açıldı, 2021). The competition that the Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality held in 2020 brings hope with respect to participatory design practices. In February 2020, Kavuşma Durağı (­Meeting 231

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­Figure 16.4 View from the Kavuşma Durağı (­Meeting Point) toward Taksim Mosque showing the vast concrete square in February 2020 (­Photograph: the Author)

Point) (­­Figure 16.4) was constructed in the square as a temporary structure to give city inhabitants a voice to state their opinions and to remind them that participatory practices could still be implemented. This demountable structure housed an exhibition on the ground floor that presented historical developments in the area. It was also placed in other squares such as Bağcılar (­İtez, 2020). The structure generated discussions about participatory design in various media outlets. In March 2020, the municipality announced an international urban design competition for Taksim Square and its surroundings. From this ­two-​­stage competition, three designs were selected from 20 submissions and they were submitted for public voting. The voting was completed in November 2020. Only 200,000 people voted in a city of 16 million (­K arakoç, 2020). Although how clearly and extensively the designs were explained to the public remains a question, the competition was relatively participatory and transparent. Taksim Square has had various problems because it developed haphazardly without a proper plan since 1928. Who should decide on the urban design of a contested area should have been discussed in detail. What makes a public space important in urban memory is people’s experiences of that place. The three projects that were s­hortlisted proposed landscape designs rather than fully realized urban designs. Bringing forth mainly greenery seems to be related to the Gezi Park protests, which emerged because of plans for erasing this green space. Hence, the design entries do not reflect the historical and urban identity of the area. Nevertheless, the competition made it possible to imagine an optimistic future since such discussions and exchanges of ideas, although virtual, can still take place in Turkey.

Conclusion Like the protestors in the Occupy movement in 2011, Arab Spring in the early 2000s, Black Lives Matter that started in 2013 and the Gilet Jeunes in 2018, the Gezi Park protestors ­appropriated urban public space to make their demands known. During the protests the park became a place where many people were exposed to a variety of political views expressed by people from different walks of life. protestors defined how Gezi Park can be used and what it means in the collective memory. But in 2021, it is not easy to determine what the legacy of the Gezi Park protests will be. 232

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Erdoğan’s and the AKP’s aggressive attempts to eliminate freedom of expression continue in 2021. Erdoğan’s appointment of a new rector at Boğaziçi University sparked a series of demonstrations among the students and the faculty beginning in January 2021. Many students were arrested and protests were ongoing ­on and off campus in December 2021. The shrinking of public space is still evident in Taksim Square and Gezi Park. Ever since the protests, there has been a heavy police presence in both public spaces with fully equipped police officers and water cannon vehicles. Similar policing in public spaces has also been observed in other cities, including Ankara. Taksim Square is a public space that every government has tried to control but never ­succeeded in doing. There is still tension since both the government and its opponents ­continue to declare their rights in Taksim and its surroundings. And the future of the area remains uncertain. It is unclear whether the municipality will implement the winning design of the international urban design competition. In addition, there is a concern that Erdoğan’s spatial practices in the area will create a conservative space and rip out its secular identity completely. Although social relations with the area shifted after the Gezi protests, people have not given up on Taksim Square and Gezi Park. Even though protestors are aware that they can be interrupted by police barriers, subjected to police violence and be detained during marches and protests, the goal is always to march to Taksim Square.

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Part V

Living

17 Inhabiting the City without ­Shelter in Santa Cruz, California Cory Parker

Introduction Perhaps there is no space more public than Pacific Avenue, located in the center of Santa Cruz, California. Pedestrians stroll slowly along the wide sidewalks peering into shop windows. In front of the hat store, a ragtag duo of young men sings old Beatles tunes. A man with dreadlocks has placed a brown blanket on the pavement to display jewelry. At the corner of Pacific Avenue and Water Street sits the post office, with people bustling in and out. On this day, there is a commotion under the trees along Water Street. Eight police officers have surrounded an older woman who is lying on the curb on a sleeping bag screaming, “­Please let me go!!!” Two of the officers are attempting to get her to sit up or stand. She wails: “­I don’t deserve to go to jail!! Can I die please? Ahhh!!” One of the policemen is talking to her but I cannot hear what he has to say. “­I want my life back….!” Police say something to her and continue talking. They have gotten her sitting up now and in handcuffs behind her back. She sits in the dirt with her legs stretched out into the street, facing east, away from the onlookers. She continues, “­Please let me go!… I’m soorrrrryyy!” One of the officers has gotten into a police car, maneuvered a ­U-​­turn and parked next to her. Still a few meters for her to go to get into the car. It takes a while. She is wailing and struggling. Two officers pick her up, carry her over to the car but right before she gets in, she really lets loose. There is an awkward moment where they cannot seem to be able to force her into the car. The lanky, older police officer with cropped white hair is talking to her now. She calms down enough to be put into the car and they close the door. An officer walks around to the front to get into the driver’s seat and they move off east down Water Street. The use of force by police may be relatively rare on the streets of Santa Cruz but the threat of violence, arrest and removal permeates the sidewalks for those people experiencing homelessness. They must eat, breathe and sleep somewhere, struggling to find safe spaces to live and thrive. According to 2019 data from the Department of Housing and Urban Development, there were 567,715 people experiencing homelessness in the United States on one night in January (­Abt Associates, 2020). This is 2.5% fewer unhoused people than in 2017. The unhoused population is slightly shrinking except in California. In places with high costs of ­housing – ​­San Francisco, Los Angeles and smaller cities – Santa Barbara, Monterey, DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-22

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Sacramento, Santa C ­ ruz – ​­it is growing substantially, up 11% in 2019 for the state (­Abt Associates, 2020). City leadership and police respond with a varied suite of t­ools – ​­shelter proposals, increased patrols, ­anti-​­homeless policies. They rightly insist that the solution is more affordable housing but the provision of housing is a slow process. They exacerbate the current challenge of living for unhoused people with police ­move alongs, “­cleaning up” retail areas and policies “­protecting” public space. Scholars have addressed the problem of homeless exclusion from public space by describing different aspects of policies, practices and experiences of the homeless. Research about public policies documents the myriad strategies cities use to keep unhoused people out of prime public s­paces  – ​­from ­a nti sitting ordinances to the police “­­move-​­along” (­M itchell 1997; Herbert 2008). Other writers challenge that negative revanchist view with a more nuanced emphasis on the relationship between social services and people on the streets. Poverty management often helps people meet their needs, find a space of acceptance and even transition into public housing (­DeVerteuil 2006; Cloke, May, and Johnsen 2011). Both topics expand our knowledge of the challenges of homeless occupation of public space. A third approach focuses on homeless mobilization that contests their exclusion from public space through a rejection of their identity as “­­nonpublic” (­Wright 1997; Amster 2004). Mobilization includes tents set up on the lawn of a city hall or marches to the state capitol. However, it is in their occupation of public space that the battle for space and survival plays out every day. This chapter focuses on that daily life. That is the private behaviors of people on the street, the way they make each space they occupy a temporary place of security, even at times a home. From there conclusions are drawn about inhabiting public spaces in the city. Drawn from a ­two year research project about the homeless experience of public space, this chapter intends to answer several questions: How do unhoused people inhabit public space? How do homeless people respond to the openness of public space as well as to its closed qualities that prevent them from using it? What is the city’s response to this inhabitation? Literature reviewed for the chapter provides a context of anti homeless policies and policing. Three cities in Northern California were studied but only the research from Santa Cruz is reported in this chapter because, paradoxically, it is both the most politically liberal and open city and the most policed and closed city to marginalized people. Santa Cruz exhibits many of the qualities of California cities that have made the homeless challenge so great: an almost total lack of affordable housing due to the shifts of rentals and secondary dwelling units to short term housing like airbnb and the purchase of second homes by wealthy people in nearby Silicon Valley. As a former Santa Cruz renter puts it: “­California is a monster. If you don’t keep up, you end up on the streets, and nobody cares” (­Levins 2016). With one of the largest populations of unhoused people per capita in the nation, Santa Cruz is remarkable for its lack of shelter beds. The 2019 Point in Time count lists 2,167 unhoused people in Santa Cruz, 22% of whom were sheltered. One social service provider described this as a result of the consistently fair weather (“­no one is going to freeze to death”). The underlying tension between the tourism and retail economies and the homeless presence explains the o ­ ngoing hostility to shelters and unhoused people in general, a tension at odds with the city’s “­left coast” vibe (­Gendron and Domhoff 2009). In my work in Sacramento and Oakland, California, I did not observe nearly as many encounters between police and unhoused people as I did in Santa Cruz. Many Santa Cruz police understand the futility of the “­prevention” of homelessness and the department employs a psychologist specializing in homelessness to provide empathy and resources. The purpose of the policing of unhoused people is to prevent transgression of public space, both criminal and social. 238

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Using the method of participant observation, I spent time watching and taking notes in parks, streets and railroad rights of way. When possible, I interviewed people experiencing homelessness about whatever they were doing. Interviews in Santa Cruz tended to be short. I was met with suspicion, sometimes taken for either an undercover cop or a drug user in a way I had not experienced in other California cities. I also interviewed several people active in social services and police outreach that help unhoused people. To analyze behavior in public space, I mapped behaviors of pedestrians, bicyclists and people resting in parks to uncover patterns of daily use. I focused on body language, comportment and behavior in response to others along with the habits of daily living, such as spreading out a blanket in the same place in the same park over multiple days. I then compared these homeless opinions and behaviors with material from Santa Cruz’s “­v ision” of the city as expressed in land use documents, policies and the branding they promote through city documents and the master plan (­City of Santa Cruz 2018; Santa Cruz County 2019).

Inhabiting Public Space Inhabiting public s­pace – ​­through movement and ­rest – ​­runs counter to contemporary considerations of a city as being a series of destinations one arrives at from elsewhere, particularly in a tourist oriented town such as Santa Cruz. Pacific Avenue, the Boardwalk and Capitola Beach receive thousands of daily visitors; they are public spaces with specific purposes of recreation, shopping or social gathering. The public is expected to move to them and, once they arrive, within them. In addition, many American cities have designated public spaces for cars (­Brown, Morris, and Taylor 2009). According to assessor parcel maps of Santa Cruz, 61% of public property in the central study area of Santa ­Cruz – ​­including downtown and the social service ­a reas – ​­is devoted to cars in the form of streets and public parking, leaving 39% for sidewalks, plazas and small parks. In other California cities, the car dominates up to 80% of public space (­Parker 2019). The dominance of automobiles is an important context for understanding homeless inhabitation as it has led to their concentration in a few, scattered open spaces as well as in parking lots and highway ­m argins –​­all ill suited for human habitation. Homeless inhabitation is a rhythmic negotiation of space, a moving from the fringes and shelters at night to the prime spaces of business, streets and parks during the day. It is a social passersby and authorities who also occupy activity, always in relation to ­others  – friends, ​­ public space. This is public place not as a static, bounded entity but as overlapping, dynamic pathways. Following Tim Ingold’s conception of place, unhoused people who frequent a place inhabit it linearly, that is, along paths of movement, stopping at key nodes enmeshed in a web of relationships (­Ingold 2009). They may stop but this rest is always open to connecting pathways and departure. Ingold’s dynamic conception of place closely matches the homeless experience in Santa Cruz. In Santa Cruz, people experiencing homelessness do not occupy space in the sense of territory or areal extent (­w ith the exception of the one block radius around the Homeless Service Center). Because unhoused people inhabit the fringes of the ­city – ​­the forested slopes above the city, the dirt embankment behind the drug store, a parking spot along a fenced, residential ­street – ​­the idea of occupying a bounded space of quiet and meaning, a neighborhood in a sense, is not possible (­see ­Figure 17.1). The Mission Highway through Santa Cruz divides neighborhoods downtown from the Westside, acting as a barrier for many residents. Despite the speed and noise of traffic or because of the speed and noise of traffic, the corridor houses unhoused people on its embankments. Unhoused people may cross the highway several times a day. In the winter of 2018, an encampment of 50 to 60 people sprang up when a scattering 239

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­Figure 17.1 Comparison of occupation of neighborhoods with homeless pathways of inhabitance (­based on behavior mapping from 2016 to 2018). (­a) The highway and river bound or delineate neighborhoods. (­b) The movement of unhoused people does not respect neighborhoods; they seek out the highway corridor or the river front for inhabitation

of tents along the river was flooded. They moved to higher ground on the highway r­ ight of way. “­Places, in short, are delineated by movement, not by the outer limits to movement” (­Ingold 2011, 149). The majority of public space is for movement, not r­ est – ​­a specific type of movement centered on strolling and shopping. Each Santa Cruz ­destination – ​­the Boardwalk, San Lorenzo Park, Pacific ­Avenue – ​­hosts long thruways or promenades. Promenades contain a mixture of linear open space for strolling and temporary opportunities for people watching or activities along the edge. While the promenade’s edge might appear to be an ideal space for unhoused people to congregate, I did not find this to be the case, potentially due to the relatively frequent park patrols. When the city government remodeled Pacific Avenue in the 1990s, it established wide sidewalks but then set the benches perpendicular to the pathway to discourage unhoused people from sitting on them and begging. They feared that tourists would have to “­r un a gauntlet” of panhandling (­Gendron and Domhoff, 2009). In addition, a one hour time limit on bench sitting discourages the gauntlet and reinforces movement for all.

Rhythms and Movement Homeless people inhabit public space through daily responses to the rhythms and regulations of the city, through movement and through their relationships with social services. At each place they stop, they must negotiate their position in space depending on multiple factors: time of day, who is around and what kind of place it is, as well as known rules and regulations. These negotiations lead to a general vigilance of their surroundings and the social 240

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­Figure 17.2 Pacific Avenue in Santa Cruz, California

norms and codes that structure their environment. It is a continual, careful decision making process that becomes ingrained in daily behavior patterns in order to rest and to move safely through public spaces in the city. That people experiencing homelessness inhabit public space through daily rhythms, movement and interactions with others is clearly evident in my observations. At 8:30 am on a weekday morning, the sidewalks of Pacific Avenue in downtown Santa Cruz are mostly empty. There is a small amount of foot traffic around the three coffee shops, a few business owners unload boxes of items from their cars and unhoused people walk the streets in isolation. A young man stops on the sidewalk when the cart with his belongings does not budge. He spends 10 minutes fixing a broken wheel. Another man sitting on the stoop of a store asks for some change. And an older man wearing a straw hat and amber ski goggles pulls a red wagon and stops at a park bench, removes a camp stove from the wagon and boils water in a pot. He pours hot water into a mug, lowers a tea bag into the mug and waits a few minutes before drinking. At 10 am, the scene changes as the businesses open (­see ­Figure 17.2). Cars fill the parking spaces lining the one way street. Older women begin walking in twos or threes up and down the sidewalk looking for sale items. People are now sitting on benches and talking. At the northern end of the avenue, a woman pushes a bicycle heavily laden with belongings over to a bench in the small public square. She sits down on the bench but does not make eye contact with the people around her. A few people with guitars arrive and begin singing folk songs from the 1960s. The sun hits the square as more people gather to sing. At noon, the restaurants are doing a brisk business. The sidewalks fill up. People in scruffy clothes lay out small crafts and jewelry on blankets. By midafternoon, the buskers begin to appear, usually young white people playing guitar or drums. These are the rhythms of daily life on Pacific Avenue. They appear to be ­spontaneous – ​­a person dropping a blanket to sell items here, someone stepping into the ice cream ­store – ​­but in fact they are regulated. Each aspect of this rhythm has been controlled to facilitate commerce. For instance, the City Council has recently limited informal selling of sidewalk crafts to one hour per blanket. Public space is temporal. It has negotiated cycles or flows of people. People experiencing homelessness must fit into these regulated rhythms when it is all right to make tea on a bench at 8:30 am but not all right at 10:30 am. Social service organizations also regulate the rhythms of unhoused people in public space (­Buccieri 2014). At 9:30 am on weekday mornings, a line begins to form at the Salvation 241

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Army foodbank. By 10 am, people have begun to receive their bag of groceries for the week. The Homeless Service Center, now called Housing Matters, on Coral Street, the largest ­social service organization in town, makes their shelter residents leave the facility in the morning at 8 am and not return until check in at the gated kiosk at 4 pm. This schedule, as well as the recent construction of a wrought iron fence around the property, was done in negotiation with the city in an effort to “­fit in” better to the neighborhood. As the shelter is closed during the day, many residents assemble on sidewalks and the railroad right of way just west of the center. They sit in groups, on their packs, the curb or in a wheelchair, talking and hailing others as they walk by. Police presence here is less than in the parks and shopping streets south of Cabrillo Highway One, perhaps due to the surrounding area being light industry, without adjacent residents or shop owners who might complain. The daily rhythms of this public space shape the movement of unhoused people. In Santa Cruz, 73% of unhoused people sleep outside, in their car or in “­a structure not normally used for sleeping” (­Applied Survey Research 2019). The city has 330 shelter beds for 1,200 homeless residents. Many people camp on the forested slopes to the north of the town and move into the city in the morning to socialize, panhandle or procure social services. In the morning, they migrate downtown along River Street or move toward the ocean along San Lorenzo Park. They move through public and private spaces often out of sight, along utility or abandoned railroad corridors and along the riverbanks. One such “­commuter” wakes up late in his camp in the woods, complete with a washing station and a ­10-​­amp solar panel. He jumps on his black mountain bike, barrels down the single track before outing at River Street to either stop by a service center or to relax in Mission Park. In the afternoon, he spends time as a bicycle messenger for downtown businesses, shuttling packages between downtown and the City of Capitola or the University of California, Santa Cruz. On a bike, “­I don’t have to obey laws, you know”. He is proud of his speed, his biking on the sidewalk, his ability to avoid stalled traffic. He inhabits a counter space – ​­inhabiting public space in a way that runs counter to those stuck in their cars. Movement is not always voluntary for unhoused people. Their movement may respond to a direct request by police or park ranger. From field notes: Up at Mission Park, the place is empty other than several men napping in the shady grass. A white Parks Department truck pulls up to the sidewalk on the west side of the park. A park ranger clambers out of the car, walks over to a Latino man sleeping on a bag in the central open space. He bends down to talk to the man, gently shaking the recumbent figure. They talk. Then the recumbent man gets up and begins packing up his bag. Or movement may be indirectly prompted by the sight of the police or rumors about their approach. For example, along the Santa Cruz River Walk bike path (­­Figure  17.3) in the summer, a park ranger rode north on an all terrain vehicle (­ATV). The homeless men sitting on the concrete seat wall rose and walked away from the bike path as he approached. They crossed Front Street; I lost sight of them among the cars in the parking lot. A park ranger said that they were trying to clean up the park and get people into shelters (­a difficult job when shelters can house only a quarter of the homeless population). And so, asked to move along and without a definite place to go, unhoused people spend a good part of their day walking or cycling. Relationships between unhoused people and police are not always positive. In addition to the “­move along” already described, police employ other explicit and implicit tactics to discourage loitering, yelling or other a­ nti-​­social behavior. According to staff at the Salvation 242

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­Figure 17.3 Santa Cruz Riverwalk along San Lorenzo River

Army, they call the police once a week, usually because someone becomes belligerent over presenting an I.D. “­Sometimes they [police] just take them outside. They make sure they don’t have anything illegal on them and then they say, ‘­You need to very quietly go down the street or you’re going for a ride in a cruiser’” (­Laubach, personal communication, August 9, 2016). But the city cannot “­arrest their way out of the problem” (­K ramer, personal communication, August 16, 2016). After a sweep through a park, it may look “­cleaner” and be depopulated but the police are just “­moving the problem around” (­see also Walby and Lippert 2012).

Transgression If people inhabit public space by moving along it and the purpose of public space in cities is to keep people moving or at least not resting too long, why are these places unwelcoming to unhoused people who are most accepted while they are moving? Movement requires rest. After three hours of walking on concrete, one’s feet hurt and one’s legs ache. Those who are unemployed have large amounts of unstructured time. They cannot access a private place to rest and take care of daily needs. They must stop and rest in public. They sit or lie down. And that is what is threatening. Rest becomes transgression. However, unlike a ­sit in or Occupy Wall Street, homeless rest/­transgression is not a deliberate protest but a part of their daily inhabitance of space. They rest not to establish a spatial territory (“­this is our park!”) but as wayfarers stopping to set up a personal zone of privacy along the way. If unhoused people travel through space along pathways, not occupying but inhabiting places, then the places of rest, say Mission Park, become entangled knots in a thread of paths, concentrations of social interactions. Their stationary presence is tenuous, subject to interruption from sprinklers turning on, police asking them to move or other people playing in the park. Each stop is an entanglement of pathways with other unhoused people, police patrols and domiciled residents informed by the spatial and political context of that space. Homeless rest transgresses social norms and civic purposes established through zoning and regulation. In the designation of land use and the design of public space, movement is 243

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a public behavior and stasis is private. Homeless transgression then encompasses myriad ­private behaviors and objects in public (­such as sitting too long in one place, yelling loudly, sleeping or asking for help), only becoming transgressive where the ­public-​­private distinction is clear and enforced. Public space as a place of transgression is a place where private (­d isorderly) behaviors have become criminal. Private behaviors mark an unhoused person as “­homeless;” together with other markers they form an aesthetic of homelessness (­Gerrard and Farrugia 2014). As people experiencing homelessness inhabit places of retail or tourism, they present an aesthetic associated with poverty and disorder. Markers of homelessness may include the burden of packs or luggage, grimy clothes and/­or a physical or mental disability. The disorder arises not from the homeless aesthetic itself but from its conflict with the “­spectacle” of consumption and capitalism (­Gerrard and Farrugia 2014). A homeless presence is perceived as bad for business. This is particularly true if the unhoused person is loitering. The City Council then responds with an increasing number of regulations to prevent this homeless presence from remaining near businesses. The prevention of disorder has been codified. According to Section 9.50 Conduct of Public Property of the Santa Cruz Municipal code, people cannot obstruct a sidewalk, lie down on a sidewalk, sit on a sidewalk within 14 feet of a building, lie on a bench or sit on a bench for more than an hour. Santa Cruz has 11 ­a nti-​­homeless laws and nine restrictions on homelessness ranging from the prevention of sitting down to the prevention of panhandling (­Fisher, Miller, and Walter 2015). Nine out of twelve regulations prohibit different kinds of stopping, i.e. loitering. The regulations are described as “­­anti-​­homeless” due to their targeted enforcement on unhoused people. Domiciled people can sit wherever and for however long as they like. In one instance, a park ranger on an ATV rode past me as I sat taking notes at the end of a low seat wall that forms the western edge of San Lorenzo Park and over to a group of Latinos who frequented that spot. One immediately left. The others talked with the ranger for a few minutes before dispersing. It is unclear how many laws and regulations unhoused

­Figure 17.4 Benchlands of San Lorenzo Park occupied daily by unhoused people resting

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people know, but it matters little to the homeless person as police approach and suggest moving. Their relationship is less with the policy itself than with a p­ erson – ​­the patrols. The appearance of homelessness, that is, sitting in a park in with scruffy clothes with a backpack, is itself a transgression. It is homeless inhabitation of public space that is regulated, resulting in policy contortions of ­a nti-​­homeless regulations that must not appear to discriminate against this class of people (­M itchell 1997). Temporal aspects of this inhabitation ­t ransgress – ​­unhoused people stop for longer periods of time than the domiciled. They stop at the wrong times. Spatial aspects of this inhabitation ­t ransgress – ​­they stop in places where they do not belong. They sit down on a pedestrian bridge over the San Lorenzo River. They roll out a sleeping bag on the bike path or behind a truck in the parking lot. Unhoused people work against the small divisions of public space divided by prescribed purpose. The Benchlands of San Lorenzo Park, for instance, are supposed to be a disc golf course, although I have never observed anyone playing disc golf. Pacific Avenue sidewalks are supposed to be for pedestrians who are shopping. Homeless activity or rest rarely becomes a designated purpose, and even then (­or especially then) it does so within a context of bitter conflict. Material aspects of their inhabitation transgress. Temporarily inhabiting a space means making it one’s own, making it private. Coming to rest in a chosen spot (­under a tree in a park, for instance), settling down on a blanket or pad… The arranging of belongings parallel the arranging of a personal life. From field notes on a summer afternoon: An older woman with tangled blond hair pulled back in a ponytail pushes her cart into the interior of the park. She unrolls a thick, plaid sleeping bag and spreads it out on the grass under a sycamore tree. She rummages amongst her things in the cart before pulling out another blanket and placing it against the tree. Settling down on the blanket, she pulls out the band in her hair and begins to brush it. In this event, there are aspects of establishing a territory to protect personal space. The woman uses her blankets to establish a small private zone of space. Even for those who own very little, personal belongings hold meaning and provide a method of i­nhabiting – ​­one of the markers of homelessness and a private behavior (­storage) in public space.

Transforming Public Space Given the experiences of unhoused people in public space in Santa Cruz, what are some ways cities can make this experience both more comfortable for unhoused people and less problematic for everyone (­e.g. reducing drug use, retaining seating and open space)? First, a blurring of the boundary between public and private would help those who do not have access to private spaces. This has already occurred in many public spaces in the name of commerce, including Pacific Avenue. Formally, owners of cafes along the avenue apply to the city for sidewalk space to place private chairs and tables. Informally, arts and crafts are sold on blankets temporarily laid down (­a lthough this practice has been limited). By expanding the definition of acceptable private behavior to include the daily living of the poorest citizens, the use of public space would more clearly reflect what it means to be “­public”. A blurring of the p­ ublic-​­private boundary may also mean not only a few public spaces becoming more private but a few private spaces becoming more public. For instance, allowing temporary encampments in abandoned buildings (­a lthough Santa Cruz may not be a good candidate as there are so few abandoned buildings there). 245

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Second, cities can remove temporal limits on the use of public space. The displaced public is a ­24 hour public out of necessity (­see Smith and Hall, 2013). Many times public space is closed, uninhabitable due to darkness or because one has spent too much time there already. The closure of public space rests on normative assumptions of time and what someone’s daily rhythm should ­be -​­-​­eating lunch in the park then returning to one’s office, for example. Limiting access to space according to the time of day makes it less public and more discriminatory. Social norms lead to calls for the removal of transgressive ­behavior  – ​­occupying public space at the wrong t­ime – ​­which, in turn, leads to additional restrictive policies as well as public branding of homelessness. Homeless temporal rhythms in a city’s public spaces inspire a suite of ­policies  – park curfews, limits on the duration of seating or standing in ​­ one ­place – ​­that shape interactions in public space. While being “­out of place” marks one as homeless, so does being out of time. Third, a city’s infrastructure can be shifted from a ­property-​­based infrastructure to a ­person-​­based infrastructure. Right now, urban infrastructure serves property development. Public services, such as water, sewer and roads, connect with vacant lots (­devoid of people) in anticipation of future development. Yet, small tent encampments along San Lorenzo River or in the woods to the north have no water, no waste disposal, leaving homeless people in public susceptible to dehydration, disease and criticism over littering. What if public infrastructure could be expanded to serve the public and not just those who own or rent properties? Imagine a series of open and manned public restrooms or places to fill a water bottle or charge a phone. On the ­urban-​­wildland fringe, public infrastructure could include garbage ­ n-​­going pandemic collection for people in encampments to bring their debris. During the o infrastructure services have been provided in other west coast cities such as Eugene, Oregon and Seattle, Washington, as issues of public hygiene became of crucial importance. The City of Eugene placed washing stations, waste disposal sites and outhouses around the downtown area, some associated with emergency respite shelters (­Ko and Parker 2020). The City of Seattle opened “­hygiene facilities” to the general public and provided an accessible map (­Lewis 2020). Finally, it is clear that each of these suggested ways of making public space more public confronts the spatial imaginary of what should take place in public space. Homeless inhabitance is transgression. What is less clear is the effect of transgression or the perception of transgression on unhoused people. Living with the constant threat of police questioning and public complaints about sheltering in public contributes to a sense of uneasiness while in public space. Many unhoused people have already experienced trauma of some kind, both prior to homelessness or during (­Bender et al. 2010). They are susceptible to reoccurring traumatic episodes as well as a general malaise from living tenuously. Howard Thurman (­1996) describes this condition as a continual fear that wreaks havoc on the mind and body, rooted in the uneven relationships between the weak and the strong. He describes the constant fear of violence that African Americans experience in the United States and then extends the threat of violence and removal to apply to underprivileged people in general. Actual violence or removal need not occur to generate this fear as long as similar circumstances of violence have occurred elsewhere. There is a large body of literature addressing the psychological effects of living on the streets with trauma (­see Kim and Ford 2006 for a review). Here, I would like to focus on the relationship between this everyday weariness of survival under threat and the public spaces of inhabitance: the woman I interviewed in a park without her ever making eye contact with me, the older man sitting on a curb cursing that he had not found housing before the onset of winter and the stooped man shuffling his feet along the path picking up the bits of cigarettes people had discarded. There is tension in 246

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each private act in public space and this tension remains in the mind and in the body. Transgression may be important in pushing for change. It may be unavoidable in the negotiation of public spaces in the city and stresses the mental and physical health of the people who live in public space. How do unhoused people cope? They manage their visibility as they inhabit space to minimize the chance of violence. This is the main difference between inhabitance of public space by unhoused people and inhabitance of public space by those who are domiciled. Unhoused people learn to avoid or adapt those behaviors that transgress, so that they do so out of sight or do so to deceive. They gradually commit this new pattern of behaviors to memory to reduce interactions with threats. They move along before rangers arrive at the park. They rest behind bushe, talk in a corner of the parking lot. They adapt, thus also changing the nature of public space and the terms of “­­public-​­ness.” In many ways by occupying public space night and day, unhoused people are quintessentially p­ ublic – ​­the most public of all people. Space, time and identity intertwine. The expansion of the public to truly mean “­a ll people” can lead to more inclusive public space and the decriminalization of private behaviors and places where acceptance replaces perpetual threats of violence.

References Abt Associates. (­2020). The 2019 Annual Homeless Assessment Report (­A HAR) to Congress. U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. Amster, R. (­2004). Street People and the Contested Realms of Public Space. New York: Scholarly Pub Llc. Applied Survey Research. (­2019). Santa Cruz County Homeless Census & Survey Comprehensive Report 2019 (­­p. 59) [Point in Time Count]. Santa Cruz County. Retrieved from https://­housingmatterssc. org/­­w p-​­content/­uploads/­2019/­0 8/­­2019-­​­­PIT- ­​­­Count-­​­­Full-​­Report.pdf Bender, K., Ferguson, K., Thompson, S., Komlo, C.,  & Pollio, D. (­2010). Factors associated with trauma and posttraumatic stress disorder among homeless youth in three U.S. cities: The importance of transience. Journal of Traumatic Stress, 23(­1), ­161–​­168. Brown, J. R., Morris, E. A., & Taylor, B. D. (­2009). Planning for cars in cities: planners, engineers, and freeways in the 20th Century. Journal of the American Planning Association, 75(­2), ­161–​­177. Buccieri, K. (­2014). Agency bound: Mapping the ­temporal-​­spatial relationship between homeless individuals and the social service sector. In L. McLean, L. Stafford & M. Weeks (­Eds), Exploring Bodies in Time and Space (­p­­p. ­125–​­135). Oxford: ­Inter-​­Disciplinary Press. City of Santa Cruz. (­2018). City of Santa Cruz Draft Parks Master Plan 2030 (­­p. 230). Retrieved from https://­w ww.cityofsantacruz.com/­home/­showdocument?id=75052 Cloke, P., May, J., & Johnsen, S. (­2011). Swept Up Lives: ­Re-​­envisioning the Homeless City. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons. DeVerteuil, G. (­2006). The local state and homeless shelters: Beyond revanchism? Cities, 23(­2), ­109–​­120. Fisher, M., Miller, N., & Walter, L. (­2015). California’s New Vagrancy Laws: The Growing Enactment and ­ nti-​­homeless Laws in the Golden State. Berkeley Law Policy Advocacy Clinic. Enforcement of A Gendron, R., & Domhoff, G. W. (­2009). The Leftmost City: Power and Progressive Politics in Santa Cruz. ReadHowYouWant.com. Gerrard, J., & Farrugia, D. (­2014). The ‘­lamentable sight’ of homelessness and the society of the spectacle. Urban Studies, 52(­12), ­2219–​­2233. Herbert, S. (­2008). Contemporary geographies of exclusion I: Traversing Skid Road. Progress in Human Geography, 32(­5), ­659-​­666. Ingold, T. (­2009). Against space: Place, movement, knowledge. In P. W. Kirby (­Ed.), Boundless Worlds: An Anthropological Approach to Movement (­p­­p. ­29–​­4 4). London: Berghahn Books. Ingold, T. (­2011). Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description (­1st ed.). London: Routledge. Kim, M., & Ford, J. (­2006). Trauma and P ­ ost-​­Traumatic Stress among Homeless Men. Journal of Aggression, Maltreatment & Trauma, 13(­2), ­1–​­22. Ko, Y.,  & Parker, C. (­2020, December 8). Landscape architecture tackles homelessness and shelter in the pandemic. The Field. Retrieved from https://­thefield.asla.org/­2020/­12/­08/­­landscape­​­­a rchitecture-­​­­t ackles-­​­­homelessness-­​­­a nd-­​­­shelter-­​­­i n-­​­­the-​­pandemic/

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Kramer, P. (­2016, August 16). Homeless Service Center interview [Personal Interview]. Laubach, H. Jr. (­2016, August 9). Salvation Army homeless program [Personal Interview]. ­ ow-​­income workers get priced out of California Levins, S. (­2016, August 25). “­It’s a catastrophe”: L beach city. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://­w ww.theguardian.com/­­us-​­news/­2016/­aug/­24/­­ california-­​­­homelessness-­​­­santa-­​­­cruz-­​­­housing-​­a ffordability Lewis, A. (­ 2020). Hygiene Facilities, City of Seattle [Web]. Retrieved from https://­ w ww.seattle. gov/­council/­­meet-­​­­the- ​­council/­­a ndrew-​­lewis/­­hygiene-​­f acilities Mitchell, D. (­1997). The annihilation of space by law: The roots and implications of ­a nti-​­homeless laws in the United States. Antipode, 29(­3), ­303–​­335. Parker, C. (­2019). Bicycle use and accessibility among people experiencing homelessness in California cities. Journal of Transport Geography, 80, 102542. Santa Cruz County. (­2019). Santa Cruz Strategic Plan. Retrieved from https://­w ww.santacruzcounty. us/­VisionSantaCruz.aspx Smith, R. J., & Hall, T. (­2013). No time out: Mobility, rhythmicity and urban patrol in the t­wenty-​ f­our hour city. Sociological Review, 61, ­89–​­108. Thurman, H. (­1996). Jesus and the Disinherited. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Walby, K., & Lippert, R. (­2012). Spatial regulation, dispersal, and the aesthetics of the city: Conservation Officer policing of homeless people in Ottawa, Canada. Antipode, 44(­3), ­1015–​­1033. Wright, T. (­1997). Out of Place: Homeless Mobilizations, Subcities, and Contested Landscapes. Albany: State University of New York Press.

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18 Living on the Streets of Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo Kristien Geenen

Introduction The majority of city dwellers in the Global South eke out a living in the informal sector, often using public space to do so. Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo, is no exception. Gradually and in individual ways, inhabitants have literally invaded the urban margins, the gray area between buildings and streets. Stalls selling phone cards and stationery, workshops and garages, bars and brothels all thrive on the sidewalks with minimal infrastructure, if any at all (­De Boeck & Plissart, 2004). Women grow cassava on traffic islands (­M ianda, 1996); priests recite prayers in the open air (­Kuyu Mwissa, 1996); ­money-​­changers have their offices on the sidewalks (­Braun, 2018); (­d isabled) beggars survive on skills and empathy (­Devlieger, 2018) and socially engaged neighbors, known as the ­parlementaires-​­debout, discuss political affairs under the trees of public squares (­Dugrand, 2012). In brief, driven by commercial but also social ambitions, the inhabitants of K ­ inshasa – ​­the Kinois – seize ​­ every occupiable inch of public space. A steadily increasing number of street children or ­juveniles –​ b­ ashege (­a lso called phaseur, teba, baila, kwada, yakuza or taiba) – join ​­ this choreography which takes hold of Kinshasa. Teamed up in gangs, they comb the streets in search of a location to occupy for a while and to convert into a home. They eat, sleep, wash, work and play in the open, blurring the line between public and private realms. Occupying a stretch of public space is a powerful signal. Whoever succeeds in taking up a particular territory shows his force. This is not true of street gangs exclusively. Everyone who ​­ beggars, sex w ­ orkers – ​­needs to conquer makes use of public space for a l­iving – hawkers, a spot before being able to proceed. However, it is precisely the quiet and seemingly unorganized character of citizens’ i­ncursions – ​­the minuscule stall, the unpretentious signboard and the tiny squat made of junk, all minimal interventions that slowly and seamlessly shade into the built ­environment – ​­that account for their strength. The slow occupation of public space by the Kinois is an irreversible movement, hence very powerful. None of the claims to a piece of public space are proclaimed out loud, making this ‘­quiet encroachment’ (­Bayat, 1997, ­p. 57) extremely difficult to uproot. ​­ massive The city authorities frequently try to r­ egulate – ​­and preferably put an end t­ o – this use of public sites and launch ‘­cleansing’ campaigns in attempts to do so. However, Kinshasa’s DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-23

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city dwellers are so inextricably bound up with public ­space – ​­which they use not only to secure their livelihoods but also as the main setting for their social l­ives – that they inevi​­ tably return after being chased away. Since their occupation of public space is no ‘­idle use’ (­Bodnar, 2015, ­p. 2098), it cannot be easily cleared away. Even during the covid 19 pandemic that broke out in March 2020, the streets in Kinshasa’s suburbs were as busy as ever, since following quarantine restrictions would have meant starvation for many. This chapter explores how groups of juveniles live on the streets of Kinshasa 24/­7. Information is drawn from my ethnographic research on street gangs during periods of intensive field work between March 2006 and April 2007 and from occasional ethnographic encounters thereafter every time I set foot in Kinshasa, up until June 2021. In addition, I scrutinized media and reports on the procedures of the city authorities. I did not contact any official in person, as being seen with any authority could have undermined the relationship of trust that I had gradually built up with the gang members. This is mainly a chapter about how they live on the street, how they perceive the city authorities’ campaigns and how they react to them. The research is based on interviews with different gangs but, for the sake of clarity, I limit this chapter to the gang Las Vegas. In addition, this is the gang I still manage to follow up, more or less. Street youth not having any phones, I lost track of most of the other gangs (­continuously changing territories due to governmental campaigns, as I outline below), whereas I continued to follow up Las Vegas until June 2021. Each time I was in Kinshasa carrying out other research, I also took the opportunity to chat with the members to remain updated. I happened to be in the city ­ ikofi – ​­a governmental campaign to get rid of urban b­ andits – was ​­ at its when Opération L height. In 2­ 006-​­2007, Las Vegas was a group of 1­ 5 to 20 male and female youngsters aged approximately 14 to 30. They had all left their homes when they were still children, either because they were forced to or because they wanted to. From then onward, they lived alternately on the streets or in shelters for street children. From adolescence onward, they hung around on the streets, day in and day out, as it is both the place where they live and where they make a living (­cooking, washing, sleeping, doing odd jobs, dealing drugs, prostituting themselves and getting involved in petty crime).

Negotiations over a Stretch of Public Space Gangs of adolescents have been scouring the streets of Kinshasa since the 1950s (­Gondola, 2016, Raymaekers, 1963). Unlike street youth today, however, they kept in touch with their relatives in the city and had homes to return to and enjoy a night’s rest. Adolescents but also children, some of whom are no more than four years old, living on the street 24/­7, appeared in Kinshasa at the beginning of the 1990s, when the m ­ ilitary – ​­soon followed by c­ ivilians –​ ­looted shops and enterprises and in doing so seriously disrupted economic life. The resulting dire economic conditions forced some adults to abandon the children they could no longer feed. Once on the street, these children never walked alone but always teamed up with others. During the daytime, or during a brief period of time, they might live in shelters to rest but some prefer to remain on the street day in and day out. It is usually only after reaching the age of 18, or after becoming a parent, that they try to leave the streets and find a stable roof over their heads. In all, their ambitions and dreams do not differ much from those of the other Kinois living in their houses (­A zia Dimbu & Kakoma N’Dusu, 2018). What former gangs and current ones have in common is that creating a territory is a crucial ­identity-​­maker (­La Fontaine, 1970). 250

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A gang of bashege, whether it is a gang of children or adolescents, is hierarchically structured with an authoritative leader at the top. In the case of Las Vegas, the leader is Kanyinda, a short, slender young man, who said he was 28 at the time of our first meeting in 2006 and had tremendous authority. (­He still says he is 28 since he does not know his date of birth.) A tattoo on one gang member’s biceps dispels every possible doubt. It reads ‘­Bayoka Cheval’ (‘­Obey Cheval’), Cheval being Kanyinda’s nickname. Kanyinda left his home when he was eight to look for his mother, who had disappeared some months before, and he never returned. After having lived alternatively in shelters and on the street, he has been living outdoors on a permanent basis for over two decades. His gang has about 15 members (­some come and go). Fiston, Sipi and Le Blanc make up the male core and Karini, Rita and Natasha the female one. In return for blind obedience to his authority, a gang leader will take good care of the needs of his members. One need is to obtain a good place to settle. As income is earned by dealing soft drugs or selling sex, it is important to choose a spot where these activities can fully develop. Street youth often claim that “­sleep occupies no space” and that they are free to perch wherever they wish. This expression, however, needs some ­fi ne-​­tuning. Usually, they can only settle wherever they wish under certain conditions. In fact, fierce exchanges precede any settlement in public space because every inch is negotiable. Indeed, before settling somewhere members of street g­ angs – ​­a s much as other ­c itizens –​ ­h ave to reach an agreement with whomever thinks he/­she is entitled to the ownership of the desired site, for instance a stretch of sidewalk. The s­ elf-​­declared “­owner” might want some kind of compensation for allowing use of the site. Throughout these preliminary negotiations, new and constantly shifting bonds of solidarity emerge and these casual connections constitute a vital aspect of survival in the streets. They oppose, at one end, those who strive for the best place in the sun (­i n a manner of speaking) who are the street youth/­h awkers and, at the other, those who believe that they own that sunny place, for instance, the inhabitants of the house in front of which some street youth/­h awkers want to set up camp. The physical proximity of all the actors involved makes their cooperation both possible and necessary. The “­seekers” consist of the daily users of public places: the hucksters and hawkers, teachers and preachers, football and checkers players, the homeless and street c­ hildren – ​­all those who share a lived experience on the street. Their opponents are the “­providers,” those who claim to have rights to the desired locations. They live on the adjacent plots, profit from the light of a street lamp or simply settled on the street first. To arrive at a successful end to their search for a (­temporary) place to install themselves, the seekers need to reach an understanding with the providers to ensure that they will be “­tolerated” in their provisional surroundings. In Kinshasa’s public urban spaces, territoriality is extremely dynamic. Whether between authorities and the citizens, between seekers and providers or among the seekers themselves, the social interaction of the Kinois seems inextricably entangled. Apparently it generates an a­ ll-​­embracing intertwinement throughout the public realm. Each and every person appears to be mutually dependent on another. However, the bonds established are tacit, volatile and continuously shifting. Indeed, these relationships survive only as long as required for immediate or effective gain. Whenever the ­short-​­term objective is attained or not, and its usefulness questioned, the connection dissolves. The logic behind these relationships is quid pro quo, which is accurately phrased by the Congolese as le phénomène de retour (­the return phenomenon) (­Trefon, 2004, p­ . 23). Their only raison d’être is the calculation that the donated assistance might one day be returned. During these negotiations, no one is considered marginal, certainly not the street youth who are inextricably 251

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bound up with Congolese society. Kinois politicians who hire a crowd of cheering bashege are one example of that (­Trapido, 2021). For street gangs, the negotiations are essential but delicate. Indeed, while a phone card shop generates boisterous crowds, a food stall spreads rank smells, a drinking kiosk triggers public peeing, a rendezvous spot stages promiscuous scenes. A street gang comes with all of these nuisances at once. Thus, it is essential to close a deal with the ­self-​­proclaimed “­owner” of the targeted site prior to introducing any of these provocative activities. The deal will often require some kind of compensation in return for permission to use the location. A small amount of cash usually settles the matter but when street gangs are involved, the arrangement becomes more complex. Bashege often complain: “­People don’t like it when we settle in front of their compound” as gang member Le Pira said. Or in Kanyinda’s words, “­In order to be able to settle somewhere, you need to be loved” or “­have a lot of fans”. A street gang will only be accepted in the neighborhood after fruitful negotiations that satisfy both parties. They will negotiate to find out whether trust and reliability can be created and a satisfactory outcome attained. The gang may need access to a water tap or a safe place to lock up some belongings. The “­proprietors” of the compound, sidewalk, wall or tree need to live in security, and they might want the immediate neighborhood to be guarded at night, which the gang can do. Here is where supply and demand meet. If mutual efforts result in the right match, gang members can put up their minimal dwelling and not be chased away. The “­tolerant” inhabitants will feel safe as they are guarded by the street youth who usually stay awake at night to prevent police harassment or to pursue their nocturnal business. Of course, a gang could just settle in without prior arrangements with the adjacent neighbors but this tends to lead to mawa plein, “­pure suffering” in Kanyinda’s words. ​­ they put i­t – ​­was The targeted site which the youngsters of Las Vegas “­colonized” – as precious to them. They had fought fiercely “­during two weeks and two days,” as Kanyinda put it, against another gang to get hold of this particular site. If they fight for what is at first sight an unappealing vacant lot, it must be worth fighting for. Las Vegas’s territory appeared to be uninteresting: it was adjacent to the main road (­Boulevard Lumumba) that connects the international airport of Ndjili to the administrative and commercial center, Gombe. There were a couple of modest trees and bushes but beyond that the members were exposed to the public eye (­­Figure 18.1). And it was awfully noisy. The most obvious way that a site achieves added value is by its profitable location. A territory that lies close to a highly frequented bar or market is worth more than a remote one. In this regard, the location of Las Vegas’s turf was outstanding because of its intense pedestrian traffic since the highly frequented fairground FIKIN lies within a stone’s throw along with several crowded bars and ­one-​­hour hostels. Hence, the site offered various opportunities for any business to flourish from shining shoes to picking pockets. It was also an excellent spot for the prostitutes in the gang to meet potential clients; the girls lined up, scantily dressed, alongside the road to attract Passersby. Since transactional sex constitutes the main income for a gang, it is important to seize the most profitable locations for soliciting clients. But there is more to the location than meets the eye. A commercially interesting site is not (­yet) a home. It may be just barren ground, as in the Las Vegas case. It still needs a few material ­a nd – ​­more i­mportantly – ​­mental adjustments in order to acquire that role. However desperate or unattractive a place appears to be, in their hands it turns into a malleable entity. Bashege get involved in “­the social construction” of the space they occupy, “­the actual transformation of ­space–​­through people’s social exchanges, memories, images, and daily use of the material s­etting–​­into scenes and actions that convey symbolic meaning” (­Low, 1996, ­p. 862). To invest a place with meaning and value, bashege proceed in various ways. 252

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­Figure 18.1 Some members of Las Vegas at their turf alongside the main road Boulevard Lumumba, leader Kanyinda bends over, August 2005

Turning a Stretch of Public Space into a Home In order to “­colonize” a place, in either a peaceful or a belligerent way, gang members make it clear to outsiders who is in charge. To do so, gang members often add a physical, spatial marker to a terrain to show the people in the surroundings that a new era has dawned. This procedure is common in many other geopolitical spheres as well. Erecting structures in a colonized territory was tightly embedded in the notion of power. Colonial buildings in the former Belgian Congo are but one example of this practice (­Lagae, 2004). At a micro level, the marker need not be large. A modest banner can satisfy a street gang’s need for recognition. The longer an occupation lasts, the more complicated and sophisticated the constructions become. Initially, a gang’s presence on a site might be marked merely by a name carved on a tree, a tiny wooden bench (­in the case of Las Vegas), some cooking utensils lying about or a piece of canvas fixed to the ground with stones. After a while, a modest shelter might be built with reused plywood boards or flattened remnants of a car. As years go by and the occupation persists, some annexes may be added. However, no matter what the appearance of the spatial marker, the message remains the same: this terrain is taken. Another virtual building stone, and a powerful tool in dominating a particular terrain, is language. Bashege speak a slang, called yanké or indoubil, and make up their own vocabulary ​­ ­definition – a​­ and syntax. They also assign names to places. Once again, this strategy i­s – by colonizing tool. The Belgian colonizer as well as former Presidents Mobutu and Mzee Kabila all deployed a toponymic strategy, at each stage erasing previous geographical denominations and thereby proclaiming that a change of power had taken place. In the same manner, some decades ago, youngsters in Kinshasa, the Bills, changed the names of quarters where they hung out (­Gondola, 2016). Today, bashege do the same: the neighborhood of Rond Point Ngaba is now called Roma; Limete is Liban; and Gombe is Dortsh. By linguistically occupying these spaces, they mentally control them. Tuan (­1991, ­p. 686), who examines the role of ­ orld–​­through the human speech in the creation of place, states that “­it is their ­place–​­their w 253

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casting of a linguistic net”. Renaming is part of the mental r­ e-​­signifying of places. Through these pratiques quotidiennes (­de Certeau, 2000) in the linguistic field, members of a gang invest the place they colonize with value and meaning. Another procedure to turn a stretch of urban space into a home is to treat it as an indoor space. This procedure was apparent in observing gang members’ daily use of these places. To the unaccustomed eye, Las Vegas’s terrain might have been nothing but a fallow plot in the open air. However, by repeatedly referring to a part of it as a salle (­a living room), for example, and by repeatedly doing on that spot what one is supposed to do in a salle (­that is, leisure activities), the spot eventually became the salle. Each time I visited the Las Vegas gang, leader Kanyinda would welcome me with the words “­Let’s go into the salle” (­Tokota salle). Then we would sit on a small wooden bench under a tree. The salle was significant to the members as it was a “­social space” (­Lefebvre, 2000) where they received guests, hung around, smoked weed and held reunions. However, the salle is a floating entity that could be placed anywhere. The location that hosts the salle becomes important and valuable but these qualities will be attributed to it only as long as it continues to be a suitable location for the salle. Indeed, when Las Vegas members were flooded out of their terrain in April 2006 by heavy rainfall (­­Figure 18.2), they moved the salle to another location: the covered entrance of the building named the Labor Inspectorate (­­Figure  18.3). After this relocation of the salle, the former location became meaningless. It was just a spot under a tree on a vacant plot adjacent to the boulevard, nothing more, nothing less. In addition to the valuation of it through naming, it is the human relations taking place at that location that give it value. According to Corsín Jiménez (­2003), this mode of making meaning is inherent to space: social relationships have the power to confer meaningfulness on a place despised by its inhabitants. By acting as a stage where particular social activities unfold, the value of a place increases. Space has this “­capacity,” as Corsín Jiménez puts it. In addition to a salle, a terrain usually contains a bureau, a space with a business connotation, denoting the place where drugs are dealt, sex sold and money handled. There are also specifically defined locations for cooking, washing and sleeping. Similar invisible demarcations

­Figure 18.2 Las Vegas’s turf after being flooded. Kanyinda standing on the right, April 2006

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­Figure 18.3 Members fooling around at the temporary site for Las Vegas’s salle at the Labour Inspectorate. From left to right: Sipi, Kewa and Le Blanc, May 2006

confine the territory at its limits. Although the place may be located in the open, without any visible boundaries and thus seemingly approachable from all sides (­there are no doors, obviously), it has only a limited number of points of entry. This limitation emerges partly from the territoriality of the (­temporary) local power that turns other Kinois (­everyone who is not a member of Las Vegas) into trespassers if they enter this gang’s space. It also emerges from daily practices of how gang members enter and exit the space. Time after time, Las Vegas members use the very same points of access to “­enter” the apparent openness of their terrain, as if passing over imaginary thresholds and so creating a space that is virtually indoors. All these spatial ­practices – ​­the marking of the territory, the delimiting of the territory, the naming of the t­erritory – ​­both display and strengthen a gang’s identity, allowing them to show what they stand for. Similar practices have also been observed in street gangs in South Africa (­Petrus & Kinnes, 2019) and in Congolese gangs in Brussels (­Van Hellemont, 2012). Kinshasa’s streets are particularly inviting to this kind of ­identity-​­constructing exercise (­Biaya, 2005). Musicians and dandies (­sapeurs) confirm their identity by showing off publicly. The outdoors, being the natural habitat of street gangs, enables them to develop a mode of territorial control and mental mastering of public places, thereby aiding the construction of their identities. This is why to affect their turf is a direct way to affect the heart of a gang. And this is precisely the strategy that city authorities adopt to get rid of street gangs.

Governmental Attempts to Clear Public Space In order to remove the bashege from public space, city authorities resort to two kinds of interventions: one that targets individuals and another that targets territories. The latter consists of interventions within the framework of spatial governmentality. This principle leads to “­new mechanisms of social ordering based on spatial regulation” (­Engle Merry, 2001, ­p. 16) that concentrate on spaces instead of individuals. With these mechanisms, authorities attempt to regulate people’s behavior by legally prohibiting particular conduct in particular places. 255

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A ban on smoking in railway stations, for instance, is one example. In the same manner, Kinshasa’s authorities try to deal with bashege by spatially confining their physical presence in public places. A much used strategy is to target the gangs’ territories indirectly, under the guise of sanitary operations. Governmental campaigns that, on the record, are intended to “­beautify” or “­modernize” the city, in reality often respond to the citizens who take up their spaces in urban centers and are actually intended to clear public space of these unwanted elements. This form of spatial governmentality consists of gentle but firm guidance of people’s behavior, even though they are officially intended to clear public space of dirt and not human beings. It helps that this logic of sanitizing the unclean has a large measure of support from society at large (­Rose, 2017). Similar intentions accompany cleansing campaigns in the urban centers of many countries in the Global South. In Mumbai, for instance, “­the drive to clean up the city, in effect, becomes inextricably linked with an attempt to purge the city of the poor” (­Fernandes, 2004, ­p. 2421). Governmental efforts to recover public space are often directed against street vendors (­see Donovan, 2008 for the case of Bogotá, and Bromley, 2000 for a global review). The main official rationale behind these cleansing campaigns is that “­the capital has to present to its distinguished guests the image of a peaceful and beautiful city” as Basile Ndjio (­2005, ­p. 265) has shown in Yaoundé in Cameroon. However, citizens do not readily give in to such governmental campaigns that aim to restrict their daily movements. As Ndjio (­2005, ­p. 266) argues, “­the governmental claim to exercise full control over the public sphere is incessantly challenged or weakened by popular practices of insubordination and impoliteness”. In Kinshasa, the operations carried out by police officers to destroy bashege turf are named: for example, Kin Propre (­A Clean Kinshasa) or Démolition des Constructions Anarchiques (­ Demolition of Anarchistic Constructions). These names fit the official purpose of the ­interventions – ​­to clear out the ­city – ​­but bashege suspect that the cleansing operations are part of a hidden agenda. In August 2005, for instance, Las Vegas turf was completely burned to the ground and the minimal infrastructure that was p­ resent – ​­the flattened remnants of the car and the wooden b­ ench – were taken away. As leader Kanyinda explained, police officers ​­ supposedly came to clear the terrain of rubbish but ended up destroying it completely. He believes that the real target was his gang as a whole and his suspicion was confirmed by the city’s mayor ( ­Jean Kimbunda Mudikela at that time) who was quoted in a website news article: We will no longer admit any anarchistic constructions in green areas, sullying the capital’s image… Through this action, we also fight against insanitary conditions and in addition we try to get rid of the h ­ ide-​­outs of bandits who create desolation among the citizens at night. (­Digital Congo, 2004) Complete obliteration of gang territories is one way of controlling the presence of street youth in public space. The ultimate goal set by the authorities is to demonstrate who is actually in charge. However, continuously reoccupying an area from which they have been chased out is a powerful signal transmitted by the users of public space no matter how futile their daily r­ e-​­appropriation may seem. In August 2005, it took the members of Las Vegas less than 24 hours to ­re-​­establish their turf on exactly the same spot. Sometimes, the cleansing measures are part of a broader plan to rearrange the city as a whole. In 2007, some major infrastructural interventions in public space fit into then President Kabila’s Cing Chantiers program that promised structural improvements in five domains: 256

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health care, housing, education, water and electricity and urban infrastructure. The campaign excelled in visibility as the Cing Chantiers program was announced on huge billboards all over town, showing what the capital city would look like in a few years. It was not hard for the Kinois to check the progress of the advertised promise of improved road infrastructure because the Chinese contractors directing the construction crews were conspicuous. As Pype (­2012) has shown, the visibility of these interventions made them a clear sign of political power just as it was intended to. Everyone could see that a change was being made. To Las Vegas, the infrastructural works meant a radical break with their terrain: to make room for a wider road, it was simply swiped away. On Christmas Eve 2012, gang member Fiston was released from jail after four years of detention he had served for an act of theft. The first thing that came to his mind was to look for his fellow members of Las Vegas. So he headed for the territory they used to occupy. To his great surprise, he did not succeed in locating it. While he was behind bars, Kinshasa’s appearance had undergone drastic changes as avenues were broadened, rows of trees cut down and slums flattened. Fiston was completely disorientated by the ­make-​­over of the urban environment he had known so well. Not only had the benchmarks on his mental map of the city been erased, his former turf had as well, pushing his peers to make a home elsewhere. Eventually, Fiston reunited with his peers by asking other Kinois about their whereabouts. The authorities are eager to display a positive image of the capital to visitors and because street youth do not fit into that picture, they sometimes employ s­hort-​­term measures; that is measures that last as long as the visitor is near. This kind of measure often affected Las Vegas. Indeed, since its territory was adjacent to the main road that connects the international airport to the city center, numerous foreign visitors passing by were able to glimpse the bashege’s appropriation of public space to make a living: the transactional sex, the selling of small bags of whiskey and cigarettes and the shoe shining. Whenever an important guest was expected, the whole Boulevard Lumumba was cleared of bashege. On March 19, 2006, I witnessed this course of action when then President Kabila accompanied the head of the Commission of the African Union to the airport. I was sitting with members of Las Vegas on their terrain some 30 minutes prior to the passage of the VIPs. Civil servants approached everyone along the sidewalks of the boulevard. The orders were clear. Bashege were to stay out of sight, bartenders were to close up and hawkers to withdraw their commodities from the roadside in order to provide the city with an image of cleanliness and order. Everyone did as they were told. However, just minutes after the cortège whizzed by, they quickly assumed their former positions. Another practice the city authorities employ is to harass the youngsters in the territories they occupy in a more brutal way. At times, individual police officers badger the street youth in order to extort a small amount of cash or stimulants. The police officers of the nearby office at L’Echangeur regularly pass by to take Las Vegas’ members to their office to beat them up and deprive them of everything they are c­ arrying – ​­not only money, cigarettes and weed, but even shoes (­­Figure 18.4). However, such physical aggression is ineffective in preventing them from returning to their turf.

Ineffectiveness of Governmental Campaigns What eventually disturbed the street gangs the most was a campaign to remove the urban bandits called kuluna (­see also De Faveri, 2014). Since 2003, these kuluna gangs of ­youngsters –​ ​­ been assaulting civilians in order to snatch their valuables. Their mode ­usually ­m ale – had of operation was straightforward: 15 to 30 kuluna members would encircle individuals who 257

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­Figure 18.4 Fiston after having been beaten up by police officers, February 2009.  Photo by the author

were having a beer in the open, or just walking by, and force them to hand over their money, phones and jewelry, while terrifying them by swinging machetes, sometimes slightly touching a cheek to leave a scar, thus increasing the assault’s impact (­Ntimasiemi  & Aghekian, 2013). Those who resisted were seriously injured as their lips or arms were cut off and, at times, they were even killed. The presence of the kulunas created a climate of fear in the city and the authorities were compelled to react. As Pierre Mwanamputu, the head of the media department for the campaign started two weeks later, something had to be done because the abundance of kulunas conveyed the impression that the state was no longer present in the capital city (­Bangré, 2013). They decided to launch a campaign. This merciless governmental campaign, named Opération Likofi, swept over the city of Kinshasa from November 15, 2013 to February 15, 2014. Likofi means an uppercut punch in the city’s colloquial language of Lingala, and this term describes precisely how the campaign was carried out. It aimed to eradicate the kuluna gangs that had been terrifying Kinois for years. However, while the city authorities wanted to free the citizens of this traumatizing harassment by launching the campaign, they ended up reinforcing the existing climate of fear instead. Indeed, in the wake of this campaign, street vendors, the homeless and street youth were chased down too, thereby increasing the impact of the campaign on the citizenry as a whole. This campaign did not even feign to beautify the environment. Instead, it openly targeted human beings with the underlying motive to show who was in power. However, as we will see, the campaign had only ­short-​­term results and failed to reach its goal over the long run. The concept of the campaign was simple. Masked police officers in open jeeps scoured the streets for kulunas, whom they then arrested. These arrests were executed in a rough manner, as I witnessed on January 6, 2014, while strolling around the busy Place Victoire in the neighborhood of Matonge. Two brightly colored jeeps, without license plates, filled with masked and armed police officers, with great ostentation and screeching tires, were hunting for presumed kulunas. The visibility of the Likofi officers was meant to communicate the 258

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effectiveness of the campaign and to convince the population that the government was in complete command of the situation. But their strategy was haphazard as there was no accurate way to identify accurately the members of a kuluna gang. The only criterion used was physical appearance: baggy pants, dreadlocks and tattoos. Unfortunately, this look happened to be generally popular in Kinshasa at the time; numerous youngsters could be taken for a kuluna. And, from the beginning of the campaign, citizens were actively involved. They could call a specific telephone number, broadcast on TV channels, and report seeing persons they suspected were members of a kuluna gang. This opened up possibilities for settling old scores with just anyone. All in all, Operation Likofi submerged the city of Kinshasa in fear. The Likofi campaign turned out to be especially rough for the bashege who hang out on streets on a permanent basis, having no place else to go, in contrast to the kulunas who can withdraw to their families’ homes which serve as safe havens. After assaulting civilians, kulunas – ​­many of which appeared to be sons of members of the military or police ­officers –​ r­ eturned home to hide their machetes and their loot. Numerous bashege reported that they feared the kuluna gangs and felt threatened by their presence. Living in public space, they are continuously exposed. In addition, since they are used to fighting with only simple means such as broken bottles, razor blades or their bare fists, they had little to defend themselves against youngsters armed with machetes. Due to the presence of kulunas, from 2010 onward, living in public space had become l­ife-​­threatening. As Kanyinda said, “­Our outdoor life is coming to an end” (­tokomi na suka ya libanda). In the words of another leader, “­we have become nomads” (­tokomi peuple nomade), forced to move from one turf to another. In brief, from the moment Opération Likofi was launched, bashege had two adversaries to fear: the kulunas on the one hand and the officers of the Likofi campaign on the other. As a result, they stopped hanging out at their usual sites to avoid possible arrest by police officers or harassment by kulunas. Although during its duration Opération Likofi affected virtually every citizen of Kinshasa and caused tremendous commotion, after the campaign ended in February 2014, everything went back to how it had been before. Vendors took up their previous spots; the homeless resettled on the sidewalks; and even the kuluna gangs returned to the streets. Likofi did not have any ­long-​­term result, nor did it change the way the public space is occupied and used in Kinshasa. Indirectly, the Operation Likofi did put an end to the Las Vegas gang. In January 2014, Likofi agents arrested the leader, Kanyinda, for selling drugs in public space. He was imprisoned and was only released in January 2020. While their leader was in prison, the members of his gang dispersed. Some joined relatives or friends in their homes; some left to try their luck in other cities, as Fiston did, who currently lives in Matadi. Today, Kanyinda and Le Blanc are the only two members left who still hang out on the streets, navigating between the homes of relatives and public spaces. By definition, street youth in Kinshasa lead their lives in public space so their negotiations for a place to settle are of vital importance. If their terrain is wiped out by police officers, it takes bashege less than 24 hours to reconstruct a home ­elsewhere – ​­or on the very same spot. These instant recoveries of turf are powerful moves. The message is clear: we, bashege, are here to stay and to be reckoned with. Their actions (­like that of the Kinois in general) are forceful enough to rearrange public space to their liking. Whether the counteractions from governmental authorities are cleansing operations or brutal police actions, street youth continue to pursue an interactive game, molding the urban environment to suit their needs. This molding is accompanied by an intensive mingling with other users of the same public space. Governmental actions are temporary measures and the gang members reconquer their territory over and over again. 259

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Implications Carrying out fieldwork among members of street gangs was an enriching experience. I started by chatting with street children, both in and outside shelters, in order to become familiar with a way of living that is by all means remote from my own. The aspect that most surprised me was that many among the street children gradually came to like living on the streets, although the first months of living in the outdoors were extremely difficult. Conditions in their former homes were often so harsh that living outdoors was only slightly more difficult, especially when at home there was little warmth or emotional support. Hanging around with peers who appreciated them seemed to be a valuable alternative to many. At a later stage, I decided to follow up with individuals who were grownups when I had met them but had been living on the streets on a permanent basis from childhood onward, at least for the last ten years. Building a relationship of trust went very gradually. I preferred to hold the conversations by myself so I learned the colloquial language to understand what street children and young adults were saying without any need for a translator. I discovered that street children usually have no idea of their exact age or their date of birth since they left home at a very early age. Lacking any sense of structured time that attending school provides, their sense of time is extremely fluid. When asked how many years they had spent on the streets, street children usually could not answer. The best way to find out was to ask how many bonana – ​­New Year’s Eve ­festivities – ​­they had spent on the street. Since this referred to a particular event that occurs every year, they could often remember how many they had experienced while living on the street. Also, to avoid undermining relationships of trust, I took care not to build relationships with members of rival gangs or with civil servants. I am often asked what can be done to prevent children from living on the streets in Kinshasa. It is my conviction that putting up some extra shelters will not be effective. The “­problem” is structural. The ­socio-​­economic situation in Kinshasa and in the Democratic Republic of Congo in general is such that a mouth to feed is usually a source of stress. Although Kinshasa is the capital city, the large majority of households have access to electricity and water on a very irregular basis and enjoy a meal just once a day. This is dire reality. Meanwhile, many journalists, NGO workers and others see street children as a ticking ­time-​­bomb, suggesting that sooner or later these children will become violent criminals and threaten the safety of all Kinois. I take issue with this assertion. My own research shows that once street children become adults, or once they become parents, the majority settle somewhere and pursue a more stable way of living. They often rent a small wooden shack which they can lock and where they can store modest belongings (­a fan, a radio, a mattress) and so they start living the way other Kinois do. It would be valuable for future researchers to further document this change in the way the street children live once they have family responsibilities. It would also be useful to learn how to mitigate the authorities’ bias against street children.

References Aghekian, R. (­Producer) & Ntimasiemi, D. & Aghekian, R. (­Directors). (­2013). Kinshasa mboka te. Belgium: ­Co-​­production Sens Uniek, DL Multimédia and Antenne A. Azia Dimbu, F. & Kakoma N’Dusu, J.-​­P. (­2018). Enfants de la rue à Kinshasa: être, faire et avoir dans la vie. EMPAN, 2018/­2(­110), ­112–​­118.

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Bangré, H. (­2 013, 11, 29). RDC: opération coup de poing contre les ‘­kuluna’ de Kinshasa. Retrieved from http://­w ww.jeuneafrique.com/­A rticle/­A RTJAWEB20131129120258/­­pauvrete-­​­­u nicef-­​­­justice-­​­­vol-­​­­ securiterdc-­​­­operation-­​­­coup-­​­­de-­​­­poing-­​­­contre-­​­­les-­​­­kuluna-­​­­de-​­k inshasa.html. Bayat, A. (­1997). ­Un-​­civil society: the politics of the ‘­informal people’. Third World Quarterly, 18(­1), ­53–​­72. Biaya, T. K. (­2005). Youth  & street culture in urban Africa. Addis Ababa, Dakar  & Kinshasa. In A.  Honwana  & F. De Boeck (­ Eds.). Makers  & breakers. Children  & youth in postcolonial Africa (­p­­p. ­215–​­228). Oxford: James Currey. Bodnar, J. (­2015). Reclaiming public space. Urban Studies, 51(­12), 2­ 090–​­2104. Braun, L.N. (­2018) ‘‘­­Débrouillez-​­vous’: Women’s work, transactional sex, and the politics of social networks. Ethnos, 1844, 1­ –​­19. Bromley, R. (­2000). Street vending and public policy: A global review. International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy, 20(­1/­2), ­1–​­19. Corsín Jiménez, A. (­2003). On space as a capacity. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 9(­1), ­137–​­153. De Boeck, F. & Plissart, M.-​­F. (­2004). Kinshasa. Tales of the invisible city. Tervuren: Ludion. de Certeau, M. (­2000). The practice of everyday life. Berkeley: University of California Press. De Faveri, S. (­2014). Witchcraft, violence and everyday life: an ethnographic study of Kinshasa. PhD thesis, Brunel University. Devlieger, C. (­2018). Contractual dependencies: Disability and the bureaucracy of begging in Kinshasa, democratic republic of Congo. American Ethnologist, 45(­4), ­455–​­469. Digital Congo. (­2004). Nous ne voulons plus voir les espaces verts encombrés par des constructions anarchiques qui ternissent l’image de la ­v ille-​­capitale.... Par cette action, nous cherchons aussi à lutter contre l’insalubrité et les cachettes de bandits qui sèment la desolation parmis la population la nuit. Retrieved from www.digitalcongo.net (­Accessed 16 September 2004). Donovan, M. G. (­2008). Informal cities and the contestation of public space: The case of Bogotá’s street vendors, ­1988–​­2003. Urban Studies, 45(­1), ­29–​­51. ­ arlementaires-​­debout et mobilisation partisane à Dugrand, C. (­2012). ‘­Combattants de la parole’: P Kinshasa. Politique Africaine, 127, ­49–​­69. Engle Merry, S. (­2001). Spatial governmentality and the new urban social order: Controlling gender violence through law. American Anthropologist, 103(­1), ­16–​­29. Fernandes, L. (­2004). The politics of forgetting: Class politics, state power and the restructuring of urban space in India. Urban Studies, 41(­12), ­2415–​­2430. Gondola, Ch. D. (­2016). Tropical cowboys. Westerns, violence, and masculinity in Kinshasa. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Kuyu Mwissa, C. (­1996). Zaïre: l’officiel contredit par le reel. Politique Africaine, 63, ­13–​­23. La Fontaine, J. S. (­1970). Two types of youth group in Kinshasa (­L éopoldville). In P. Mayer (­Ed.). Socialization. The approach from social anthropology (­pp­­ . ­191–​­214). London: Tavistock Publications. Lagae, J. (­2004). Modern living in the Congo: the 1958 Colonial Housing Exhibit and postwar domestic practices in the Belgian colony. The Journal of Architecture, 9, ­477–​­494. Lefebvre, H. (­2000). La production de l’espace (­4th ed.). Paris: Anthropos. Low, S. (­1996). Spatializing culture: The social production and social construction of public space in Costa Rica. American Ethnologist, 23(­4), ­861–​­879. Mianda, G. (­1996), Femmes Africaines et pouvoir. Les maraîchères de Kinshasa. Paris: Éditions l’Harmattan. Ndjio, B. (­2005). Carrefour de la joie: Popular deconstruction of the African postcolonial public sphere. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute, 75(­3), ­265–​­294. Petrus, T. & Kinnes, I. (­2019). New social bandits? A comparative analysis of gangsterism in the Western and Eastern Cape provinces of South Africa. Criminology & Criminal Justice, 19(­2), ­179–​­196. Pype, K. (­ 2012). Political billboards as contact zones. Reflections on urban space, the visual  & ­political affect in Kabila’s Kinshasa. In R. Vokes (­Ed.). Photography in Africa. Ethnographic Perspectives ­( ­p­­p. ­187–​­204). Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell & Brewer. Raymaekers, P. (­1963). L’organisation des zones de squatting. Elément de resorption du chômage structurel dans les milieux urbains des pays en voies de développement. Application au milieu urbain de Léopoldville. Louvain: Université Catholique de Louvain. Rose, J. (­2017). Cleansing public nature: landscapes of homelessness, health, and displacement. Journal of Political Ecology, 24, ­11–​­23. Trapido, J. (­2021). ‘­Masterless Men’; Riots, Patronage and the Politics of the Surplus population in Kinshasa. Current Anthropology, 62(­2), ­198–​­217.

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19 Using Public Space to Escape Violence and Social ­Exclusion in São Paulo, Brazil Daniel Jupp Kina and Lorraine van Blerk

Introduction This chapter presents the experiences of children and young people aged 12 to 18 years old in São Paulo city, Brazil who use public spaces to escape violence and social exclusion occurring in their home neighborhoods. Most of these children previously lived in neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city, places with high levels of deprivation and with limited access to public services such as health, education, leisure, and sanitation. São Paulo is currently the fifth largest city in the world with a population of more than 12 million people and while São Paulo is considered one of the wealthiest cities in Latin America, it also has one of the highest levels of social inequality and violence in the country (­I BGE, 2019). The children and young people whose views are presented in this chapter have experienced different types of violence in their lives and grew up having to find ways to protect themselves, creating strategies for accessing limited resources. In most cases, they were victims of domestic violence at home or faced violence within their communities, suffering the consequences of living in areas with a strong presence of organized crime. What these young people have in common is a life marked by extreme social exclusion and violence, a result of the failure of the state to provide security and positive experiences for them and their communities. One key strategy the young people use to escape violence and social exclusion is mobility (­van Blerk, 2005). They move within their neighborhood and beyond; they look for opportunities to earn money, to consume goods, to have fun and to feel included in society (­Langevang and Gough, 2009). In the literature, a variety of terms are used to refer to such children and young people, including “­street children”, “­­street-​­connected children” and “­children in street situations” (­Thomas de Benítez, 2011). This chapter draws upon research that utilizes the term “­children in street situations” to emphasize the circumstantial ­connection  – ​­rather than a fixed and permanent ­one – ​­that these young people have with the street and public spaces. This is also the term most in use by organizations in Brazil. The chapter draws from data collected for a doctoral research project completed in 2019 that analyzed relations of violence between children in street situations and police officers in São Paulo, with a focus on territorial relations and group dynamics. For that, the researcher DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-24

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engaged with 22 police officers, 15 practitioners/­social worker and 59 children utilizing a participatory action research approach for data collection, with interviews and street ethnography as the main forms of data input. Some key findings include a detailed description of the strategies children utilized to protect themselves and an ­in-​­depth understanding of the underlying culture of violence informing the decisions and actions of police officers. In this chapter, we present some of the strategies that children have developed to protect themselves and to escape violence while using public spaces in the city. We start by presenting the children’s rationale for leaving their neighborhoods of origin to use public spaces in the city center. The chapter then moves on to consider how children form groups to survive in the city and how group dynamics influence their daily lives. We then discuss the types of violence children face in the city and how they use public spaces to protect themselves from this violence. Finally, we present some conclusions and outline some implications for research and policy.

Children Occupying City Spaces For most children, being in the city is a result of a ­long-​­term condition of violence and state neglect that pushed them out of the neighborhoods where they were raised (­Bedoian and Lescher, 2018). These children are, in their own ways, looking for alternative forms of social inclusion, seeking better conditions in which to build their identities and to coexist in a society that has not provided for their basic needs and rights yet expects them to fit into its social and economic norms of consumption (­Bauman, 2000). Therefore, they are looking for ways of earning money to survive economically, but more importantly to find social acceptance in a society where the power to consume is key for identity construction. In that sense, earning money is important, but making friends, having new experiences, accessing entertainment, consuming goods and having fun are all important too. Mayara, one of the children who took part in the research, put it this way: I am not a homeless [person]. I am from a humble background, I stay on the street because I want to and because I like to. Do you understand me? I like being on the street, I don’t know why I like it, it is a ‘­crazy thing’. Every day you learn more. Do you understand? It has been seven years since I started to come here and hang around in the city center and every day I learn more stuff, I see lots of ‘­things’. Lots of crazy people come to the city center, everyday more people arrive (…) and you make more friends (…) people come from many places to hang here in the city center. It is very cool. (­Mayara, 15 years old, female) When talking about her reasons for being in the city, Mayara starts by stating that she is not a homeless person. Like many of her peers, Mayara came to the city not because of a lack of housing but to look for ways to feel included in society and to build alternative experiences for her life. She makes clear how social relationships are one of the main benefits of being in the city where she is able to meet people from “­m any places”, to “­learn more” things and to create her own community. Conticini and Hulme (­2007) have noted the importance of relationships for children in street situations, highlighting that by “­learning collective articulated experiences” (­­p. 212), children construct their collective identities and increase their sense of belonging, making relationships central to their development. In the same way, Gaetz et al. (­2013) argue that learning new skills in the company of other children is an effective way for children to feel included. For Mayara, the city center’s public spaces are where she will 264

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construct her new experiences and relationships. It is through these new experiences and relationships that Mayara will, in her view, be able to access things that she would not be able to access in her neighborhood of origin. Maziel, in contrast, describes his experiences while living in his neighborhood of origin: (…) where I come from [pause] the situation is very sad [looking down]. They [the politicians] don’t have the courage [or they don’t bother to] bring a single basic basket of goods for us. Do you know what I used to do, me and my sisters, when we didn’t have food at home? We would go to another neighborhood and beg. “­H i madam could you give me a pack of rice, we don’t have anything at home?” We used to go and ask all afternoon and we would get back home falling apart. They [the politicians] didn’t have courage to give a single basket of goods for us they don’t care… In reality we are forgotten …. (­Maziel, 15 years old, male) Maziel describes the difficulties of growing up on the outskirts of São Paulo in neighborhoods that historically have been neglected by the state. The lack of employment and income support and the absence of food banks led his family to face extreme poverty and hunger, pressuring Maziel and his sisters to find their own ways to get food. For Maziel, politicians and authorities have “­forgotten” these communities and do not have the “­courage” to provide basic subsistence. Wacquant (­2010) argues that one of the consequences of the adoption of neoliberal approaches to governance is an increase in social exclusion and stigmatization of communities that have historically been neglected. This l­ong-​­term process of stigmatization and marginalization is marked by a reduced presence of the state and its essential public services, turning neighborhoods into forgotten communities with high levels of poverty and violence. In São Paulo, the process of marginalization and stigmatization of communities has clearly influenced the social geography of the city, creating large peripheral areas with high levels of vulnerability and violence (­Villaça, 2011). Gesiel, one of the street support workers who took part in the research, describes this situation: … the section of the society which these young people and their family are part of [has] historically been deprived of conditions to have a good education. Historically these families had no access to good conditions to live. Historically these families have not had access to basic sanitation nor to good health service. And for not having this they stay in the periphery because society pushes them out, far from the city center.… The places where they come from have been forgotten, nobody sees what happens there. There is nothing there. For example, there is no cultural activities for the children, no sanitation or housing programs, so the problem starts there. (­G esiel, practitioner, male) Gesiel describes some of the conditions of peripheral neighborhoods where most children come from. Like Maziel, Gesiel refers to these neighborhoods as places that have been “­forgotten” and where “­nobody sees what happens”. The near absence of the state means that, as described by participants, people are being deprived of basic services such as sanitation, quality health care and education. These communities are also affected by criminal groups who benefit from the fact that “­nobody sees what happens there” and so take ­control – ​­to a certain e­ xtent – of ​­ the neighborhoods. The Primeiro Comando da Capital (­PCC, in English ­First Command of the Capital) is particularly dominant in Sao Paulo neighborhoods, being the largest criminal organization in Brazil with over 30,000 members 265

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and controlling over 90% of the prisons (­Coutinho, 2019). The PCC dominates drug trafficking and has a monopoly over the drug market in São Paulo and beyond. The group has accumulated significant capital and political power and can override any potential role of the formal state in “­forgotten” communities, creating its own rules and heavily influencing the daily lives of local people, including children (­Biderman et al., 2018). As well as facing violence between the state and organized crime, children experience other forms of violence, including domestic violence, sexual abuse, drug misuse and alcoholism, all of which have a high prevalence in São Paulo’s peripheral neighborhoods (­SEADE, 2010). To protect themselves from such violence, children use mobility as a strategy, moving within and beyond their own neighborhoods in order to stay safe and to survive. They usually end up in spaces where they can access resources such as food, money and leisure, but they also tend to choose places where they are visible to society for the protection that visibility provides as opposed to staying in a place where “­nobody sees what happens” and where there is no accountability for violence towards them. However, being in public spaces is also not safe, as children are exposed to public hostility and police violence. Yet, the children consider being in public space a reasonable option, given that the context they grew up in normalized violence, treating it as trivial in their lives. They experience other advantages of the city as well. Julio makes his argument for “­choosing” to be in public space: You are telling me that the street is dangerous and that I shouldn’t go there, but when I am there I have friends. I have fun. Sometimes I hide in between people queuing and go into the cinema. Other times people would give me some McDonald’s food, I play all the time and I have money to buy clothes and stuff for myself. I even have a mobile phone and sometimes I have other things. ( ­Julio, 12 years old, male) ( ­Jupp Kina, 2014) When asked about the bad things of being on the street, Julio acknowledged that he felt fear and anxiety sometimes, especially when having disagreements and fights with other children, security guards or police officers. But his central point was that these feelings were not anything worse than what he was used to feeling in his life in the past. ( ­Jupp Kina, 2014) For Julio, access to consumer goods, food and leisure ­activities – ​­such as going to the park, cinema, practicing sports or taking part in arts and crafts ­workshops – ​­were the main reasons to “­choose” to be in the city center. His words also indicate the high levels of violence he was experiencing but they were not seen as significant enough to make him hesitate to spend a period of his life there. Julio’s views illustrate some of the effects of extreme social exclusion and state neglect that contribute to normalizing violence in the lives of children growing up in “­forgotten” communities. The words of Mayara, Maziel and Julio reveal their motivations to be in public spaces in the city center of São Paulo despite the associated dangers and violent experiences.

Living in Groups Social relationships are crucial for children to achieve some level of protection as well as access to other resources. In using public spaces, children are exposed to high levels of hostility 266

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and violence. During the s­even-​­month period of data collection for this research, four children were killed due to direct or indirect action by the police or security forces. Children reported several cases of police brutality, including torture (­physical and psychological), crime, forging (­when fake crime evidence is produced), illegal arrests and corruption during the same period. For protection, most children will j­oin – ​­or ­form – ​­peer groups and adopt collective strategies to survive in such a hostile environment. Groups have different strategies depending on their collective identity, local resources and, more importantly, the characteristics of the public spaces available to them. Among themselves, children refer to their groups using the term maloca, a slang word that refers to a humble home that accommodates lots of people. Marta explains what a maloca is: Maloca is a bunch of minors with some majors [adults]. Everybody sleeps together and if someone messes up with us they will be beaten because it is one for all and all for one. But sometimes we fight between us too. (­Marta, 14 years old, female) Marta’s definition exposes some of the complexities of the dynamics of a maloca. Although malocas are the main strategy children use to protect themselves, the group is not always cohesive and conflicts between members are common occurrences. Relationships within malocas are complex and dynamic with members constantly joining and leaving the group although the identity of the group tends to remain relatively stable. This is because the geographical locations and the characteristics of the public s­paces – ​­such as the intensity of police patrols or the concentration of restaurants and offices in the a­ rea – ​­shape their collective identity by directly influencing the way the group earns money and how they access food and drink and spend their leisure time. Most malocas are set in spaces where children can have some sort of protection from the rain such as buildings with a veranda or under bypasses and viaducts. To be able to use those spaces, children must leave little to no trace of their presence during the day, while they are out and about. For this reason, they do not build any structures and tend to carry their personal belongings with them in a backpack or carrier bag. Most malocas are started by an individual or a small group of children who identify and occupy a small area in a public space and are later joined by other c­ hildren – ​­or adults, more rarely. This process of occupation of public spaces by children is similar to the formation of communities in São Paulo’s peripheries in the past century when large numbers of people migrated to São Paulo to access ­resources  – ​­especially ­employment  – ​­that were not available in less developed parts of the c­ ountry – ​­particularly the northeast (­Mesquita et al., 2011). For both children and migrants, a key part of the process is to observe the chosen space for a certain period of time to assess the risks and benefits of it. Marta describes the process of forming one of the malocas: I started and I own the ‘­Subway’ maloca ….Each maloca has been formed by someone. There is someone who says ‘­Hey let’s hang over there’ and then others start to come and ask ‘­Hey can I sleep here?’ and then we say ‘­Yes of course’ and then when you realize there is a lot of people and then we form a family. [For example] I have my street father and my street mother and they both are majors [adults] and they stay with me on the street. (­Marta, 14 years old, female) 267

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Marta highlights the casualness of the process. She reveals three important roles in the children’s group relationships: the maloca’s owner, the street mother and the street father. These are leadership roles that shape each group’s identity by setting rules for the group, deciding if other children can join them or if someone needs to leave the group. The owner is the person who started the maloca and who is usually a child with good knowledge of the area and who has already assessed how safe the location is and has mapped all places where useful resources are available such as food and places to undertake personal hygiene. The role of street mother or street father involves looking after other children and mentoring inexperienced members. They will help others adapt to street life and protect them from abuse. Maloca leaders play an essential role in influencing the daily activities of the group. For example, in the extract above, Marta refers to her maloca with the name “­Subway”. This is because the location Marta chose is next to a restaurant named Subway, which is one of the main sources of food for that group. Marta’s Subway maloca is set on the sidewalk under the veranda of one of the buildings. Depending on weather conditions, Marta’s maloca tends to move between the sidewalks on either side of the street, as shown in F ­ igure 19.1. The Subway maloca is in an area with a high concentration of offices, making it very busy during office hours and quieter at night. Restaurants in the area are often very busy during the day and children have a better chance to get food through begging. Usually, office worktheir employers to cover their ers in Brazil receive prepaid debit c­ ards – ​­meal v­ ouchers – from ​­ daily meals. So the demand for restaurants is extremely high. Another important factor is that the Subway restaurant and other fast food restaurants mostly sell meal ­combos – ​­main meal, side dish and a ­d rink – ​­which are cheaper than single items. As a result, people buy side dishes or drinks even if they are not planning to consume them. Then they leave these restaurants, carrying the unwanted items and look for someone to give them to on the street. This makes it easier for children from the Subway maloca to source food and drink, giving them more time to focus on other needs. When selecting a space to create a maloca, safety is another key aspect that groups need to assess. Children spend most of the day on the go, moving between different places in the

­Figure 19.1 Subway maloca area. Photo by Eduardo Medina

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city to access different resources. However, at night they return to their malocas to meet their friends and to sleep. Consequently, it is important that their maloca is located in a space where their presence will cause few conflicts with other local actors, including residents, business owners, security guards and police officers. For this reason, malocas are usually located in public spaces near commercial areas where businesses are closed at night, and the streets and sidewalks are quieter. However, although spending the night in quieter areas may reduce conflicts with local actors, it can also increase the risk of abuse and violence from police and security guards who feel freer to use violent approaches in areas that are out of sight of the general public. Marta further describes the challenges of choosing a safe place for her maloca: We need to see if the police will not ‘­create problems’. Sometimes if you hang around a place, the police come and won’t let you stay there at all. But at the Subway we hang and there is a camera that records everything ... When I started that maloca I spent two days observing the space and then I realized that they were not coming there. Then I saw a guy sleeping next to it, alone. The next day, I saw him sleeping there again. Then I realized that no one would kick us out there, only the police. Then I invited my [street] father, my [street] mother and we started with five people only, and then later other people came to join. (­Marta, 14 years old, female) In Marta’s description of how she chose a safe place for her maloca, she describes observing the space for a few days and assessing the probability of conflicts. The space she selected to start the maloca is in view of CCTV (­closed circuit television) located at one of the local businesses. Marta believes that this will increase the group’s safety. Although CCTV may not completely prevent abuse and violence toward her maloca, it may well reduce the possibility of them suffering more severe forms of violence, including being tortured or killed. In other words, and somewhat ironically, their safety depends on a balance between visibility and invisibility. Therefore, children must remain “­invisible” to minimize conflicts with local actors but at the same time they need to be seen by the public to minimize the chances of being subjected to severe forms of violence. Using a similar approach to form their groups, several other malocas were active at the time of this research. Each maloca had its particular characteristics that were directly shaped by the features of the area in which they were situated and the available resources. For example, this included tourist areas with access to earning opportunities through pickpocketing or begging, areas with high concentrations of offices and restaurants providing sources of food or transport hubs with a greater flux of people and access to employment and earning opportunities. This is similar to the situation of children in street situations in other parts of the world. For example, Young (­2003) reports that in Kampala, Uganda, different public spaces are useful for different activities, with hidden places used for washing clothes and bodies and for eating and socializing whereas crowded spaces are important sources of food and earning money. In São Paulo, ten different malocas participated in this research and each was based in a different location in the city center, utilizing criteria similar to Marta for picking their locations. ­Figure  19.2 shows the malocas locations and the key indicates their different features. For example, malocas 1 to 4 are in an extremely busy area of the city center with pedestrianized streets and an intense flux of people (­see ­Figures 19.3 and 19.4). According to the children, in these areas, there are fewer opportunities for begging because it is one of the main transportation hubs with many people moving through it quickly, changing between different public transport lines, going to work or to access tourist sites in other parts of the city. 269

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­Figure 19.2 Location of ten different malocas that participated in the research

­Figure 19.3 Two sites of malocas: (­a) and (­b) Maloca Soil 2; (­c) and (­d) Maloca Soil 1

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­Figure 19.4 Sites of Malocas Angu 1 and Angu 2.  Although this photo was taken during a quiet time of the day, this area is usually busy during office hours with a heavy flux of office workers, tourists and local people. Photo by Eduardo Medina

The research diary extract below illustrates this further by showing that children here engage in pickpocketing. I was speaking to Ricardo [14 years old, male]. According to him if you stay in the malocas down here [in the old center] like Angu and Soil Square, it is very difficult to get food. People don’t give money or food. Maybe because it is too crowded, or maybe because historically it is a region where pickpocketing is intense so you know that the guys from those regions do a lot of stealing (…) (Research diary extract) In contrast, malocas 5, 6, 9 and 10, including the Subway maloca, are located in an area with a higher concentration of offices and restaurants. This means that children here are more accustomed to begging as described below: Ricardo said that in Carioca area it is different. Up there, they need to be discrete and not cause trouble, so they are not kicked out by business owners and people who live there. Some people, mostly those who work in the offices in the area, tend to give them food. Also, some cafes and restaurants give them leftover food. Other times, customers from McDonalds and Subway also hand them the leftovers of their meals. (Research diary extract) Here, Ricardo explains the difference between malocas in the two different areas. According to him, children from malocas 1 through 4 (­in ­Figure 19.2) in Angu and Soil Square have 271

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fewer opportunities to receive food or money by begging as the area has an intense flux of people and a reputation for high levels of petty crime which discourages the public from interacting with the children. As a result, children in these areas tend to be more involved in illegal activities such as pickpocketing and theft. In contrast, in the Carioca area (­malocas 5 and 6 in F ­ igure 19.2), children tend to receive food and money through begging. So here they need to play by the rules and be discreet in order to keep receiving food from restaurant customers. It is important to emphasize that, although the identities of malocas are directly related to their particular area and its public space, members of each maloca are not necessarily tied to that area. During the daytime, children tend to circulate between different areas to access resources and there are no territorial tensions between children from different malocas.

Surviving in the City In São Paulo, public spaces are part of children’s daily lives, providing basic resources for their survival. The strategic location of malocas is key to children’s safety during the night. However, most groups are not able to spend time in their malocas during the day as the city becomes busier as businesses and restaurants open, creating a far more intense flux of people. For this reason, during the day, children tend to circulate throughout the city spending most of their time being mobile, using a variety of public spaces to keep safe and to find food and money, to pursue leisure ­activities – ​­such as going to the park, cinema, practicing ­sports – ​­to find shelter from the weather and ways to conduct personal hygiene. The fluidity of their daily lives makes them use public spaces in an organic way, interacting with spaces according to the changing rhythms of the city. This research illuminated the ­fast-​­paced, fluid lifestyle children pursue during the day. Later I saw one of the boys [who I have met before] and he was with another boy walking down the road ahead of me. I tried to catch up with them and get closer so then they could see me so that I could talk to them. They were walking at a fast pace and it took some time for me to catch up with them. When I finally managed to get closer to them (­a fter about 20 minutes having walked a long distance), they stopped in front of a restaurant and one of them walked in while the other stayed at the door. I kept walking, and slowly walked past him to make sure he would see me and recognize me. He looked at me and seemed to recognize me. I smiled and said hello, and stopped for a brief chat. Although he replied with a ‘­hello’, he didn’t seem so sure about talking to me and was very short in his answers, staring into the restaurant all the time, looking very apprehensive. (­Research diary extract) As described above, this researcher met children during the day while they were moving around the city, walking or using public transport or looking for resources to meet their needs. As described in the research diary extract above, the two boys were not walking at random; they were going to a restaurant to beg for food. Later, it emerged that one of the ­boys – ​­the one who entered the r­ estaurant – ​­had been there before when he had asked if he could return another day to get more food. This is one example of how children develop relationships with different actors and adopt b­ ehavior – such as being d­ iscreet – to ​­ ​­ maintain those relationships for as long as possible. In this case, the children had to try to collect food without disturbing any consumers. For this reason, only one boy entered the restaurant, 272

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while the other boy waited quietly outside. After collecting the food, they went to a small park nearby and sat on a bench in a discreet corner to eat their food. The fluidity of children’s daily lives suggests that their ideas of time and space are based on a daily temporal rhythm rather than around office clock hours. The same characteristic was observed by Young (­2003) in Kampala, Uganda where children used public spaces in a fluid way according to the availability of resources. In the same way, in São Paulo, children time their activities and locations based on the dynamics of the city and the flux of people occupying public spaces. Large events happening such as demonstrations, the presence or absence of police, availability of support services, traffic rush hours and weather conditions all directly influence the rhythms of the city, offering more or fewer opportunities for children to access resources. In these ways, it is important for children to act and react in response to the flux of people in city spaces, which makes their daily routines unpredictable. One key aspect of the children’s unpredictable routines is the dialectic between visibility and invisibility. At certain times, children make sure they are seen, visible to other social actors whose presence provides a degree of protection. At other times and for other reasons (­such as to pickpocket), they aim to blend into the environment and remain anonymous. Their desire for invisibility is also related to how much hostility they are likely to receive from other social actors in that space. In general, children in street situations are highly stigmatized and often perceived as undesirable by the society and the state (­Ursin, 2016). The stigma they face is often used to justify violence towards them with the intention of removing them from places where they are seen as undesirable (­R izzini, 2014). For this reason, children constantly manage the way they use public spaces in order to minimize conflicts with local actors, specifically the police. Marta gives an example: Now the police officers are watching and chasing us because the “­m iserable” people that live in the building opposite are complaining, saying that we make the place dirty. (­Marta, 14 years old, female) Marta was describing one of the many moments where she and her group were under threat from the police, the result of growing tension between people living in a nearby apartment block and the children. It is important to observe that the main concern of the local people was the cleanliness of the public space, not the ­well-​­being of the children. This attitude is common not only among members of the general public but also among local authorities and police officers. Children are often forced to leave spaces in order to remove them from sight and thereby create the impression that the problem does not exist in that area (­R izzini, 2014). Similar approaches have been used in other countries. For example, in Cape Town, South Africa local police used repressive and violent methods to remove children from public spaces, “­cleaning up” key parts of the city in preparation for the FIFA football world cup (­van Blerk, 2013). In São Paulo, local authorities, including the police, also often use strategies for “­cleaning up” public spaces. As a result, children face daily attempts to push them away from areas where they are seen as disruptive to economic activities. Madson describes this. Yeah, it is under [near] the Chaplin bridge, between the bridge and the metro station gate, there is a patch of grass, a place with trees behind the mall … Nearly every day they [the police] wake us up with kicks … and they want to take our mattresses and blankets and we don’t let them. (­Madson, 16 years old, male) 273

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Here, Madson describes the location and characteristics of his maloca (­number 4 in ­Figure 19.2). During the day, this area has an intense flux of many people moving between different public transport lines, people who work in the area and tourists. There is also a high concentration of shops, bars, cafes and offices, making the area one of the most economically relevant in the city. For these reasons, local government and the police ­often – ​­if not ­d aily – ​­approach malocas with hostility and use physical violence, such as that described by Madson, as well as confiscating children’s belongings in attempts to make them leave the area. In most cases, children leave for only a short time and return to their location to ­re-​­establish their malocas the following night. In many cases, the tension between police officers and malocas becomes intense enough to result in severe physical violence. The case narrated by Neilton below reveals some of the common types of violence children often face. He [a police officer] held me, and I was saying, ‘­Wait sir, you don’t need to do this’. He said, ‘­I am not f***ing waiting. We are the ones who tell you what to do’. He grabbed me by the neck and started to press my throat. I started to lose my breath. I couldn’t breathe, so I started to tap on his hand. Another officer came with a knife and then scratched me here (­showing me a small cut on his hand). They said they were going to peel my tattoo off. And they started to talk between them, saying that they could put fifty kilos of marijuana on us, saying that they would only need to call one of his friends who could bring any drug they asked so they could forge us … He said he had been internally investigated three times and that it wouldn’t make any difference to be investigated once again. He was still holding my neck. I had to stay in silence. I stopped talking after that. My throat was still hurting. Bastards … They kept threating me and calling me rubbish, I was very angry and crying but couldn’t say anything. Otherwise they would break me in pieces. (­Neilton, 17 years old, male) In the situation described by Neilton, he was smoking cannabis with two friends while walking across a large, open square in the city center. The police officers responsible for patrolling that area knew Neilton from previous encounters. It is likely that the police intervention was motivated by more than his cannabis possession. The police officers did not press any charges against Neilton (­a lthough consuming cannabis is illegal in Brazil) and released him and his friends after about two hours of physical and psychological harassment. This is a clear indication that the police officers did not intend to apply the law and stop the illegal activities, but instead to pressure Neilton and other malocas in the area to disband. It is important to emphasize here that, according to Brazilian law, the presence of malocas in public spaces is not illegal. Police officers and local authorities adopt such strategies of “­cleansing the built environment and the streets” of the disruption that children’s presence can cause to local businesses (­Wacquant, 2008:199). Other cases reported in this research suggest that physical and psychological harassment is one of the strategies that police officers use in an attempt to push them out of areas that are considered economically important such as tourist areas or areas with a high concentration of businesses. In addition to physical and psychological harassment, Neilton describes how the police officers threatened him by saying that they could call a colleague who would bring “­fi fty kilos of marijuana” to produce fake evidence of drug trafficking to arrest him for a longer period. Other children in the research also mentioned cases where police used fake evidence as a strategy to remove children. With such illegal practices, police officers have the power to change facts and manipulate situations with no accountability, producing their 274

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own “­state of exception” (­Agamben, 2005: 55) and placing children in extremely vulnerable positions. Given the imbalance of power between children and police, coupled with a lack of ­advocacy services to guarantee children’s human rights, their only option is to keep ­mobile, using the public spaces of the city to remain invisible and to avoid conflict. Children circulate between various parts of the city, sometimes joining other malocas, and at other times staying away from the city center altogether for a short period of time. In this way, children are constantly moving within a “­circuit” (­L esher and Bedoian, 2007: 22) formed by a number of public spaces such as open squares, sidewalks, under bridges and viaducts, within and outside the city center. This circuit may also include protective institutions, such as children’s shelters (­protective accommodation) in more severe cases of threat and prisons, if they are caught committing crimes. In this way, public spaces are an important resource for children, as are the routes and connections between public spaces that form the circuit. Within the circuit, children are constantly mobile, moving away from different sources of violence in the same way that they moved from home to street to avoid violence in their communities.

Conclusion and Policy Implications This chapter presented experiences of children who are using public spaces to escape violence and extreme social exclusion in their home communities in São Paulo, Brazil. These children grew up in the outskirts of the city in extremely deprived neighborhoods that had been “­forgotten” – ​­or highly n ­ eglected – ​­by local authorities, with very few opportunities to access adequate education, basic sanitation, health services, social support, leisure activities and security. In addition, in most of these neighborhoods, there is a strong presence of organized crime that utilizes corruption and violence to control the area and to resist police interventions. For the children whose views are presented in this chapter growing up in contexts of violence and extreme social exclusion has contributed to normalizing violence in their lives. Most of them were forced to learn how to protect themselves with little or no support from adults or from the state. With very few options to choose from, children become highly mobile to move away from the sources of violence and to seek social inclusion in a society where consuming goods is key for individuals to be visible and included. These children circulate within their neighborhoods and then beyond, with some ending up in public spaces in the city where there are more opportunities to earn money, to access food, leisure and to have new experiences. For these children, public spaces in the city become the most important resource in their ​­ face on a daily lives despite the high levels of ­v iolence – ​­particularly police ­v iolence – they basis, forcing them to constantly create strategies for surviving in the city. Living in ­g roups –​ ​­ adopting flexible, mobile, and fluid daily routines are two of the fundamental ­malocas – and strategies that children use to access essential resources and to achieve some level of safety while using public spaces. This means that their daily lives are completely dependent on the dynamic rhythm and conditions of the city’s public spaces, making children’s use of space and time unpredictable. The experiences of children presented in this chapter highlight a significant consequence of state neglect and the marginalization of peripheral neighborhoods. The normalization of violence in their lives may create the impression that being in public spaces in such a hostile environment is a reasonable way to achieve social inclusion. However, as argued in 275

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this chapter, while in public spaces children are constantly face the risk of being killed or ­experiencing severe forms of violence and abuse. The conditions that have pushed children to use public spaces in the city center are mostly a result of historic neglect of neighborhoods on the outskirts of the city that have become places with extreme levels of violence and social exclusion. For these reasons, the presence of children in public spaces is a major symptom of a deep structural failure of the state to provide those neighborhoods with basic human conditions for people and for the development of those communities. Therefore, any significant policy interventions should focus on addressing this structural failure in order to give these children and their home communities adequate services and positive life path choices. However, once in the city center, it is clear that children using public spaces do not receive much social s­upport – ​­in terms of frequency or intensity. At the time of this research, there was only one active social service for children in street situations that offered drop in sessions on its premises and outreach to children with one to one and group support. However, this service was closed by the local authorities only a few months after the end of data collection, leaving children with no support whatsoever. It also became clear that the state service children come into contact with most frequently is the police through their often violent interventions. This demonstrates that local authorities prioritize security policies over social policies to address a problem that is clearly a social problem. This research also highlights the need for local authorities to reassess the nature of the condition of children living in public spaces. The goal should be to create systems that effectively preserve children’s rights and improve living conditions in their neighborhoods of origin at the same time as providing adequate access to basic services such as education, culture, sports, health and social support. This would help prevent their migration to the city center. This research also highlights the importance of conducting further research to support the design of systems of support for children in street situations and their communities in the context of neoliberal policies where the tendency to reduce investment in the welfare system undermines the sustainability of protective institutions. This could contribute to the development of new funding for the sustainability of such institutions, strengthening the protection system and increasing their advocacy power to hold local and national governments accountable for the living conditions of children in street situations and their communities.

References Agamben, G. (­2005). State of Exception. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Bauman, Z. (­2000). Trabajo, consumismo y nuevos pobres. Barcelona: Gedisa Editorial. Bedoian, G. and Lescher, A. (­2018). Refugiados Urbanos: Rematriamento de Crianças em Situação de Rua. 1st edn. São Paulo: Editora Peirópolis. Biderman, C. et al. (­2018). Pax Monopolista and Crime: The Case of the Emergence of the Primeiro Comando da Capital in São Paulo. Journal of Quantitative Criminology, 35, ­573–​­605. Conticini, A. and Hulme, D. (­2007). Escaping Violence, Seeking Freedom: Why Children in Bangladesh Migrate to the Street. Development and Change, 38(­2), ­201–​­227. Coutinho, L. (­2019). The Evolution of the Most Lethal Criminal Organization in ­Brazil-​­the PCC. PRISM, 8(­1), ­56–​­67. Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia Estatística. (­2019). Pesquisa Nacional por Amostra de Domicílios Contínua. Retrieved from https://­w ww.ibge.gov.br/­estatisticas/­sociais/­t rabalho/­­17270-­​­­pnad- ​­continua.html Gaetz, S., O’Grady, B., Buccieri, K., Karabanow, J. and Marsolais, A. (­2013). Youth Homelessness in Canada: Implications for Policy and Practice. Toronto: Canadian Homelessness Research Network. Jupp Kina, D. (­2014). Leaving Home: Reflection of a Boy’s Journey, Researching Street Connected Children and Youth. Retrieved from https://­researchingstreetconnectedchildren.wordpress.com/­2014/­02/­27/­­leaving­​­­home-­​­­reflections-­​­­of-­​­­a-­​­­boys-​­journey/#­more-​­115

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Langevang, T. and Gough, K. V. (­2009). Surviving through Movement: The Mobility of Urban Youth in Ghana. Social & Cultural Geography, 10(­7 ), ­741–​­756. Lesher, A. D., and Bedoian, G. (­2007). Textos de Apoio. São Paulo: Setor de Ensino Projeto Quixote. Mesquita, M., Restivo, S. and D’Ambrosio, U. (­2011). Asphalt Children and City Streets. Rotterdam: Sense. Rizzini, I. (­2014). Política Social com Foco sobre a População em Situação de rua Relatório Final. Rio de Janeiro: EUROsociAL II Programa para la Cohesión Social en América Latina. SEADE (­2010). Índice Paulista de Vulnerabilidade. São Paulo: Governo do Estado de São Paulo. Thomas de Benítez, S. (­2011). State of the World’s Street Children: Research. London: Consortium for Street Children. Ursin, M. (­2016). Contradictory and Intersecting Patterns of Inclusion and Exclusion of Street Youth in Salvador, Brazil. Social Inclusion, 4(­4), 39. van Blerk, L. (­2005). Negotiating Spatial Identities: Mobile Perspectives on Street Life in Uganda. Children’s Geographies, 3(­1), ­5 –​­21. van Blerk, L. (­2013). New Street Geographies: The Impact of Urban Governance on the Mobilities of Cape Town’s Street Youth. Urban Studies, 50(­3), ­556–​­573. Villaça, F. (­2011). São Paulo: segregação urbana e desigualdade. Estudos Avançados, 25(­71), ­37–​­58. Wacquant, L. (­2008), Relocating Gentrification: The Working Class, Science and the State in Recent Urban Research. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 32(­1), ­198–​­205. Wacquant, L. (­2010). Insegurança social e surgimento da preocupação com a segurança. Panóptica, 1(­ 19), ­198–​­213. Young, L. (­2003). The “­Place” of Street Children in Kampala, Uganda: Marginalisation, Resistance, and Acceptance in the Urban Environment. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 21(­5), ­607–​­627.

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Part VI

Celebration

20 Parades in Manhattan Transforming Public Space Karen A. Franck

Introduction Band after band marches up Fifth Avenue, filling the air with the sounds of drums, bag pipes, flutes, trumpets and French horns. Majorettes, in matching short skirts, twirl their batons as they step high in unison and in perfect synchrony with the rhythm of the band behind them. Some band members wear uniforms; others wear kilts. Members of high school and college bands wear their school colors. Marching contingents of police officers and fire fighters wear their uniforms. Spectators, lining the sidewalk, clap, cheer, shout and wave. Some parade participants wave back. Many spectators are dressed in green and some have dyed their hair green for this is the annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Like all parades, the annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade suspends the daily routines of urban life by transforming streets and sidewalks, and sometimes parks and squares, into sites of display and celebration. They bring a great many people, both participants and spectators, into contact with each other in an organized but also joyful manner. Like all parades, the St. Patrick’s Day Parade touches upon the three themes of this ­handbook – ​­the use, design and management of public space. Parades are held for a variety of reasons. And what they look like and what they sound like vary as do the number of participants and spectators. However, all parades share one essential feature: participants proceed along a roadway in a predetermined sequence, while spectators watch from adjacent sidewalks and buildings that line the parade route. In Manhattan, the route is nearly always a wide, historically significant avenue that runs north/­south, most often Broadway or Fifth Avenue. Another feature they share is that they require extensive planning and preparation. To learn more about historic and contemporary parades in Manhattan, I drew information from published books and journal articles; civic and other websites; online newspaper articles, film footage and photographs. In this chapter, details about parades held in the 18th and 19th centuries were largely taken from Day of Jubilee: The Great Age of Public Celebrations in New York, ­1788–​­1909 by Brooks McNamara (­1997). I also drew upon my own observations of six parades and one rally: the Halloween parade in October 2019; the Veterans Day Parade in November 2019; the Essential Workers Parade in May 2021; the rally at the DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-26

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conclusion of the Queer Liberation March in June 2021; the Steuben German Day Parade in September 2021; the Chinese Lunar New Year Parade in February 2022 and the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in March 2022. In order to make sense of the information I had collected about individual parades and to present that information, beyond presenting a series of case studies, I developed three conceptual frameworks. They are: (­1) a typology of Manhattan parades based on the reasons for holding them; (­2) the groups of people that make Manhattan parades possible and the relationships between those groups; and (­3) the stages or “­life” of a parade.

Reasons for Holding Parades I identified six reasons for holding parades in Manhattan and used the resulting typology to classify individual parades. (­See ­Table 20.1 for the entire typology and the frequency of particular parades.)

To Celebrate and Display a Group or Cultural Identity New York has long been a city of immigrants. So it is not surprising that the most frequent parades are those held to celebrate a group identity and to display that identity to the public. These parades also serve to strengthen the sense of identity and collectivity within the group itself. Two key questions can arise. What is the group’s identity and how should that identity be celebrated and displayed? Differing answers to these questions can generate intense conflict between the parties who have a vested interest in the parade. The largest parade in Manhattan by far is the annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade celebrating Irish identity. The parade dates back to March 17, 1762 when Irish Catholic immigrants celebrated the birth of St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland. These immigrants had just begun arriving in New York in large numbers to escape the famine caused by the potato blight in Ireland. They much appreciated the freedom they found in the U.S. to wear green and to sing and to play Irish tunes, practices forbidden in Ireland which was then controlled by England. And so they did that on St. Patrick’s Day with a parade. Irish Protestants expressed strong disapproval of these parades, held by Irish Catholic immigrants, which they considered rowdy. The Protestants, who had immigrated much earlier, were members of the middle class and celebrated St. Patrick’s Day with fancy dinners.1 Two hundred and t­wenty-​­nine years later another, a more extended conflict arose over what the Irish identity is and how it should be celebrated. Starting with its creation in 1836, the Ancient Order of the Hibernians (­AOH), an Irish Catholic conservative charity, organized, produced and directed the parade. Like all parade sponsors, it reviewed and accepted or rejected applications from groups who wished to participate in the parade. In that role, from 1991 to 2016, the AOH repeatedly rejected applications from the Irish Lesbian and Gay Organization (­ILGO) to participate in the parade as a unit with its own identifying banner. Over the years, the AOH gave various rationales for their decision but the underlying reason remained the same. The Irish identity which this conservative, a­ll-​­male Catholic charity wished to celebrate and to display to the wider public was exclusively a heterosexual identity.2 Their repeated rejections of applications from the ILGO to participate in the parade stimulated highly visible protests by ILGO members and others along the parade route. Democratic mayors either boycotted the parade altogether or marched with other contingents that allowed members of the ILGO to join them.3 The ILGO also applied to the New York City Police Department to hold their own parade on St. Patrick’s Day but were denied the permit.4 282

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To Demand Civil Rights The second most frequent reason for holding a parade in Manhattan is to demand a group’s civil rights. Parades held for that purpose often have a second p­ urpose – ​­to display and celebrate the identity of that group. Labor Day parades, suffragette processions and gay pride parades are examples. On September 5, 1882, union members held the first Labor Day Parade to display and celebrate who they were; to show support for all unions and to demand higher wages, an ­eight-​ ­hour work day and an end to child labor. The first unit in that parade, the Jewelers Union from Newark, marched behind their own band. Four hundred members of the Bricklayers Union No.6, dressed in white aprons, followed. Next were members of the New York jewelers union dressed in derby hats and dark suits followed by members of the Typographical Union No.6. Signs the participants carried declared, “­Labor Built this Republic and Labor shall rule it” and “­No Money Monopoly”. They marched from City Hall up Broadway to Union Square. Later, they joined their families at what was then Elm Park (­at 92nd Street and Ninth Avenue) where they danced to Irish jigs and enjoyed picnics, cigars and beer.5 Over the years, the appearance of Labor Day parades changed. Now there are colorful floats. Drum majorettes accompany bands, stepping high and twirling their batons, all in synchrony. The parades are also more informal as many other participants no longer march in unison. And union members dress informally, often wearing ­t-​­shirts that identify their union. Participants still make demands for higher wages but also for health care. In 2019, many participants carried signs stating, “­Fight for $15”and “­Quality Care for All”. That year, Governor Cuomo, Senator Schumer and Mayor de Blasio all marched, a significant change from early Labor Day parades when no city or state officials participated.6 Another group to demand their civil rights were the suffragettes who demanded the right to vote. Between 1908 and 1915, suffragettes held a total of six parades in Manhattan, the first one being the first suffrage parade ever held in the U.S. In 1908, many women who were working hard to gain the right to vote were hesitant to participate in that first parade because they felt that it was improper for women to do so. As a result, only 30 women participated. But 2,000 men did. In one photograph, one can detect only two women in a sea of men.7 By 1911, women must have overcome their reserve since 3,000 participated in that year’s demonstration. For that event spectators numbered six deep on the sidewalks along the parade route and others watched from windows above. The parade held during the daytime in 1912 attracted 20,000 participants and half a million spectators.8 The overriding purpose of the suffrage parades was to demand that women receive the right to vote. However, like the first Labor Day Parade, another intention was to display and celebrate the group’s identity. In order to meet this goal, the parades (­then called “­processions”) were carefully designed and choreographed. To demonstrate that women were and would remain mothers, at least one woman participant brought her baby to the daytime parade of 1912.9 Between 800 and 1,000 men participated in the 1912 suffrage parade. In that parade, black suffragettes also marched but separately from the contingents of white women, as required by the parade organizers, all of whom were white women. While women’s right to vote was actively promoted in black communities, the suffragette movement overall was composed of white women only, as its leaders intended. It was common practice for white women to wear only white to symbolize purity and to stand out from male participants who wore dark colors. In 1912, black women, marching in their own unit, as required by the parade organizers, wore black dresses with yellow sashes.10 283

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Parades figure prominently in the history of the gay rights movement. The first one in Manhattan was held on June 28, 1970 to mark the ­one-​­year anniversary of the “­uprising” at the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village which was sparked by the police brutality inflicted on gay men and women who frequented the Stonewall Inn, a bar in Greenwich Village. As with the suffragette parades, the intention was both to be seen (­a s homosexuals and lesbians in public space) and to demand a civil right (the right to be in public space without being harassed by the police). On what had been named Christopher Street Liberation Day, gay men and women and others walked from Sheridan Square up Sixth Avenue to the Sheep’s Meadow in Central Park. They wore everyday clothing as this was a serious protest. But it was also a joyful one; participants carried ­hand-​­made signs and chanted (­e.g. “­Gay is proud, say it loud” and “­Gay, gay, all the way”). As they marched, spectators on the adjacent sidewalks could easily join them (­and did so) since there were no barricades between the sidewalk and the roadway. The parade ended in the Sheep’s Meadow in Central Park where everyone celebrated with dancing and singing, food and drink, much as participants in the early Labor Day parades had done. There was much embracing and kissing and also a kissing contest. Those interviewed for the film “­Gay and Proud” described great pleasure in being able to express that intimacy freely in public space.11 Over the years, gay rights parades have grown much larger, more colorful and more decorative with participants wearing elaborate costumes and with music and dancing by participants. They continue to be festive events but also to incorporate elements of protest and demands for civil rights. In 2022, in light of the Supreme Court’s decision regarding Roe v. Wade, the parade organizers asked Planned Parenthood to lead the parade.12

To Honor “­Heroes” For the purpose of this chapter, “­heroes” includes present and former members of the U.S. Armed Forces, winning sports teams and individuals recognized for their heroic acts, such as Amilia Earhart, the first woman to fly across the Atlantic. The very first person to be honored as a hero was the Marquis de Lafayette who fought in the American Revolution and returned to visit the U.S. more than a century later. That parade of triumph and welcome, held in 1824, began at the Battery, where his ship had landed, and followed Broadway up to City Hall, inaugurating a parade route that has been used for parades ever since. An early precursor to today’s Veterans Day Parade was the September 10, 1919 Victory Parade held to honor General Pershing and the 25,000 soldiers who served under him in Europe during World War I. The soldiers, in full combat gear, marched in perfect order along with marching bands. Officers rode horses. The route for the parade was down Fifth Avenue from 107th Street to Washington Square. The number of spectators was estimated to be two million.13 Since, at that time the U.S. army was segregated, a previous parade on February 17 had been held to welcome back the first troops to return from World War I, who were black. They marched up Fifth Avenue from 23rd Street to 145th Street in Harlem where a pageant was held. That parade signaled a dramatic change in the army’s attitude since only white soldiers had received ­send-​­off parades, Black soldiers had not.14 The annual Veterans Day Parade remains a very popular event. In 2019, veterans riding seriously large motorcycles made up the first contingent. New York City police bands played as they marched, including one band dressed in kilts playing bagpipes. Soldiers marched. Some spectators expressed strong opinions. Mayor de Blasio was greeted with boos and hisses. One man shouted, “­You’re a dumb ass. Get out of the city”. The Mayor kept smiling 284

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and waving. Many others, adults and children, participated informally by just walking along in the parade.15 Starting in the 1890s, heroes and distinguished visitors were honored with ticker tape parades held on Broadway from the Battery to City Hall. Office workers in the tall buildings lining Broadway would toss ticker tape from their windows. (­Ticker tape was the ribbons of paper on which telegraph machines printed out the latest stock quotes.) The first ticker tape parade was held to welcome Admiral George Dewey when he returned from Manila.16 In 1962, John Glenn, the first astronaut to circle the earth, was honored with a ticker tape parade. Riding in an open convertible, he was greeted by an estimated four million spectators who repeatedly broke through the police lines to try to reach him as he rode by in a convertible. Ticker tape and torn pieces of paper filled the air. At the conclusion of the parade, City Hall Plaza was so crowded that bands were unable to play.17 The custom of holding ticker tape parades ended in the 1960s with the adoption of computers to transmit financial information. However in 2020, the U.S. Women’s National Soccer team was honored with a ticker tape parade as were the “­essential workers” – ​­health care workers and many others who had risked their health (­a nd lives) to be of help during the pandemic (­­Figure 20.1). Each ticker tape parade, including the two held in 2020, has been commemorated with a black granite plaque embedded in the sidewalk on each side of Broadway from Battery Park to City Hall.

To Welcome a State Visitor or Famous Person Parades are also held on Broadway to welcome state visitors, royalty, state leaders, presidents, and other distinguished visitors, including the singer Jenny Lind in 1850. A presidential parade

­Figure 20.1 Essential Workers Parade, Broadway, July 7, 2021

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was held for John Kennedy in 1960. Parades were also held for visiting heads of state, including Pierre Laval, Prime Minister of France and Eurico Gaspar Dutra, President of Brazil.

To Celebrate a Civic Achievement In past centuries, parades were also held to celebrate civic achievements. These included New York’s adoption of the U.S. constitution (­1788), completion of the Erie Canal (­1829), completion of a system, including an aqueduct, to bring water from the Croton River in Westchester to Manhattan (­1842), the opening of the Brooklyn Bridge (­1883) and the dedication of the Statue of Liberty (­1886). When completed in 1829, the Erie Canal connected Lake Erie to the New York harbor, allowing ships to travel via a system of 80 locks. Appropriately enough, the celebration of its opening included “­an acquatic procession” of ships proceeding through the canal from Lake Erie to the New York Harbor which was followed by an elaborate “­Grand Procession” that followed a circuitous route through lower Manhattan and then from the Battery up Broadway to City Hall. The participants included trades people, military officers, West Point cadets volunteer firemen along with their fire engines placed on floats and even students and faculty members from Columbia University. With 5,000 marchers and 100,000 spectators, it was at that time the largest such gathering ever held in North America.

To Celebrate a Religious or Secular Holiday One example of a procession held to celebrate a religious holiday is the Three Kings procession held in northern Manhattan on January 6 that marks the arrival of the Three Wise Men in Jerusalem after the birth of Jesus. There are drums, many children wearing paper crowns, three camels and three “­k ings” on stilts.18 Another example is the procession held in Greenwich Village on the Feast of San Genaro to honor San Genaro, the patron saint of Naples. That day is also marked with a street festival composed primarily of food stalls.19 A widely popular secular parade is the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The first time the parade was held, in 1924, employees of Macy’s marched along 34th Street in costumes of sheiks, clowns and knights along with bands, floats and live animals borrowed from the Central Park Zoo. In 1927, large balloons in the form of cartoon characters were introduced. It was in the 1950s that the parade was first televised. And now it attracts three and a half million spectators in person, while many more watch it on TV.20 Nearly as popular as the parade itself is the opportunity to watch the balloons being inflated along Columbus Avenue and Central Park West. In 2019, those wishing to do so had to “­enter a viewing lineup” at 72nd Street and Columbus Avenue and to show proof of having been vaccinated against COVID.21 That requirement indicates how dense the crowd of spectators is. Another quintessential New York parade is held on Halloween, invented in 1973 by Ralph Lee, a puppet and mask maker. The hallmark of the parade are hundreds of giant puppets. They are joined by bands, dancers and a great many other participants who can only participate if they are in costume (­­Figure 20.2). If people wish to participate in the parade without lining up to do so, they must buy tickets.22

The Life of a Parade Parades require extensive preparation months as well as days and hours before the parade starts. And since parades do not always conclude at the end of the marching, it makes sense to 286

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­Figure 20.2 Puppets, Halloween Parade, Greenwich Village, October 31, 2019

consider three phases of a p­ arade – before, ​­ during and after. These phases constitute “­the life of a parade”. (­I am grateful to Maryam Hosseini for suggesting that term.)

Before the Parade Fund raising, planning and organizing the parade are all tasks that must be completed to make a parade possible. The organization that sponsors the parade is responsible for completing these tasks. Many months before the parade is held, the parade sponsor must raise funds from corporations and ­non-​­profit organizations to pay for the parade (­who then become “­partners”). The sponsor also solicits and reviews applications from organizations wishing to participate in the parade just as the United War Veterans Council does for the Veterans Day Parade. 23 The sponsoring organization may accept or reject those applications. The parade sponsor applies to the New York City Police Department (­N YPD) for a license to hold the parade. (­A license is required for parades that take place in the street; they are not required for events held on sidewalks.) The parade sponsor must pay the NYPD a fee to hold a parade. The amount is determined by the location of the parade and the estimated number of participants in order for the police department to determine how many police officers will be needed. Before the application is submitted to the police department, the organization sponsoring the parade chooses the location for the parade and raises funds from donors to pay the fee for the license. The sponsor must apply for a license each year even if it is a recurring parade. The NYPD may reject the application for the license. 24 After the parade sponsor accepts applications, it sends detailed information about the entire parade to all groups that will be participating. (­The sponsor may also extend invitations 287

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to groups that participated the previous year.) The information sent to participating groups includes a list of all the units and their sequence in the line of march.25 In 2021, the sponsor of the Steuben Day Parade created a subcommittee that sent out parade instructions and provided an annual online handbook to groups participating. These instructions were called the 64th German American Parade Official Line Up Book.26 Assemble in your designated area at the time provided. Listen to your Division Marshal, they are dedicated parade volunteers who will help you find the correct place in the l­ine-​­up and coordinate all the groups. Find your position in the parade according to the number given in the marching order and do not leave your position in the parade to march in another spot. Follow the group, float, car, etc. in front of you and keep a short distance. Do not let a gap open up. If you are held up, please try to close the gap by walking a little faster without running. Larger groups are asked to walk in rows of 4 to 5 people. Listen to the Parade Volunteers along Fifth Avenue. Do not eat or drink during the Parade. Do not make or take any cell phone calls during the Parade. Music Groups: Please play for the entire duration of the Parade with the full ­band-​­ not only percussion. This is especially important when passing the Grand Stands. Dress Code: Please wear traditional tracht or clothing from your group. Please do not wear outfits from groups you are not marching with if they are in a different section of the parade. If you do not have this please wear your club uniform or shirt with slacks. Group Leaders: Please share all of this information with your entire group. G ­ erman-​ ­A mericans are proud to stage one of the most colorful and entertaining ethnic parades in New York City. We want to take this opportunity to look our best and leave a great impression. Prior to many parades, spaces along the parade route are physically modified with the decorating of streets and buildings and the building of structures. For the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, some office buildings fly the American and Irish flags and sometimes a green stripe is painted down the middle of Fifth Avenue. Prior to the parade, a viewing stand is built at a prominent location along the route where invited guests and dignitaries can watch the parade pass by while sitting down. Today a common location for the viewing stand is in front of the Central Public Library on Fifth Avenue. In earlier times, Union Square, Madison Square and what was previously called Croton Reservoir (­now Bryant Park) were sites for the viewing stands. At one time, dignitaries had to pay to sit in viewing stands. In the past, other physical structures were built as well. To celebrate the inauguration of George Washington as the first president, a temporary triumphal arch of wood and plaster was built in Washington Square Park, which was replaced by a permanent marble arch completed in 1892. A day or two before a parade starts, police place metal (­formerly wooden) barriers on each side of the roadway of the parade route to keep spectators on the sidewalk and out of the parade itself. On the day of the parade, well before it starts, police close the parade route to traffic along with streets that cross the parade route. Before the parade starts, participants, who may number in the thousands, assemble in groups along those streets or in the park where the parade will start. In both kinds of locations, guided by parade marshals, participants line up in the sequence in which they will march. For the Essential Workers Parade, the starting location was Battery 288

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Park (­the same starting location for the triumphal procession held for the Marquis de Lafayette in 1824). Many spectators arrive early to find good locations for viewing the parade on the sidewalks along the parade route. They often bring folding chairs in order to be able to sit down while watching the parade.

During the Parade In many parades, some participant groups, particularly bands of musicians and soldiers, march in perfect step in orderly rows. Other groups may simply walk along the parade route or ride on colorfully decorated floats, while still others ride horses or motorcycles. If cheerleaders participate in the company of bands, they step high, twirling their batons in perfect synchrony. Parade participants who lead each section of the parade carry a banner naming their organization. Many carry ­full-​­size national or other flags pertinent to the parade’s purpose. Participants carry banners, flags, signs or the musical instruments they are playing. Depending upon the purpose of the parade, participants may wear colorful costumes, while members of the military, firefighters and police officers wear their uniforms or kilts. Spectators may wear items of clothing, hats, masks and other adornments related to the purpose of the parade and may wave small flags, also aligned with the parade’s purpose. Along the parade route, vendors often sell small flags, hats or other items related to the parade’s theme. Previously, when ticker tape was still in use, spectators in buildings along the parade route would toss rolls of colorful ticker tape down from their windows. For the parades to honor the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team that had just won the World Cup and the Essential Workers Parade, Mayor de Blasio provided offices in buildings along the parade route with ticker tape to create an atmosphere of festive celebration. During parades, the air is filled with music of all ­k inds  – ​­of marching bands, drums, bagpipes or wind instruments. Spectators may shout, cheer and clap. Other times spectators may jeer, expressing vehement opposition to some group’s participation in the parade. This occurred when Mayor Dinkins marched with a gay and lesbian group in 1992.27 In earlier times, one might hear rifles and cannons being fired and one could watch bonfires and firework displays. Sometimes, a group of protestors appears on the sidewalk of the parade route or in the parade itself as when the Irish Lesbian and Gay Organization (­ILGO) was not allowed to participate in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. In 2022 in the annual parade held in Chinatown to celebrate the Chinese New Year one could detect a small protest. Among all the floats, dancers, bands and groups marching was one float on which women held up small signs protesting the treatment of Asians in the U.S. (­see ­Figure 20.5).

After the Parade At the end of a parade, participants often linger in the location where the parade ends, possibly in front of City Hall or in Washington Square Park, in Union Square or Central Park. At the conclusion of the first Labor Day Parade in 1882, participants gathered in Union Square Park where they played music, sang and danced.28 At the completion of the Queer Liberation March in 2021 down Fifth Avenue, participants gathered in Washington Square Park where they sang and danced around the fountain (­­Figure 20.3) with some participants disrobing to dance in the fountain itself. 289

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­Figure 20.3 Rally after Queer Liberation March, Washington Square Park, June 27, 2021

After a parade is over, there is a considerable amount of housekeeping to do, the cost of which is covered by the sponsor’s payment to the police department for a parade license. The police barricades must be removed and transported to storage. Any trash, abandoned signs, paper hats, small flags and other items that participants discarded must be removed. And, formerly, when there were ticker tape parades, sanitation workers had to sweep up all the ticker tape on the sidewalks and streets.

Groups that Make a Parade Possible and Relationships between Them Parades are complex public events that depend upon the contributions of eight different parties: the organizations that fund the parade; the organization that sponsors the parade; the participants; the spectators; police officers; sanitation workers; the mayor; other government officials and invited dignitaries who participate in or watch the parade.

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Partners Corporations and n ­ on-​­profit organizations pay the costs of holding a parade by making monetary contributions to the parade’s sponsor. The organization NYC Pride that sponsors the Gay Pride parade posts the names and logos of its partners that contribute to all its activities on their website. Many of them are w ­ ell-​­known companies, including Coca Cola, Macy’s, ­T-​­Mobile and Chase Bank.29

Sponsors The organization sponsoring a parade raises the funds to pay for it from the parade sponsors, applies to the police department for a permit to hold it, reviews applications from groups who wish to participate and accepts or rejects those applications. The sponsor may issue invitations to those groups that participated the previous year. The sponsor also determines the line of march and what the parade should or should not include. (­For instance, the St. Patrick’s Day Parade cannot include floats or vehicles.) The organization sponsoring the parade applies to the New York City Police Department for a permit to hold the parade and pays a fee for the costs the police department will incur from deploying police officers to make preparations for the parade and to ensure that the parade is orderly. The fee that the sponsoring organization pays to the police department depends upon the expected number of participants.30 However, not all parade organizers apply for permits or raise funds from sponsors. One example is the Reclaim Pride Coalition NYC, the group that organizes the Queer Liberation March. Parade sponsors have considerable power over the parade since they determine who can participate and who cannot by accepting or rejecting applications from organizations who wish to participate. When organizations have participated in previous parades organized by the sponsor, the sponsor sends them, a year in advance, invitations to join the parade. Decisions that sponsors make can generate serious conflict when the sponsor rejects a group’s application to participate. One example was the struggle between the Ancient Order of Hibernians and the Irish Lesbian and Gay Organization. The same conflict arose in Boston when the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in favor of the parade organizer. The basis of that decision was that under the right to freedom of expression, the parade organizer has the right to determine what form that expression will take and hence what groups can and cannot participate in the parade.31

Participants As noted above, the organizations sponsoring a parade have the right to determine what groups will or will not participate but they do not determine what individuals will participate. That depends on people’s choices whether to participate if they are members of participating groups. Historically however, the participation of particular kinds of people has been severely restricted. Until the early 20th century, with the advent of suffragette parades, it was deemed socially unacceptable for women to participate in parades or even to watch them from the sidewalk. They could only look down at the parade from windows in buildings along the parade route. During the first Labor Day Parade in 1882, seamstresses blew kisses to the male parade participants.32

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For many years, black residents of the city were not permitted to participate in parades held along major avenues in Manhattan with one exception. The organizers of the suffrage parades were opposed to having any black women participate in the parade with white women. When they did relent in 1912, the organizers required that black participants march in their own contingent behind the white participants at the end of the line of march. 33 A notable exception to the exclusion of parades of black people from avenues in Manhattan was the Silent Protest Demonstration held in 1917 to protest the massacre of black residents and the destruction of their homes and businesses in Tulsa, Oklahoma and the many lynchings that were taking place in other states. It was so carefully designed and choreographed that it qualifies as a procession. Indeed, its features were similar to those of the suffrage processions: women in white marched separately from men in black, all marched to a low drumbeat.34 Black residents of the city did and continue to hold very lively parades in Harlem such as the annual African American Day Parade held every September since 1969 to celebrate African American culture and achievements.35 Government officials, including the mayor, as well as invited dignitaries often participate in parades. Fire fighters and police officers participate in uniform in many parades, often in marching bands. Police officers on duty are stationed along and in the parade route to keep order and may intervene when disorder starts. Sanitation workers are responsible for cleaning up debris left by participants and spectators, most notably the ticker tape that was formerly thrown from windows onto the parade. The mayor of New York usually marches at the head of a parade. However, in the 1991 St. Patrick’s Day Parade in protest of the exclusion of the Irish Lesbian and Gay Organization from the parade, Mayor Dinkins marched with another gay and lesbian group that was allowed to march with its own banner. His public support of this gay/­lesbian organization generated hostile reactions from spectators who booed him and even threw beer cans at him. 36 During the first three years of his tenure, the next Democratic mayor, Bill de Blasio, demonstrated his opposition to the exclusion of the ILGO by boycotting the Manhattan parade altogether and marched instead in the St. Pats for All parade in Queens.37 In 2016 when members of the ILGO were finally allowed to march under their own banner, proudly and with apparent pleasure, he marched with them. This time, spectators showed no hostility. 38

Spectators Spectators are as important to parades as the participants are. The relationship between the two groups is nearly always a cordial one with spectators cheering, shouting and clapping. Sometimes, a parade participant comes over to greet a spectator (­­Figure 20.4). It is notable how warmly spectators, most of them being men, greeted the 30,000 suffragettes marching in 1911, all along the 40-block-long procession.39 This is in sharp contrast to the nasty reception suffragettes received from male spectators in the 1913 procession in Washington. During that procession men jeered, called out nasty comments, spat at the women and even interrupted the procession. And the police along the route did nothing to intervene.40 Today, spectators at parades express great appreciation and even j­oy – ​­clapping and cheering and waving (­­Figure 20.4). Both participants and spectators take pictures of the parade and of each other. In some parades, participants give small souvenirs to s­pectators – ​­beads, small hats, small flags and badges. During Chinese Lunar New Year parades, spectators purchase small plastic cylinders called poppers. When the string of a popper is pulled, the popper 292

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­Figure 20.4 Participant and Spectator, Veterans Day Parade, November 12, 2019

makes a small bang and fires brightly colored paper streamers into the air, leaving the street covered with them. However, the relationship between spectators and participants is not always a cordial one or even a respectful one. For instance, during the 1991 St. Patrick’s Day Parade when Mayor Dinkins marched with a gay and lesbian group, spectators responded with very hostile remarks and angry comments, even booing him.41 And in 2019 during the Veterans Day Parade, Mayor de Blasio was also greeted with boos and hisses although it is not clear why. One man shouted, “­You’re a dumb ass. Get out of the city”. The Mayor kept smiling and waving.42

Police During parades in Manhattan, police officers can be seen standing on the sidewalk along the parade route, in the street itself and on cross streets. Their role is to keep order which includes keeping the spectators on the sidewalk and out of the roadway as the parade goes by. At the German American Steuben Day Parade in 2021, police officers were observed talking with each other or watching the parade with clear enjoyment. This appears to be the usual ­relationship – ​­one of watching vigilantly but not intervening unless necessary. As ­Te-​­Sheng observed during a gay pride parade in 2019, spectators climbed up on some scaffolding to get a good view of the parade. When police told them to come down for safety reasons, they did. But when the police were out of sight, they climbed up again. Sometimes, in their enthusiasm and excitement, spectators break through the lines of police. This is what happened during the parade in March 1919 welcoming troops back from World War I. Many spectators broke through the lines of police men, making it impossible for the marching soldiers to maintain their formations of four abreast. “­The separation between the street and the sidewalk broke down”.43 Police also make arrests during parades. For instance, in 1998, before the St. Patrick’s Day Parade marching began, the police arrested and photographed 17 people who were protesting the exclusion of the ILGO from the parade. ILGO protestors had walked off the sidewalk into Fifth Avenue. The charge was disorderly conduct. In 1999, the police again arrested 293

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several ILGO demonstrators.44 At other times, without provocation and for no apparent reason, New York City police officers become brutal. During the rally at the conclusion of the Gay Pride Parade in 2021, police wearing riot gear hit and arrested parade participants in one section of Washington Square Park, at some distance from other parade participants who were dancing in the fountain.45

Conclusion Many kinds of “­play” interrupt the mundane routines of daily life in urban public s­pace –​ ­playing hopscotch and jumping rope, holding parties and barbecues. Parades take “­play” to an altogether different level. They are complex events held for a variety of reasons. They need to be carefully planned, designed and choreographed. They depend upon monetary and other kinds of contributions and the participation of different parties. And they are often vehicles for protest as well as celebration. To study the phenomenon of parades in Manhattan, I gathered information from a variety of sources. ­On-​­site observations were essential for providing information about how parades in our time occupy and transform public space. Observations were also very important for generating the concept of “­the life of a parade”. Published literature and relevant websites provided additional information about recent parades as well as historic ones. Brooks McNamara’s book, Day of Jubilee: The Great Age of Public Celebrations in New York, ­1789–​­1909 (­1997), was invaluable for providing information about historic parades, information that was key to developing my typology of parades. One notable, general finding was how many parades continue to be held in Manhattan for a wide variety of reasons. The typology of reasons served as a useful tool for analyzing parades and for determining which parades occur every year and which took place only once or just few times (­see ­Table 20.1). Using this typology revealed that some parades are held for more than one purpose. While parades are always a form of festive celebration, they can also be a useful means for protesting and for demanding civil rights as the suffragette processions did and as the Labor Day Parade continues to do. In other cases, what is a highly celebratory and joyful event may contain elements of protest. One example is the Chinese Lunar New Year parade held in 2022. Among all the floats, dancers, bands and marching groups, women on one float held up small signs that read “­Stop Asian Hate” (­­Figure 20.5). Another example is the 2022 Gay Pride parade when many participants carried signs that protested the Supreme Court’s overturning of Roe v. Wade. This was a significant finding: that parades serve the dual purposes of celebrating and protesting. A protest may not appear in the parade itself but on an adjacent sidewalk. One example is when the Irish Lesbian and Gay Organization (­ILGO) first protested its exclusion from the St. Patrick’s Day in 1991. Protestors stood on the sidewalk in front of The New York Public Library on Fifth Avenue holding signs and chanting. The ILGO continued to protest until 2016 when they were finally allowed to join the parade under their own banner.46 A great deal of work must be done in advance to make a parade ­possible – ​­immediately before the event, days and months before and after the marching is over. Hence, my concept “­the life of a parade” to refer to the three stages of a parade. The before stage includes the many months before the parade takes place, the day and hours before the parade starts when police install barriers to keep spectators on the sidewalk, when participants line up waiting to march and when spectators arrive early to find good locations for viewing the parade. Days before the parade, viewing stands may be installed. After the marching is over, participants and spectators may gather in a public space, such as parks, for music, dancing and picnicking. 294

Parades in Manhattan ­Table 20.1  Types of Parades, Frequency and Cases Purpose of Parade

Frequency

To celebrate a cultural, group or national identity

Annually (­except suffragette processions)

A Few Examples

Suffragette Procession; Labor Day Parade (­1st one 1882); St. Patrick’s Day Parade (­1st one 1762); German Steuben Parade; African American Day Parade; National Puerto Rican Day Parade; Israel Parade; Chinese Lunar New Year Parade; Greek Independence Day Parade; National Tartan Day Parade; African American Day Parade (­1st one 1969); Gay Pride Parade (­first one 1970) To demand civil rights Annually (­except Suffragette procession; May Day parade or suffragette International Workers Day Parade (­1st one processions) 1920); Labor Day Parade; St. Patrick’s Day Parade (­original purpose); Gay Pride Parade To honor military or Usually one time for U.S. Veterans (­first one 1919); Marquis de sports heroes or others each person, group of Lafayette (­1824); New York City Victory Day deemed to be heroes, persons or a military Parade (­1946); General Charles de Gaulle or celebrating a military victory (­1945); John Glenn (­1962,1988); Essential victory Workers (­2020); U.S. Women’s Soccer Team after winning World Cup (­2020) To welcome a state visitor Once for each person Torch light parade for Edward Albert; Prince or a famous person of Wales (­1860); Jenny Lind, Norwegian opera singer (­1850); many members of royalty; many state leaders from around the world; President John F. Kennedy (­1960); President Charles de Gaulle (­1960) To celebrate a civic Once for each New York State adopts U.S. Constitution achievement achievement (­1788); opening of Erie Canal (­1825); Fulton Ferry inaugurated (­1844); Brooklyn Bridge completed (­1883); Statue of Liberty dedicated (­1886) To celebrate a religious or Annually Chinese Lunar New Year; Three King’s Day; secular holiday July 4, Independence Day; Juneteenth, Feast of San Genaro (­patron saint of Naples); St. Patrick’s Day; Thanksgiving Day (­1st one 1924); Halloween (­1st one 1977)

And during that final stage police officers remove barricades and sanitation workers clean up spaces the participants and spectators occupied. Research about the history of the St. Patrick’s Day Parade revealed the roles of seven different groups that make a parade possible. These are: (­1) the ­non-​­profit organizations and corporate entities that fund the parade by contributing funds to the parade sponsor; (­2) the group that sponsors and organizes the parade, including paying the city to hold it and determining what groups can participate; (­3) the groups participating in the parade; (­4) mayors, other officials and invited dignitaries who participate in or watch the parade; (­5) all other spectators; (­6) police officers and (­7) sanitation workers. 295

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­Figure 20.5 Float, Chinese Lunar New Year Parade, Chinatown, February 1, 2022

Parades interrupt the predictable movement of pedestrians and vehicles in the city. During these festive events, people are on the sidewalk and in the street. It is, as ever, the job of the police to keep order during these ­out-­​­­of-­​­­the-​­ordinary events. Sometimes however, they have used unnecessary force for no apparent reason. Scrutinizing the roles different parties play revealed the responsibilities and power of the parade’s sponsor. The sponsor has the right to accept or reject applications from groups who wish to participate at its own discretion. The rejection of an application has been contested in court as the struggle between the Ancient Order of Hibernians and the Irish Lesbian and Gay Organization demonstrates. It is significant that the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the group organizing the parade has the right to determine what groups can and cannot participate in the parade. For all intents and purposes, the spaces where the parade is held, which are publicly owned spaces, become the property of the organization sponsoring the parade.47 The “­life of the parade” as a concept and an analytical tool proved very useful. The term could also be applied to a single parade and whether or not it continues to be held. For instance, after women won the right to vote, there were no more suffrage parades. Changes in the life of a parade can also refer to changes in the acoustical and visual features of a parade over time. For instance, the first Labor Day Parade held in 1862 was very carefully organized and choreographed in advance to celebrate the identity of unions and to display that identity in the best way possible. Over time, many of those demands were met and were replaced by other demands. Also, overtime the acoustic and visual features of a parade changed and the parade became far more informal. In many ways, parades are more complex (­a nd often contested) transformations of urban public space than I had initially recognized. They certainly constitute a rich topic for ­research about the use and management of public space. While these frameworks were 296

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derived from studying parades in Manhattan, I hope they will be useful for studying parades in other cities.

Notes 1 Cronin, M., & Adair, D. (­2002). The wearing of the green: A history of St. Patrick’s Day. New York: Routledge. 2 Marston, S. (­2002). Making difference: Conflict over Irish identity in the New York City St. Patrick’s Day Parade 21:­373–​­392. 3 https://­w ww.irishcentral.com/­o pinion/­c ahirodoherty/­­d inkins-­​­­m arch-­​­­ l gbt-­​­­ n yc- ­​­­s t-­​­­p atricks­​­­d ay-​­parade. https://­pix11.com/­news/­­de-­​­­blasio-­​­­m arches-­​­­i n-­​­­g ay-­​­­f riendly-­​­­st-­​­­pats-­​­­for-­​­­a ll-­​­­parade-­​­­i n-​ ­queens/­De Blasio. 4 Police department denies permit. https://­casetext.com/­case/­­i rish-­​­­lesbian-­​­­a nd-­​­­g ay-­​­­organization-­​­­v-​ ­bratton. 5 First Labor Day Celebration Was in New York City. http://­ content.time.com/­ t ime/­ specials/­ packages/­a rticle/­0,28804,2091600_2091603_2091635,00.html. 6 2019 Labor Day parade. https://­w ww.youtube.com/­watch?v=cjjP5zLRlEI. 7 Photograph women in sea of men. https://­w ww.nps.gov/­a rticles/­­m aud-­​­­m alone-­​­­the-­​­­new-­​­­york-­​ ­­city-­​­­suffrage-­​­­parade-­​­­of-​­1908.htm. 8 The Two 1912 Suffragette Parades. https://­suffragettecity100.com/­57#:~:text. 9 See endnote 8. 10 See endnote 8. 11 Film “­Gay and Proud”. https://­w ww.loc.gov/­item/­mbrs01991430/. https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­ 2019/­06/­27/­nyregion/­­pride-­​­­parade-­​­­fi rst-­​­­new-­​­­york-​­lgbtq.html. NYC LGBT Historic Sites Project. https://­w ww.nyclgbtsites.org/­site/­­starting-­​­­point-­​­­of-­​­­nycs-­​­­fi rst-­​­­pride-​­m arch/. 12 https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­2022/­0 6/­26/­nyregion/­­ny-­​­­pride-­​­­parade-​­abortion.html. 13 https://­w ww.history.com/­­t his- ­​­­ d ay- ­​­­ i n- ​­ h istory/­­n ew-­​­­ york- ­​­­ c ity- ­​­­ p arade- ­​­­ h onors-­​­­ world-­​­­ w ar- ­​­­ i -​ ­veterans. 14 Jobs, S. (­2012). Welcome Home, Boys! Military Victory Parades in New York City ­1899–​­1946l. Frankfurt/­ New York: Campus Verlag. 15 https://­n ypost.com/­2 019/­11/­11/­­n ew-­​­­ y orkers- ­​­­ c ome- ­​­­ t ogether- ­​­­ t o- ­​­­ b oo- ­​­­ m oron- ­​­­ d e- ­​­­ b lasio- ­​­­ a t-­​ ­­veterans-­​­­d ay-​­parade/. 16 https://­en.wikipedia.org/­w iki/­­List_of_ticker-​­t ape_parades_in_New_York_City. 17 https://­w ww.youtube.com/­watch?v=OaNQMphGHO. 18 https://­w ww.youtube.com/­watch?v=8wDbPFQ1VBs. 19 https://­w ww.youtube.com/­watch?v=dwhZprjw7DE. 20 https://­w ww.baruch.cuny.edu/­nycdata/­u niquely_nyc/­­m acys-​­thanksgiving.htm. 21 https://­w ww.newyorklatinculture.com/­­t hanksgiving- ­​­­d ay-­​­­parade- ­​­­b alloon-​­i nflation/#:~:text= here%27s%20off icial%20information.-​­ , Macy%27s%20Thanksgiving%20Day%20Parade%20 Balloon%20Inf lation%20is%20on%20the%20streets,closing%20time%2C%20so%20arrive%20 early!. http://­westviewnews.org/­2020/­11/­01/­­remembering-­​­­the-­​ 22 https://­­halloween-​­nyc.com/­t ickets/. ­­fi rst-­​­­v illage-­​­­halloween-­​­­parade-­​­­w ith-­​­­founder-­​­­ralph-​­lee/­­web-​­admin/. 23 https://­uwvc.org/­2022/­04/­13/­­apply-­​­­for-­​­­the-­​­­2022-­​­­nyc-­​­­vets-­​­­d ay-​­parade/. 24 https://­w ww1.nyc.gov/­site/­nypd/­services/­­law-​­enforcement/­­permits-­​­­l icenses-​­permits.page. 25 https://­w ww.nycstpatricksparade.org/­­l ine- ­​­­of-­​­­m arch-​­2022/./ 26 http://­germanparadenyc.org/­­w p-​­content/­uploads/­2 021/­09/­­Steuben-­​­­Parade-­​­­2 021-­​­­Line-­​­­Up-​­Edit. pdf. 27 https://­w ww.irishcentral.com/­opinion/­n iallodowd/­­d avid- ­​­­d inkins-­​­­i rish-​­g ays. 28 Burrows, E. G., & Wallace, M. (­1999). Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898. New York: Oxford University Press. 29 https://­w ww.nycpride.org/­­pride-​­partners/­partners. 30 The Rules of the City of New York 1­ 9-​­04 Approval/­Disapproval Procedures https://­codelibrary. amlegal.com/­codes/­newyorkcity/­latest/­N YCrules/­­0 - ­​­­0 - ­​­­0 –​­78398. 31 https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­1995/­0 6/­2 0/­u s/­­s upreme- ­​­­ c ourt- ­​­­ b oston- ­​­­ m arch- ­​­­ h igh- ­​­­ c ourt- ­​­­ l ets-­​ ­­parade-­​­­boston-­​­­bar-​­homosexuals.html.

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32 See endnote 28. 33 https://­suffragettecity100.com/­57. 34 NAACP’s Silent Protest Parade. https://­w ww.youtube.com/­watch?v=kqzv7dgOb1w. Protest and Calling for Change: Images of the Silent Parade. https://­w ww.youtube.com/­watch?v=­O9keV-​ ­E1wSA. https:// ­beinecke.library.yale.edu/­1917NAACPSilentProtestParade. 35 https://­a fricanamericandayparade.org/#home. 36 See endnote 27. 37 https://­w ww.nbcnewyork.com/­n ews/­l ocal/­­d e- ­​­­b lasio- ­​­­m arches- ­​­­g ay- ­​­­f riendly- ­​­­s t- ­​­­p ats- ­​­­p arade-​ ­queens/­1040463/. 38 https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­2 016/­0 3/­18/­n yregion/­­w ith- ­​­­ m ayor- ­​­­ b ill- ­​­­ d e- ­​­­ b lasio- ­​­­ m arching- ­​­­ s t-­​ ­­patricks-­​­­d ay-­​­­parade-­​­­walks-­​­­peaceful-​­path.html. 39 https://­w ww.loc.gov30/­resource/­rbcmil.scrp7007402/?st=text. 40 https://­w ww.nps.gov/­a rticles/­­woman-­​­­suffrage-​­procession1913.htm#:~:text=On%20March%20 3%2C%201913%2C%20the,Woman%20Suffrage%20Association%20(­NAWSA). 41 See endnote 27. 42 https://­n ypost.com/­2 019/­11/­11/­­n ew-­​­­ yorkers- ­​­­ c ome- ­​­­ t ogether- ­​­­ t o- ­​­­ b oo- ­​­­ m oron- ­​­­ d e- ­​­­ b lasio- ­​­­ a t-­​ ­­veterans-­​­­d ay-​­parade/. 43 See endnote 14. 4 4 https://­w ww.buzzfeednews.com/­a rticle/­g abrielsanchez/­­n yc- ­​­­s t- ­​­­p atricks- ­​­­d ay- ­​­­p arade- ­​­­h istory-​ ­photos. 45 https://­w ww.cbsnews.com/­newyork/­news/­­washington-­​­­square-­​­­park-­​­­pride-­​­­nypd-​­a rrests/. 46 https://­w ww.huffpost.com/­entry/­­st-­​­­patricks-­​­­d ay-­​­­parade-​­g ay_n_4980463. 47 https://­w ww.nytimes.com/­1995/­0 6/­2 0/­u s/­­s upreme- ­​­­ c ourt- ­​­­ b oston- ­​­­ m arch- ­​­­ h igh- ­​­­ c ourt- ­​­­ l ets-­​ ­­parade-­​­­boston-­​­­bar-​­homosexuals.html.

Bibliography ­Bader-​­Zaar, B. (­2007). ‘­With banners flying’: A comparative view of women’s Suffrage Demonstrations 1­ 906–​­1914. In M. Reiss (­Ed), The street as stage: Protest marches and public rallies since the nineteenth century (­p­­p. ­205–​­124). New York: Oxford University Press. Bruce, K. M. (­2016). Pride parades: How a parade changed the world. New York: New York University Press. Burrows, E. G., & Wallace, M. (­1999). Gotham: A history of New York City to 1898. New York: Oxford University Press. Cronin, M.,  & Adair, D. (­2002). The wearing of the green: A hhistory of St. Patrick’s Day. New York: Routledge. Davis, S. (­1986). Parades and power: Street theater in ­nineteenth-​­century Philadelphia. Berkeley: University of California Press. Grippo, R. M., & Hoskins, C. (­2004). Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Charleston, South Carolina: Arcadia Publishing. Jobs, S. (­2012). Welcome home, boys! Military victory parades in New York City ­1899–​­1946l. Frankfurt/­New York: Campus Verlag. ­ 789–​­1909. New McNamara, B. (­1997). Day of Jubilee: The great age of public celebrations in New York, 1 Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Marston, S. (­2002). Making difference: Conflict over Irish identity in the New York City St. Patrick’s Day parade, Political Geography 21:­373–​­392. Newman, S. P. (­1997). Parades and the politics of the street: Festive culture in the early American Republic. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Roberts, R. B, (­2017). Suffragists in Washington, D.C.: The 1913 parade and the fight for the vote. Charleston, South Carolina: The History Press. Ryan, M. (­1989). The American Parade: Representations of the nineteenth century social order. In L. Hunt (­Ed), The New Cultural History (­pp.­131–​­153). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Santangelo, L. C. (­2019). Suffrage and the city: New York women battle for the ballot. Oxford: Oxford University Press. The New York Times, & Nagourney, A. (­2019) Pride: Fifty years of parades and protests ( ­from the photo archives of the New York Times). New York: Abrams Image.

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21 Space and Sound Celebrating and Protesting in Berlin Banu Çiçek Tülü

Introduction In cities, we are surrounded by sounds that shape our perceptions of public space. In that sense, we inhabit the “­soundscape” of the city. The composer Murray Schafer introduced the concept of soundscape to refer to a merging of sounds of nature with the cacophonies of modern life (­Schafer, 1993). Blesser and Salter (­2007) suggest that “…listening is a means by which we sense the events of life, aurally visualize spatial geometry, propagate cultural symbols, stimulate emotions, communicate aural information, experience the movement of time, build social relationships, and retain a memory of experiences” (­­p. 37). There is also a continuous flow of movement in urban public space as people move through the city. The pace of this movement changes over the course of the day and the week. These changes that occur on a regular basis create the rhythm of a city, a rhythm that is both created and expected by its residents. In his book Rhythmanalysis, Lefebvre (­2004) recognizes this phenomenon, noting that life in streets follows rhythmical patterns and sequences. He points out that it is our lived experiences of spaces as well as our performative activities that create the rhythms of a city’s everyday spaces. Rhythms create a fluid relationship between humans, the topography of place, and perceptions of urban public space (­Lefebvre, 2004). As described by the Situationists, special events held in urban public spaces disrupt everyday routines, changing the rhythm of the city and shaping people’s perceptions of space in new ways (­Debord, 1994). These changes in perception caused by special events may change people’s perceptions, enabling them to see their surroundings in new ways and allowing different voices to be heard ( ­Jokob, 2011). During ­large-​­scale, special events, such as celebrations, public space is used as stage, interrupting daily routines and transforming spaces, albeit for a limited and predetermined period of time (­usually a day, a day and a night, or several days). Roadways and traffic circles are likely to be closed to traffic and traffic rerouted so that participants in the celebrations can use those spaces. Stages, food and vending stalls, and information desks are placed in these public spaces. The everyday soundscape is changed as well as participants in the event chant and shout, as they play live music and as recorded music is played by DJs.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-27

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Many such special events take place in Berlin. Its wide avenues, spacious traffic circles, and significant symbolic sites offer excellent locations for celebrations, free festivals, and similarly ­large-​­scale spectacles. Not surprisingly then, spaces planned and designed for vehicular and pedestrian circulation become stages for these events. And, for the most part, Berlin’s city government has been supportive of these temporary uses of the city as a stage. This chapter aims to reveal how these special public events generate new routines and rhythms and create new sound environments. In this chapter, three such celebrations are described in detail: Myfest which is both a festival and a political protest; Christopher Day Celebration (­CSD), a social performance; and the Carnival of Cultures, a cultural performance. In each case, people’s voices, screams, shouts, and laughter as well as live and recorded music join the ongoing everyday sounds of the city. Particular attention is paid to the locations of these celebrations and the sounds they create. The chapter ends by exploring the increasing commercialization of these celebrations. Information about the celebrations is drawn from the author’s field observations of Myfest on May 1, 2019 and 2021, the CSD Berlin Parade on July 27, 2019, and the Carnival of Cultures on June 10, 2019 as well as from archival sources. These include videos from the official websites of the organizations as well as local and international TV online channels and online materials, i.e. newspapers, magazines, flyers, posters and fanzines.

Myfest: A Street Festival and a Political Protest Public space in Berlin is full of political expression. Political statements in the form of stencils, graffiti, banners, posters, and stickers appear throughout the city. And political protests are frequent as well, especially in neighborhoods where guest workers from different countries live, as in the case in Kreuzberg. This neighborhood, formerly a workers’ neighborhood, has become increasingly gentrified. As a consequence, the workers and their families are being pushed out. The diversity of cultures is still visible but every year the neighborhood is losing more of its multicultural character. Kreuzberg is located on the edge of what was previously West Berlin and is now one of the most popular tourist destinations in the city. In that neighborhood, what started out as a yearly protest has now become a lively street festival as well as a political protest.

History On May 1, 1987, leftist groups marched in Kreuzberg for the first time to demand better working hours, higher salaries, and improved working conditions and to protest capitalism in general. In the daytime, it was a peaceful celebration but turned into a riot in the evening. Police provoked the protestors who then burned several supermarkets, shops, and cars. The police viewed this first Revolutionary 1st of May Demonstration as a street riot (­Rucht, 2001). Ever since 1987, this march has occurred annually, always creating tension between protestors and the police. The police banned the protest in 2001 for security reasons. Over 2,000 people joined the demonstration in 2021, expecting to follow a ­four-​­hour route. However, at the end of the second hour, the police intervened and ended the protest because Covid regulations were not being followed. In 1987, the protestors’ slogan was “­Onwards to the revolutionary 1st of May” along with a quotation from Rosa Luxemburg, the German revolutionary: “­The revolution is great, everything else is quark.” In 1990, the year of reunification, the slogan was “­Rather on the street than home to the Reich!” In 2021, the slogan was “­No piece of the cake, baklava for 300

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all!” next to “­Go for it! Class Struggle,” a critique of politicians for ignoring immigrants and issues related to them, especially police violence and racial profiling. In 2003, to counter the repeated violence between the police and protesters in Kreuzberg during the Revolutionary 1st of May Demonstration, local residents and shop owners organized an annual street festival called Myfest, which they and other people view as a w ­ orking-​ ­class celebration held by Turkish immigrants. Ever since then, it takes place in the afternoon in streets, parks, and other public places in Kreuzberg. Similar, smaller celebrations take place in other districts, but they have never attracted as many visitors as the one that is hosted in Kreuzberg. Then, the Revolutionary 1st of May Demonstration starts at 6 p.m. However, since Myfest continues into the evening, it merges with this organized, l­eft-​­wing march. As a result of covid 19, neither Myfest nor the demonstration took place in 2020. Myfest was cancelled again in 2021 but the Revolutionary 1st of May Demonstration went ahead. That year, for the first time, the demonstration was c­ o-​­organized by antifascist groups whose members were immigrants. Then, German radical leftist groups took over the demonstration, criticizing the unions and immigrant groups for not giving attention to the struggles of the working class that consists mainly of immigrants. Remarkably, the slogans of every year (­except 2021 when Myfest was cancelled) were the same for both the celebration and the demonstration reflecting on the struggles of the working class.

Space and Sound The city government uses police cars and moveable barriers to close the streets of Kreuzberg for Myfest. Around midday, people slowly fill these streets, getting ready for the city’s largest ­open-​­air party of the year. The crowd is a mixture of people, both locals and visitors, including the younger generation and families with children. Most are casually dressed. Toward the afternoon, the streets become crowded and sometimes chaotic as more people arrive. Music starts at noon on stages placed in the streets that have been closed to vehicular traffic as well as in parks and small squares. Around the Kottbusser Tor, local restaurants set up stalls for selling food and bars for selling drinks on the sidewalk right in front of their establishments (­­Figure 21.1). On Oranienstrasse, restaurants and bars also install stages in the roadway, now closed to traffic, 50 meters apart. The restaurants determine in advance whether they would like to participate in the celebration in those ways and, if so, they register the food vending stall or the stage with the Myfest organization. On these stages, DJs play recorded music and bands play live music. On the stages, ­two to three meters high, speakers and ­sub-​­basses are attached to the metal structure of the stage. Once the celebration starts and traffic is banned from most of the main streets, they become dance floors. Buildings and windows also stand out: banners, posters, and slogans cover the façades. With the closing of streets, traffic noise is reduced and the soundscape changes from the sounds of traffic jams to music, laughter, and people speaking and singing in different languages. Areas of varying size, from parking lots to small gardens and parks, are full of people having picnics and enjoying the music. Some music emanates from small, illegally installed stages mostly installed in and around the Görlitzer Park. As the police are very busy with the protestors and the security of the street festival, they overlook these illegal stages. These ­non-​­registered, illegal stages generally have two speakers with a stand on the floor in front of the DJ’s console to achieve maximum volume. As Berlin has a popular electronic music scene, each year the public expects to see the most famous DJs for free during Myfest. The most popular bar is likely to invite Berlin’s 301

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­Figure 21.1 Bars and Food Stalls around Kottbusser Tor, MyFest, 2018. Drawing by Banu Çiçek Tülü and Asena Sonbay

most famous DJs. An ethnic restaurant invites traditional musicians to play live music from that culture. The music changes from stage to stage. Other streets host n ­ on-​­choreographed dance performances by participants in the festival. It is very moving to see people dancing to electronic music, while 50 meters away Anatolian folklore dances are performed. Many other streets also fill with people drinking and dancing, making the entire neighborhood a large music club. In fact, everyone who joins this street festival performs in some way: sitting, eating, drinking, and dancing. Many people are on the move. These activities demonstrate key features of public space: its openness, its accessibility, the freedom of choice it affords and, in this case, creating a special relationship between users and soundscape. The music from the different stages mixes together and together with people singing, laughing, and chanting. Since there is no single kind of sound, there is no single, cohesive sound environment. Instead, there is a rich mixture of ­sounds – ​­of people singing, laughing, and chanting. The mixture of barbeque smells, music and other sounds sets the mood as the city welcomes spring weather after all the gray months of winter. The age range of participants is wide. The younger generation is drawn to the electronic music played by the DJs on stages. The older generation enjoys the live music. However, since electronic music dominates the entire festival, some parts of Kreuzberg appear to be a student festival with music, food, and a hedonistic atmosphere. At 6 p.m., Myfest merges with a demonstration when the annual Revolutionary 1st of May starts. Participants in the demonstration organize themselves into different groups: t­he anti-​­globalization movement, various antifascist groups, a­nti-​­capitalist organizations, and workers unions according to a sequence set by the sponsors of the demonstration. A truck with loudspeakers precedes each group. Until 2021, the s­ o-​­called “­Black Block,” known for the aggressive behavior of its members, was the first group in the parade. Members could easily be identified since they dress 302

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all in black and cover their faces with scarfs and face masks. Radical groups and other organizations followed. With an average of 10,000 visitors a year, this demonstration is considered the “­r adical ritual” of May 1. Violent clashes between protestors and the police usually take place while the Myfest street festival continues. During this time, the situation is chaotic. The demonstration usually starts in Görlitzer Park and ends in Oranienplatz. Organizers of the demonstration determine the route some days before and every organization or group that takes part announces the location of the protest on its webpages and in social media. The route changes slightly every year so that protestors can avoid construction sites. The reason for this is that if the police attack the protestors, the construction makes it difficult for protestors to escape. In 2021, the Revolutionary 1st of May parade was ­co-​­organized by several immigrant groups. Their first aim was to hold a peaceful demonstration and for the first time these groups led the first section of the parade. They also banned alcohol to reduce the possibility of aggressive behavior. In previous years, there had been excessive alcohol consumption during the demonstration which escalated the violence between protestors and the police. Another reason for the ban was to respect religious beliefs since most of the immigrant groups are Muslim and do not drink alcohol. In 2021, over 20,000 people gathered in Hermannplatz at five o’clock in the afternoon and then started to march toward Hermannstrasse. Music, slogans, and shouting filled the air. The presenters leading each group were continuously announcing the covid 19 hygiene practices that were in effect while also inviting groups and individuals to make speeches as they marched. The speeches were in different languages: Turkish, Kurdish, Arabic, German, Hebrew, etc. The sounds of different languages, the music they were playing in between the speeches, and the announcements of the presenters created the soundscape of the demonstration. In the middle of first section, I was walking without seeing the horizon but the sounds guided me. Around 6:30 p.m., the police entered the parade between the first and second groups and stopped the parade and many participants waited to begin marching again. Finally, at about 8 p.m., the police announced that it was canceling the demonstration and started to hit protestors, push them to the ground, and arrested over 150 participants. The reason given for the cancelation was that members of the Black Block were not wearing medical covid 19 masks, the required hygiene practice. In fact, they were wearing blue and sometimes black medical masks under their own black masks that covered their faces. They even showed the police that they were wearing the required masks but that made no difference. The expression of political demands makes both Myfest and the Revolutionary 1st of May march different from other public celebrations. On this special day in Berlin, the soundscape changes. ​­Traffic noise turns into the sounds of electronic music, live music, slogans chanted by the demonstrators, and people singing, talking, and dancing. Hearing the slogans and the chanting may well lead observers to recognize the needs of immigrant groups and to imagine a society that responds to those needs.

Christopher Day Celebration: A Social Performance Every year, a celebration of Christopher Street Day (­CSD) takes place in what was formerly West Berlin. It consists of one extremely large street parade with live music held on the last Saturday of July with additional activities taking place throughout the month. The first CSD 303

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in Berlin was held in 1979 with only 500 people participating. Since then, it has become one of the largest g­ ay-​­lesbian celebrations in Europe. Over the past few years, thousands of people from all over the world have traveled to Berlin to participate in this parade and the after parties. Formed in 1999, the Berliner CSD e.V. (­Berlin LGBT Pride Association) is responsible for organizing CSD Berlin, also known as Berlin Gay Pride. The volunteer board consists of five people elected by a general assembly. Each year, before the event, the association organizes ­Pride-​­Forums, a series of events open to the public. During the ­Pride-​­Forums, the Berliner CSD e.V prepares the theme and the motto of that year’s celebration that reflects their political approach and stance for that year. For example, the first CSD Parade in 1979 resonated with its motto “­Stolz aufs Schwulsein” (­Proud of being gay). In 2019, the motto was “­Stonewall ­50 -​­Every Uprising Starts With Your Voice” as it was the 50th commemoration of the Stonewall events in New York City. With the rapidly increasing number of participants and visitors, the organization creates several subgroups to help in with the increasing scope of the work. Each group is assigned a particular task, ranging from finance, s­ ponsorship, public relations, and governmental permits.

History In the 1920s, gay life in Berlin was both accepted and vibrant as evident in the many cabarets, restaurants, and clubs that catered to homosexual men and women, both singles and couples. During the Nazi regime, homosexuals were often arrested and sent to concentration camps since Paragraph 175 of German criminal law, adopted in 1935, made sexual contact between men unlawful. Lesbians were ignored (­Gordon, 2000). After Germany was divided into East and West in 1945, the governments of each side slowly modified Paragraph 175 but largely kept it as it had been in the Nazi era (­W hisnant, 2016). Paragraph 175 in the German criminal law demanded penalty for sexual contact between men, which made homosexual interactions private. In East Germany, the favored meeting place for gay men was public toilets (­W hisnant, 2016). The Stasi, the secret police of the German Democratic Republic, prosecuted and sentenced many people associated with gay activism because the Stasi believed that they were working with intelligence services of the enemies and because they believed that homosexuality damaged the image of Communism (­i.e. healthy families with high birth rates and heteronormative conservatism). With help from Protestant churches, lesbians and gay men in East Germany were slowly granted some rights but remained under surveillance of the Stasi (­Huneke 2019). From the early 1960s to the late 1980s, people in West Germany fought for gay rights. Due to ­socio-​­political changes and the rise of the student movement, the participation of Social Democrats in coalition from 1966 onward brought changes in the criminal law concerning homosexuality. In 1969, punishment was removed and sex between two adult men was accepted. Arens (­2007) points out that this success was because early gay and lesbian groups, along with the l­eft-​­wing student movement, portrayed homophobic repression as a form of general oppression. For the first time in 1972, a group of lesbians and gay men with their signs and posters joined the Revolutionary 1st of May Demonstration as a distinct group and also for the first time they referred to the government’s “­oppression” of gays and lesbians. In 1979, the first CSD was organized in West Berlin as a solidarity action to recognize the gay and lesbian uprising following the police raid on the Stonewall Inn (­a gay bar) in New York City that took place in the early morning of June 28, 1969. This sparked demonstrations 304

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­Figure 21.2 Christopher Street Day Parade, Berlin 2021.  Photo by Banu Çiçek Tülü

over the subsequent days with more violence by the police and is considered a key event in the emergence of the gay liberation movement. The first Gay Parade in Berlin in 1979, with its motto “­Stolz aufs Schwulsein” (­proud of being gay), acknowledged ­Stonewall-​­type events all over the world although the participants did not demand any political action. Instead, the intention was to create a platform for all gay, lesbian, and transgender communities to express their sexual identities freely. After that, the gay scene flourished in West Germany. New gay and lesbian bars, restaurants, bookstores, and discos opened. The number of gay publications and magazines also increased. The presence of lesbians and gay men in public space was gradually accepted by the public. New gay and lesbian neighborhoods and districts also appeared such as Schöneberg and Kreuzberg in Berlin (­W hisnant, 2016). After the unification of East and West Germany in 1990, the visibility of gay men and lesbians in urban space increased. However, Paragraph 175 remained on the books until 1994.

Space and Sound In a m ­ onth-​­long celebration starting in m ­ id-​­July, the Berliner CSD e.V organizes various activities. Other events are sponsored and organized by other groups, including museums, 305

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clubs, and gay and lesbian bars and shops, particularly in Schöneberg which is known as the gay neighborhood in Berlin. The highlight of the celebration is the CSD Berlin Parade that is the closing event of the month. The parade starts on a Saturday at 12 noon on Kurfürstendamm and follows Joachimsthaler Strasse, Nürnberger Strasse, Lietzenburger Strasse near Wittenbergplatz. It passes through Schöneberg, Nollendorfplatz, and Lützowplatz. It arrives at Siegessäule (­Victory Column), which is a symbol of the gay and lesbian community. The parade ends at Brandenburg Gate where a final rally takes place at 5 p.m (­­Figure 21.2). People take various means of transportations to travel to the parade route to find a good location along the route. On the day of the parade in 2019, I was on the train with numerous people who were going to attend the parade. All the ­U-​­bahn (­train) cars were full of people in colorful costumes, i.e. frilly hats, fur scarfs, sheer tops, short skits, drag queen outfits, and glitter ­make-​­up. The most frequently used material is glitter: glittered drink glasses, sunglasses with glitter, glittered h ­ and-​­made posters with glitter. At the end of the parade, everyone gets a bit of glitter on their faces. When the train became more crowded, I could hear “­Vogue” by Madonna mixed with laughter, conversations (­in different languages), and a happy hum. Hundreds of thousands of people line up along Kurfürstendamm to watch the parade. Groups of people dance to recorded music emanating from trucks and double decker buses decorated with flowers, colorful posters, and pieces of fabric, with the dominant color being pink. The trucks drive slowly. Performers follow the vehicles and the audience for the parade follows the performers. Many onlookers surround the vehicles and the performers, while others observe the parade from the sidewalk. DJs on the different trucks and buses play different kinds of music. So, participants choose their spot in the parade according to the music they prefer. Then, they follow the vehicle that is playing that music while they dance, sing and drink. The number of people following a truck or a bus depends on the popularity of the group in the vehicle. For example, more people follow the truck of the queer magazine Siegessäule than the trucks of political parties. The second, ­open-​­air level of the busses is filled with performers and participants, who are there by invitation only. These participants dance, sing, and drink in the bus and throw stickers, flyers, and condoms to people on the street and sidewalk. The trucks and busses are at least 100 meters apart. In the CSD Parade, DJs play recorded music from both trucks and buses. The volume is very high. Most of the trucks are tall with the speakers on top of them so that the sounds from the vehicles disperse to a large area. The music mixes with people singing, clapping, cheering, and playing small instruments like small drums or bells. The professional dancers make sounds with their bodies when they clap, hit, or slap their arms and legs. The soundscape is vibrant and dynamic. CSD is a platform for expressing and celebrating all sexual choices. The parade displays the history of homosexuality by referring to significant past events. Each year to advertise the parade, organizers choose a theme that refers to a past historical event. In 2019, the theme referred to the 1979 uprising that occurred after the attack by the police on the Stonewall Inn in New York. CSD demonstrates that when users bring their own sounds and movements to a space, they transform it. During the CSD Parade, they do so by moving along in the parade, by walking or dancing or standing by, and shouting, singing and applauding. There is no plan or choreography other than the alignment of the vehicles. People participate in any way they choose. CSD, like all festivals, changes the everyday, routine soundscape of the city and routine patterns of movement. In these ways, it generates new experiences and increases people’s awareness of history and stimulates thoughts about the future. 306

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Carnival of Cultures: A Cultural Performance Since 1996, the Carnival of Cultures (­K arneval der Kulturen) has taken place every year at the end of M ­ ay – ​­Pentecostal ­weekend – ​­to celebrate Berlin’s cultural diversity and its ethnic minorities. It brings together diverse cultures, music, handcrafts, and cuisine on an annual basis, attracting both locals and visitors. This celebration gives Berlin’s ethnic groups an opportunity to make their cultures visible and for the general public to see this cultural diversity through the costumes, dance, and rituals of the participants. From the very first one, the Carnival of Cultures has drawn attention from the media and the public. Unlike Christopher Day Celebration (­C SD), the Carnival of Cultures is a ­weekend-​ ­long event.

History Berlin is a multicultural metropolis. One significant event in its history was the arrival of guest workers who came to the country after the 1960s, mainly from Turkey to work. Being a “­g uest” means that those workers would eventually leave. However, this was a naive expectation. The ­German-​­born population with Turkish backgrounds is now in its fourth generation. And the arrival of immigrants to Germany has continued over the years. Another wave of immigration occurred in 2015 with the arrival of refugees from Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. This has been called a “­refugee crisis” in Europe. Yurdakul and zur Nieden (­2018) point out that this reference to a crisis is related more to the humanitarian problems that this immigration caused in Germany because other European countries closed their borders. Werkstatt der Kulturen (­Workshop of Cultures) organizes the Carnival of Cultures and is supported by the Commissioner of the Berlin Senate for Integration and Migration. The organizers emphasize the importance of a “­free and pluralistic society” while framing their event as an empowerment of the different cultures in Berlin. Its purpose is to reflect Berlin’s cultural diversity. So far the emphasis has been on music and dance. It has been included in Berlin’s cultural policy agenda and the tourism marketing strategies of the city. Indeed, policy advisers at the highest level have recognized that “­the future of cultural policy is intercultural” ( ­https://­w ww.karneval.berlin).

Space and Sound The Carnival of Cultures takes place at the center of the Kreuzberg neighborhood where most of the immigrant population lives. The festival consists of two events: (­1) four days of a street festival in the Blücherplatz in the Kreuzberg district and (­2) a large parade on Pentecostal Sunday in Kreuzberg. For the Carnival of Cultures, food stands and drink stalls are placed in the selected streets which are closed to traffic in Kreuzberg during the first three days of the festival. There are also benches and tables for visitors to sit and enjoy their meals. Other vending stands offer ethnic garments, ­hand-​­made jewelry and souvenirs. (­Berlin is particularly famous for its Turkish open markets.) The designated streets become an ­open-​­air market selling food and many other items. The organizers prepare a schedule for musicians and dancers inside the market areas. The Carnival of Cultures displays more cultural variety than other Berlin festivals. The Carnival of Cultures festival is also more relaxed than Myfest because people stroll along various streets (­­Figure 21.3). 307

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­Figure 21.3 Carnival of Cultures, Berlin 2017: (­a) Food trucks, info points and stage wagons in Kreuzberg and (­b) site plan. Drawings by Banu Çiçek Tülü and Asena Sonbay

During the Carnival, families, people of different generations, and visitors of various ethnic backgrounds are also more visible in the streets than at other times. Knecht and Niedermüller (­2002) suggest that the success of the Carnival is similar to the popularity of other urban carnivals like the Notting Hill Carnival in London. The costumes, food, smells, and music play a significant role in its popularity. The music and other sounds may well engage people’s imagination, becoming a transformative agent by encouraging people to think about possible changes in society 308

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The parade on Pentacostal Sunday starts at noon at Hermannplatz in Neukölln and moves east on Hasenheide and Gneisenaustraße toward Yorckstraße where it ends. According to Werkstatt der Kulturen (­https://­w ww.karneval.berlin), about half a million people from all over the world join the parade. Dancers and musicians participate in the parade. And ­m ake-​ ­up artists and hairdressers from many different countries offer their services on the adjacent sidewalks. Dancers and the musicians wear the traditional costumes of their countries. Brazilian Samba dancers, Irish folk singers, and a Chinese dragon dance group follow each other, keeping a hundred meters apart. The music played in the parade is international as well. Afrobeat, reggae, funk, samba, Jamaican dancehall music, and soca can all be heard. Elaborately decorated floats and large puppets are also part of the parade. In 2019, about 5,000 dancers, musicians, and ­m ake-​­up artists from over 70 countries participated (­https://­w ww. karneval.berlin). Onlookers surrounded the trucks, the musicians, and the performers. Others observed from the sidewalk. Berlin is home to a variety cultures and minorities. However, in daily life, these cultures are not apparent in its public spaces. Knecht & Niedermüller (­2002) note that Berlin’s streets seem more diverse during the Pentacostal parade than at other times. The different kinds of music played, the singing, shouting, and clapping by those who join the parade and by those who observe it create a soundscape that is dramatically different from the everyday soundscape of Berlin creating not only a different soundscape but also one that is multicultural.

Conclusion ­Festival-​­like events benefit cities in various ways, making them attractive to festival participants and to local and foreign visitors who have opportunities to learn more about the city where the events are held. During and after the events, wandering around the city allows people to discover different neighborhoods and urban situations. Each festival is a manifestation of a culture and a political statement. Festivals also give spectators and participants opportunities to observe urban space and to discover territories they did not know about previously. My observations of festivals in Berlin reveal several effects of such festivals on urban public space and consequently on people’s experiences of the city. 1 First, both the closing of areas to traffic and the massive number of people who attend the festivals interrupt people’s usual patterns of movement. As a consequence, people move in patterns that are different from their everyday patterns of movement. And so they may enter neighborhoods they have never experienced before. 2 Second, the absence of traffic gives pedestrians the opportunity to experience urban public spaces differently and to look at their surroundings differently. 3 Third, the festivals rely on important temporary structures: mobile food stalls, tents, stages, and decorations and lighting along streets and on buildings. The uses of these temporary structures for cooking and serving food, for playing music and the decorations and lighting activate new visual, olfactory, and hearing experiences. 4 And fourth, the routine sound environment of the city, the one people become accustomed to since they experience it everyday, is dramatically changed. The sounds of traffic are eliminated and the festival generates new sounds: the music played by both spectators and participants and the shouting, cheering and chanting of spectators. Recently, the festivals that take place in Berlin have been criticized for becoming purely commercial events. Bar Luzia, which is one of the most popular bars in Kreuzberg, was an active 309

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organizer of Myfest until 2016 and always had the most popular stage during the festival with invited famous techno music DJs from Berlin. However, in 2016, Bar Luzia announced that they were not taking part anymore in Myfest and boycotted the organization for becoming a commercial event, fostering gentrification, losing the idea behind the celebration, and not producing any political arguments. During the Myfest 2016, they placed a banner with “­1st of May is over” (­Der 1. Mai ist vorbei) in front of the bar, covering the storefront. It was a strong statement because everybody who came for Bar Luzia’s stage saw the banner. Over the last few years various political groups and activists have criticized CSD, claiming that different political parties and countries were using the event as “­­pink-​­washing” – to ​­ advertise certain products, individuals, countries, and organizations in order to appear modern, progressive, and tolerant so that what remains is conservative and exclusionary. For instance, during the CSD Parade in recent years, traditional costumes worn by Germans and other Europeans (­i.e. Brazilian Samba or African dancer costumes) were described as cultural appropriations and a continuation of colonialist history. And the Carnival of Cultures is mainly being criticized for giving space and voice to the ethnic minorities just for one weekend (­Frei, 2003). The festivalization of cities has been criticized for being purely a means for marketing, like pinkwashing and greenwashing, to regenerate urban spaces without consensus by the public and to use them for entertainment and consumption by the middle and upper class which is directly related to gentrification and eviction of disadvantaged populations ( ­Jakob, 2013). For example, big corporate companies support the Revolutionary 1st of May but the working conditions for their employees might not be improved or remain very bad. Regarding the LGBT rights, during the pride month, everybody uses the rainbow flag but nobody seems to know what exactly the flag stands for. These kinds of critiques are important to take into account in a city like Berlin which is suffering from gentrification, neoliberal investment, and displacement. As all these examples show that the manifestation of cultures in cities enables collective expression. But given the difficulty of defining what culture is and to whom it belongs, it is likely to be appropriated by those in power and so can result in both the commercialization and homogenization of urban space, thereby serving only one part of society (­Bianchini & Parkinson, 1994).

References Arens, J. J. (­2007). Christopher Street Day Der CSD im Spannungsfeld zwischen s­chwul-​­lesbischer Emanzipation und kommerzieller Spaßkultur. ­Alltagswelten – ​­E xpertenwelten Band, 14, Köln. Bianchini, F.  & Parkinson, M. (­eds) (­1994). Cultural policy and urban regeneration: The West European experience. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Blesser, B.  & Salter, L. R. (­2007). Spaces speak, are you listening? Experiencing aural architecture. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Debord, G. (­1994). The society of the spectacle. New York: Zone Books. Frei, K. (­2003). We sich maskiert, wird integriert: der Karneval der Kulturen in Berlin. Berlin: Shiller. Gordon, M. (­2000). Voluptuous panic: The erotic world of Weimar Berlin. Port Townsend, WA: Feral House. Huneke, C. S. (­ 2019, April 18). Gay liberation behind the iron curtain. Received from http://­ bostonreview.net/­­gender-​­sexuality/­­samuel-­​­­clowes-­​­­huneke-­​­­g ay-­​­­l iberation-­​­­behind-­​­­i ron-​­curtain Jakob, D. (­2011) Constructing the creative neighborhood: Hopes and limitations of creative city policies in Berlin. City, Culture and Society, 1(­1), ­193–​­198. Jakob, D. (­2013). The eventification of place: Urban development and experience consumption in Berlin and New York City. European Urban and Regional Studies, 20(­4), 4­ 47–​­459. Knecht, M.  & Niedermüller, P. (­2002) The politics of cultural heritage.  Ethnologia Europaea,  32(­2), ­89–​­104.

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Lefebvre, H. (­2004). Rhythmanalysis: Space, time and everyday life. London: Bloomsbury. Rucht, D. (­2001). Heraus zum 1. Mai! Ein Protestritual im Wandel. In: D. Rucht (­Ed.): Protest in der Bundesrepublik. Strukturen und Entwicklungen (­pp­­ . ­143–​­172). Frankfurt am ­Main–​­New York, Campus. Schafer, R. M. (­1993). The soundscape: Our sonic environment and the tuning of the world. Rochester, VT: Destiny Books. Yurdakul, G. and zur Nieden, B. (­2018). Introduction. In: R. Römhild, A. Schwanhäußer, B. zur Nieden  & G. Yurdakul (­Eds.), Witnessing the Transition: Moments in the Long Summer of Migration (­p­­p.  ­7–​­11).Berlin: Berlin Institute for empirical Integration and Migration Research. Retrieved from https://­edoc.­hu-​­berlin.de/­bitstream/­handle/­18452/­19415/­­w itnessing-­​­­the-​­t ransition.pdf Whisnant, C. J. (­2016). Queer identities and politics in Germany: A history 1 ­ 880–​­1945. New York: Harrington Park Press, LLC.

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22 Joining the Party in ­Downtown Brooklyn Maryam Hosseini

Introduction When urban public spaces are closed to traffic, they offer opportunities for holding all kinds of festive events, events that enable the kind of cultural exchange that helps create vibrant neighborhoods as Quinn (­2018) and Smith et al. (­2021) describe. With the right management, funding and programming by local neighborhood organizations, ­traffic-​­free public spaces can become places for adults and children to watch music and dance performances, to sing and dance themselves, to play games, to create art, to laugh and celebrate. The resulting mixture of spontaneity, excitement and harmony creates a swirl of joy. In this chapter, I explore how four plazas in Downtown Brooklyn offer just such opportunities. They are Brooklyn Commons, Plaza at 300 Ashland, Albee Square and Willoughby Plaza (­­Table  22.2, and ­Figures  22.1 and 22.2). These plazas are located in three different Business Improvement Districts (­BIDs). The Willoughby Walks festival is described in detail to demonstrate how public spaces can support public festivals. To gather information about the management, planning, and other details of events held in the plazas, I interviewed staff members of the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership (­DBP), the organization that hosts the greatest number of public events in Downtown Brooklyn. Two interviews were conducted with staff members in 2019 and one in 2022. They are Regina Myer, the president, and Ariana Hellerman, the director of programs. I also interviewed eight participants in Willoughby Walks events in 2019 and 2022. Four additional interviews were conducted with four people sitting in Willoughby Plaza and Brooklyn Commons, during lunchtime or in the afternoon. Information was also drawn from my observations of different events between June and October 2019, in October 2021, and between March and June 2022. Information about the events was taken from the website of DBP (­Downtown Brooklyn Partnership, 2022a) and social media platforms, including the YouTube channel, Twitter, and Instagram.

Business Improvement Districts Business Improvement Districts (­BIDs) are areas of a city where local businesses finance projects within that district. New York City’s Small Business Services defines a BID as “­a 312

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-28

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geographical area where local stakeholders oversee and fund the maintenance, improvement and promotion of their commercial district” (­N YC Small Business Services, n.d.). The organization that manages the BID is responsible for the beautification and business development of the district, street cleaning and maintenance, public safety, marketing and holding events. According to the NYC Department of Small Business Services (­SBS), BID programs and services are funded by a special assessment billed to property owners within a district. Assessments are unique to each BID and decided upon by the BID’s stakeholders. The City of New York assists with the collection of the special assessment, 100% of which is given directly to the BID. On average, assessments make up 75% of BID budgets. Most BIDs also fundraise, apply for grants, and generate revenue from programs to support the services they provide. In Downtown Brooklyn, as part of its effort to build thriving neighborhoods, the Department of SBS established eight BIDs (­see ­Table 22.1). The organization managing the BID can apply for grants offered by different city departments, such as the Open Street Grants Program offered by SBS or the Plaza Program offered by the Department of Transportation. After the New York City Department of Transportation established the Pedestrian Plaza Program, the Public Space Programming initiative was also created to help and support ­Table 22.1  Business Improvement Districts in Downtown Brooklyn

Year established

Total number of storefronts

Property Total assessment revenue, expenses, Fiscal Organization Fiscal Year 2021 Year 2021 in charge

Myrtle Avenue Brooklyn Partnership MetroTech

April, 2005

225

$575,000

$1,015,393

January, 1992 263

$4,771,553

$4,352,599

Fulton Mall Improvement Association

June, 1976

185

$2,605,850

$2,449,691

­Court-­​ June, 2007 ­­Livingston-​ ­Schermerhorn

220

$1,400,000

$1,348,077

Montague January, 1998 100 Street Atlantic Avenue July, 1905 381

$210,000

$222,964

$390,000

$367,500

Fulton Area January, 1986 192 Business (­FAB) Alliance  21 DUMBO December, 2005

$200,000

$196,500

$1,150,000

$1,353,767

Name of BID

Myrtle Avenue Brooklyn Partnership Downtown Brooklyn Partnership (­DBP) Downtown Brooklyn Partnership (­DBP) Downtown Brooklyn Partnership (­DBP) The Montague Street BID Atlantic Avenue BID (­A ABID) The Fulton Area Business Alliance (­FAB FULTON) Dumbo Improvement District

Source: Department of Small Business Services (­SBS), https://­nycsbs.maps.arcgis.com/­apps/­ webappviewer/­index.html?id=7c2d36ad6c774e98a90ade1064fb575a.

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­Figure 22.1 Plazas and districts managed by the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership

various events. Then, the events held across the city became more localized, smaller in scale and more responsive to the particular needs and preferences of the local neighborhood. The Downtown Brooklyn Partnership, a n ­ ot-­​­­for-​­profit local development corporation, established in 2006, manages three BIDs in Downtown Brooklyn. They are MetroTech BID, Fulton Mall Improvement Association and ­Court-­​­­Livingston-​­Schermerhorn BID (­­Figure  22.1). Together, these three districts house about 45,000 residents and have more than 15 million visitors each year.

Downtown Brooklyn’s Busiest Plazas The events in the plazas may be active or passive. During active events, people have opportunities to dance, draw, paint, play a board game or exercise. Passive events are those where people watch the event without participating. Examples are watching movies, listening to music or storytelling. Each plaza hosts its own kind of events. Even apparently similar events, like fitness classes or musical performances, are designed and delivered differently from one plaza to another. As explained by Ariana Hellerman, the director of programs of DBP, in planning events for the plazas, various factors are taken into consideration: the number of people it can attract as well as the age group, demographics and occupations of the people living and working 314

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in the area, the types of businesses in the area and the hours they are open (­A. Hellerman, personal communication, February 24, 2019). The history, location, design and size of each plaza also play major roles in determining what kinds of events will be held. The date and time of the events are chosen to best suit the target audience. The goal is to offer activities that will attract diverse groups. The activities involving children are often planned for the morning into the afternoon, while late events target the adult population. Saturdays are family days and the events and furnishing of the plazas for those days are chosen to be ­f amily-​­f riendly. On days when events are held, the plazas may be furnished. Astroturf and beach chairs create a cozier environment during the daytime. For the event called Downtown Brooklyn Presents, the plazas are filled with colorful, bold, and aesthetically exciting items, visible from blocks away. The tents with the DBP logo on them, air dancers, giant chess boards, ping pong tables and large marching bands attract attention and often make people stop in their tracks. ­Table  22.2 shows the size, capacity, average foot traffic, and the events staged in each plaza, based on 2019 data provided by the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership.

Brooklyn Commons Park Brooklyn Commons Park, formerly the MetroTech Center, is lined on three sides by New York University (­N YU) campus buildings, businesses, restaurants and bakeries. The open area in the middle is square, lined with trees and furnished with moveable bistro tables and Adirondack chairs. Around noon on weekdays, the park is a destination for students, residents, employees and employers for spending their lunch breaks. People stretch out on the Adirondack chairs or gather in small groups around the bistro tables. In the afternoon, teenagers and families with children join the crowd. The activities hosted in this plaza are mainly athletic and ­fitness-​­oriented, often accompanied by live performances or DJ music, and seem to attract mostly young professionals and ­Table 22.2  Characteristics of Four Busiest Plazas (­2019) Area (­sq feet)

Capacity (#people)

Foot Traffic Weekly

Foot Traffic Weekends

Brooklyn Commons

150,000

4,558

29,900

10,600

Plaza at 300 Ashland

 35,300

2,186

Albee Square

 18,800

1,585

28,900

28,700

Willoughby Plaza

 14,700

  960

16,900

 7,900

Plaza

Events fairs, fitness classes, ping pong games Happy hours, ice skating display of ice sculpture, films shown by Rooftop Films Downtown Brooklyn Presents series, Chelsea Piers Fitness, ­Drive-​­Thru outdoor theater, BAMkids Family Day BKLYN BOO! (­for Halloween), Downtown Brooklyn Gets Lit, ­pop-​­up beach, outdoor movies, fashion shows, and carnival parties Salsa nights, NYC Ska Orchestra, Willoughby Plaza Lunchtime Music Series

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families with children. The Brooklyn Commons hosts dance performances, Zumba classes, fitness classes, Pickleball, badminton and ping pong games. Happy Hours and film screenings are also held in the plaza. During the winter of 2020, an outdoor skating rink was installed and two Olympians offered ice skating classes at different skill levels. Sometimes, these events are hosted in collaboration with different organizations, including Dodge YMCA (­Zumba), The Push (­Ping Pong) and Rooftop Films.

Plaza at 300 Ashland Adjacent to the brownstone neighborhoods of Fort Greene, Boerum Hill and Park Slope sits Downtown Brooklyn’s newest Plaza at 300 Ashland, completed in 2017 (­­Figure 22.2). The plaza is located in the heart of Brooklyn’s cultural district, which includes more than 40 arts centers, including the Brooklyn Academy of Music, the Center for Fiction, Brooklyn Information & Culture, the Mark Morris Dance Center and the Theater for a New Audience. Hence, most events have links to the arts and connect people with the cultural organizations in the neighborhood (­­Figure  22.3). The vast area creates an excellent venue for hosting events that attract large audiences. The moveable chairs and tables offer the needed flexibility to turn the area into a place for people to stay and enjoy the outdoor environment as well as the many different events in the plaza. Most events staged at this location are oriented around local art, culture and history and are hosted by art centers located nearby. They include providing music for people to dance to, concerts by professional musicians, dance performances, film screenings and storytelling festivals. For instance, in Fall 2021, the Brooklyn Academy of Music held a family event called BAMkids Family Day with multiple live performances and interactive workshops, featuring Grammy ­Award-​­winning band Lucy Kalantari & the Jazz Cats!, Brooklyn United

­Figure 22.2 View of Ashland Plaza

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­Figure 22.3 Soul Summit, Ashland Plaza, July 29, 2022

and Feet of Rhythm Kids. The Center for Fiction hosted a storytelling event for young readers. Bang on a Can, a contemporary classical music group, staged a free outdoor event at the plaza as part of its LONG PLAY, a t­ hree-​­day destination music festival. In December of the same year, the Mark Morris Dance Center (­M MDC) hosted their Holiday Party on the plaza, offering dance lessons and a holiday s­ing-​­along led by the center’s dancers and singers. Even the weekly fitness classes, Movement Mondays, held in partnership with MMDC, are connected to the cultural organization in the neighborhood, as explained by Ariana Hellerman, the director of programs of DBP (­A. Hellerman, personal communication, February 24, 2019). In 2022, The Van Alen Institute, Two Trees Management, and the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership created a reconfigurable outdoor theater called D ­ rive-​­Thru, featuring eight ­Brooklyn-​­based artists and filmmakers at 300 Ashland Plaza. The D ­ rive-​­Thru was an event 317

Maryam Hosseini

intended to highlight “­Brooklyn communities, explore themes of urban life, and connect to Black History Month and Women’s History Month” (­Downtown Brooklyn Partnership, 2022b).

Albee Square Albee Square sits at the intersection of Fulton Street and DeKalb Avenue, at the center of the Fulton Street Mall, which is a long stretch of retail and fashion outlet stores, local restaurants as well as ­big-​­box chain stores and department stores alongside the more recent luxurious ­m ixed-​­used City Point complex, which replaced the Albee Square Mall. Once among the New York City’s most profitable retail strips and a popular fashion destination for the young, Fulton Street Mall is also known as the landmark site for h ­ ip-​­hop culture in the city (­Woo, TenHoor, & Rich, 2010; Zeiger, 2010). The American rapper Biz Markie, who used to hang out there in the 1980s, even wrote a song about it with the lyrics: “­So when I come in the Mall, and then I start to roam, you wouldn’t think it’s a store, you would think it’s my home” (­Markie, Williams, & Wilson, 1988). While the area has changed, the essence of h ­ ip-​­hop is still there. The close ties between ­h ip-​­hop culture and the Fulton Mall have inspired event planning in Albee Square. For instance, Vinyl Nights Dance Parties combine ­h ip-​­hop music and dance performances on a weekly basis with events inspired by the history and local culture of Brooklyn, such as Michael Jackson’s classic music video, Bad, which was filmed in the ­Hoyt-​­Schermerhorn Street subway station in 1987 (­A misu, 2014; Lethem, 2007). Albee Square Happy Hours hosts music ­performances – ​­jazz music, blues, and rock & ­roll – ​­with local musicians from different cultures and backgrounds, such as the Haiti Cultural Exchange and Colombian singers and saxophonists. People can sit, socialize and watch performances on a set of curved steps, similar to a small amphitheater. Movable chairs, tables and umbrellas offer more possibilities. I have observed people there eating, drinking or checking their phones. People also sit around the tables in ­g roups – ​­talking, showing each other the items they have just bought and exchanging ideas about whether they should keep or return them. Events hosted in Albee Square are generally fun and family oriented such as the monthly Brooklyn Block Parties that revolve around various themes, including BKLYN BOO (­for Halloween), ­Car-​­Free Earth Day when Albee Square West is closed to traffic and the space is dedicated to activities ranging from dancing in the middle of the street to painting the ground surface of the street with chalk or paint. BKLYN Kids is a weekend festival for children two to ten years old that fills the space with music, games, face painting, puzzles, storytelling and playing with bubbles or balloons. In 2018, Albee Square was transformed into a ­pop-​­up beach with kiddie pools and inflatables, sand art and musical performances. In 2019, the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership hosted a celebration of Día De Los Muertos (­Day of the Dead), a traditional Mexican holiday when families and friends get together to remember those who have died. The event introduced this celebration to members of other cultures. For that celebration, the square was decorated according to ­pre-​­Hispanic traditions to prepare the plaza for the visit of the souls of loved ones.

Willoughby Plaza The smallest of the four plazas is in the Willoughby neighborhood, where Willoughby Walks was first held in 2006. It was a series of experiments of closing streets to traffic and 318

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dedicating the spaces exclusively to pedestrians. This ­one-​­block stretch of Willoughby Street became a permanent plaza in 2013 (­National Association of City Transportation Officials, n.d.). The plaza is between Brooklyn Bridge Boulevard and Pearl Street, close to the New York University campus, small local restaurants and the Metro Tech Center. The plaza is furnished with movable bistro chairs and tables where students, shoppers and residents can enjoy eating lunch outside while enjoying the Willoughby Plaza Lunchtime Music Series on Tuesdays in September, including classic Latin Jazz, Caribbean music, rock and pop hits and modern electronic music. The small square size of the plaza creates a cozy environment, suitable for events such as Salsa Nights, when the added Tivoli lighting creates a more intimate setting. Dancing and Salsa Nights have been highly popular, with a loyal audience, as explained by Regina Myer, the president of DBP (­R. Myer, personal communication, February 24, 2019). The many festivals and celebratory events are designed to attract different groups of people. “­We’re trying to be something for everyone. It’s not just about programming for the specific space, we’re constantly trying to think of how we can do something to appeal to all different types and groups of people,” said Ariana Hellerman, the director of programs at DBP (­A. Hellerman, personal communication, February 24, 2019).

Willoughby Walks Since 2018, the event called Willoughby Walks has been held on the commercial thoroughfares of Willoughby and Lawrence Streets, which for that event are closed to vehicular traffic and transformed into an “­urban oasis” (­the term DBP uses to name the event) on three consecutive Wednesdays, usually in the spring and fall. Throughout the day and into the evening, Willoughby and Lawrence Streets are filled with adults and children engaged in a rich variety of activities. Astroturf is rolled out, lounge chairs are put out, giant games are placed on different parts of the street and piles of colored tape, chalk and painting easels are provided along with live music, snacks and opportunities to dance and to make mega bubbles. The event draws many people of different ages, races and ethnicities who can lounge in the lawn chairs and bask in the sun in a ­car-​­free street or watch a performance, play ping pong or chess, paint, sing or make art. During Willoughby Walks, the streets fill with laughter, music and a sense of excitement (­­Figure 22.4). Unlike events hosted in the plazas, which are always free of vehicles, Willoughby Walks brings celebration right into two streets, giving people the freedom to use both the roadway and the sidewalk to sit, lounge and even sunbathe. Interestingly enough, people spend most of their time in the middle of the roadway. In that location, people sit in lounge chairs placed on the Astroturf, which is laid down on the street, while plenty of chairs and other places to sit on the sidewalk and in the cozy Willoughby Plaza remain empty. Perhaps lying down in the middle of what is usually a normal street gives people feelings of power and freedom and possibly a sense of rebellion. This is where the day before you could not even stand for a few seconds. Interestingly enough, most people gather in the middle of the street. The Astroturf that covers the street’s ground surface is nearly full the entire day, while plenty of chairs in the seating areas on the sidewalks remain empty. As if people just want to experience owning the street space. In May 2019, for three consecutive Wednesdays, Willoughby Walks events took over Willoughby and Lawrence Streets from 12 to 8 p.m. The ­d ay-​­long activities included playing croquet, table games (­e.g. chess, Jenga, checkers and Connect Four) and using hula hoops. A selfie station (­a portable photo booth) was also provided. Chess sets and other table games on 319

Maryam Hosseini

­Figure 22.4 Scenes from Willoughby Walks 2019: (­a) Moving sculptures from “­Conversations with Monsters” performance; (­b) young people playing ping pong; (­c) Astroturf with lounge chairs creates an Urban Oasis; and (­d) people playing chess

bistro tables allowed strangers to play against each other (­­Figure 22.4d). Programs for children ran from 1 to 5 p.m. On Willoughby at Bridge Street, children could get face paintings and temporary tattoos that matched the theme of that day’s party. They could also jump rope and play with ­mega-​­sized bubbles. The theme of the first event in 2019 was Jazz Festival with a drumming performance and a band that marched from Lawrence to Willoughby at Jay Street. Spectators lined the sidewalks, wearing New ­O rleans-​­style masks and hats, waving and cheering to the beat of the band. Pedicabs offered rides to people for a few dollars. The event continued with a performance of two brass bands playing classical New Orleans Funk, R&B, modern ­A fro-​­Beat and Hip Hop. The atmosphere changed with a lively performance of a Haitian processional band that used trumpets made from recycled materials. In the Kid’s Corner, the special program was musical storytelling. The first c­ ar-​­free Willoughby Walks in 2019 ended with a Jazz Age Lawn Party on The Stage at Jay Street. The DBP gave the following description of the ­d ay-​­long event: “­T he Prohibition ­era-​ i­nspired gathering is a magical opportunity to travel back in time with live music by Michael Arenella and his Dreamland Orchestra. Be inspired and dress your 1920s best!” (­Brooklyn BKLYN, 2019). “­Street Arts” was the theme of Willoughby Walks on the second Wednesday in 2019, highlighting local arts, local culture and the history of Downtown Brooklyn. The event 320

Joining the Party in Downtown Brooklyn

started with the sounds of woodwinds, brass instruments and unorthodox drumming styles. The day continued with breakdance performances, DJ music and It’s Showtime NYC, celebrating street culture. Children made paper hats to join the HONK NYC parade scheduled for the following Wednesday. An ­hour-​­long ­h ip-​­hop jam session invited people to join freestyle dancing to a variety of beats. In the evening, a dance party called Vinyl Nights Summer ­K ick-​­Off was held on the Stage at Jay Street until 8 p.m. The DBP called the third Willoughby Walk of 2019 Cirque du Willoughby and described it as “­a magical wonderland with street theater, stilt walkers, unicyclists, and magicians, with a theatrical ending to wrap up the evening” (­Downtown Brooklyn Partnership, 2019). In partnership with the annual HONK NYC Festival, this event started with five street bands marching down Willoughby Street. For that day, the DBP created an imaginary landscape filled with color, music, and many activities. There were performers on the Cyr ­W heel – ​­a large ring used in circuses for acrobatics with sculptural costuming used by the Alice Farley Dance Theater’s performance of Conversations with Monsters. The performers wearing irregularly shaped costumes moved through the neighborhood, dancing and interacting with the public (­­Figure 22.4a). On the corner of Willoughby and Lawrence Street, there was a stilt show station where people could try standing on the stilts. Juggling performances and instructions for juggling for both children and adults were also offered. The highlight of Willoughby Walks in 2022 was LayeRhythm, a group of musicians, dancers and vocalists who performed freestyle jam sessions. The performers asked the audience what instrument they wanted to hear first and the crowd shouted out “­the keys” (­a n electric piano or a keyboard). The performers then asked the audience to give them a word or concept, which they then acted out. The entire dance performance was improvised, based on the audience’s input. This unusual performance transformed a passive audience into active, involved spectators who became an integral part of the show. Other events in 2022 included an h ­ our-​­long Zumba class offered by the Dodge YMCA (­­Figure  22.5a), a street dance workshop with CocoMotion and DJ music for freestyle dancing. Children enjoyed the mega bubbles show (­­Figure 22.5b). There was also a sketching station with easels on tables (­­Figure 22.5c). Willoughby Walks appeals to different age groups at different times of the day. During the daytime, mainly older adults were playing chess or relaxing on the synthetic grass, while younger adults and teenagers were pasting tapes on the wall to create colorful patterns, playing ping pong and dancing (­­Figure 22.4.b). They moved more quickly from one activity to the next than adults did. After watching for a while, some bystanders would join an ongoing ping pong match or a game of croquet or seize the moment to do some short dance moves.

Events, Advertising and Challenges Based on data provided by DBP, in 2019 a total of 134 events were held at the four public plazas of Downtown Brooklyn. ­Forty-​­eight events were held at Metrotech Commons, 41 at the Plaza at 300 Ashland, 18 at Albee Square and 27 at Willoughby Plaza. The 134 events held in 2019 attracted around 20,000 participants in total. These events were mostly attended by the local community, students and people who work in the area. But, as explained by Regina Myer, the president of DBP, some events such as the Brooklyn BRIC Jazz Fest kickoff concert with Betty Lavette, a soul singer and songwriter who has a huge following, attracted hundreds of people from various places (­R. Myer, personal communication, February 24, 2019). Ariana Hellerman, the director of programs at DBP, told me that during the COVID lockdown of 2020, DBP and DOT partnered to create 55,000 square feet of open streets and 321

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­Figure 22.5 Scenes from Willoughby Walks 2022: (­a) Zumba session; (­b) children playing with mega bubbles; (­c) the sketching station; and (­d) barriers keep vehicles out

held 40 socially distanced events, including 18 thriller dancers and countless Zumba dancers (­A. Hellerman, personal communication, March 30, 2022). The Rehearsal Residency Initiative provided 20 artists with free rehearsal space. In 2022, the DBP broke its previous record in 2021 by hosting 176 events, the largest number in its history.

Advertising Prior to each event, DBP staff members distribute printed fliers to people on the street, community groups, local businesses and local institutions. Signs announcing upcoming events are posted in areas with high rates of foot traffic. And announcements are posted on the social media platforms of the organization sponsoring the event and DBP platforms. DBP has a strong online presence, maintaining several social network platforms, including YouTube channel, Instagram, Twitter and Facebook, alongside the organization’s own website which is updated regularly, providing a calendar of upcoming events as well as extensive reports about their past events. A young black woman I interviewed in 2019, who was playing ping pong with her daughter in the Brooklyn Commons, said, “­I often look up their events online. My kids love them. My daughter gets so excited about the giant bubbles.” Many spectators just stumble upon the events. In my interview with Ariana Hellerman, the director of programs at DBP, she explained that the events themselves are the best form 322

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of advertising for subsequent events (­A. Hellerman, personal communication, February 24, 2019). Also many pedestrians in the Fulton Mall come up to the DBP tents and sign the mailing list or scan the QR code to see the list of future events.

Challenges The Downtown Brooklyn Partnership faces many challenges in planning and delivering the events. The number of tasks that need to be completed before and during the events increases with the number of events that DBP plans and hosts each year. DBP staged 140 events in 2018 and 134 events in 2019. During the planning stage, the major challenge lies in completing the bureaucratic steps: applying to the Department of Transportation for a permit to hold the event and to the New York Police Department for a sound permit. Informing businesses in the neighborhood of upcoming events is another important step to be taken before the events. Ariana Hellerman, the director of programs of DBP, explained that for events that require street closures, the businesses located in the area are informed in advance so that they can plan if they expect delivery services or if they need to use their cars that are parked in the area (­A. Hellerman, personal communication, March 30, 2022). Normally, the DPB informs businesses in the area by delivering a flyer that informs them of the upcoming event so they can reschedule deliveries or make any other adjustments that are necessary. Convincing some cultural organizations to perform in public open spaces can also be challenging since they are accustomed to performing inside theaters and concert halls. Unexpected weather conditions on the day of the event are the most common and sometimes the most difficult challenge to face before the event is to take place. Depending on the severity, timing, duration and potential impact, different strategies and backup plans are adopted ranging from changing the location to canceling part of or the entire event. The organizations overseeing the public plazas are responsible for deciding which concession stands can operate during the events as well as for cleaning up the area after each event. During the events, the sounds generated can raise concerns as well. Often, in my workspace at 2 Metrotech Center, which is right opposite the Brooklyn Commons, I can hear the sounds of loud music that make it difficult for me and my colleagues to focus on our work. A ­m iddle-​­aged, white lady sitting on a bench in Brooklyn Commons told me in 2022: To be honest, I used to get very frustrated with their loud music, and I am not a huge fan of the type of music they select. Always too loud and too much noise. But during the first months of the pandemic, I was going absolutely insane, and I just couldn’t bear to look at these streets empty. Now, I still do not enjoy the music that much, but I appreciate what they do more.

Conclusion As this chapter demonstrates, with an understanding of the local community and appropriate programming, public festivals can provide space for members of different cultures to represent themselves and become stages for showcasing untapped community talents and diverse cultural heritages and traditions. As a result of the creativity and hard work of the staff of the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership, this is precisely what the events they organize do. The themes and individual events they invent and hold are remarkably diverse and engaging. This 323

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diversity draws people of different ages, races and cultures and gives people opportunities to watch or to participate and to learn about other cultures. For instance, the 2022 series opened with Senegalese Taneber Sunu Birr (­D rum and Dance Circle), Sabar dance instructions, drumming and a dance circle that celebrated “­the power and culture of Senegalese tradition and honoring African descendants who fought for freedom and liberation” (­Downtown Brooklyn Partnership, 2022c). The series ended with the screening of a documentary that depicts the struggles of a historically Black mosque in t­ he Bedford-​­Stuyesant neighborhood as it opposes the gentrification of the neighborhood. Since the screening of the film overlapped with the month of Ramadan, the DBP partnered with students from neighboring high schools to arrange a community iftar. In that way, students could learn about the traditions of Ramadan and hear about the experiences of Muslim residents living in Downtown Brooklyn. According to Ariana Hellerman, the director of programs at DBP, many people who participated in that event said that they had never been to an iftar before and had not even known what it was. Public festivals bring members of different local communities together and create a sense of local pride. During the 2021 Willoughby Walks, I asked three people sitting next to me their opinions of the musical performance that had just finished. A ­m iddle-​­aged black man said: I feel a sense of local pride. How to put it? Whenever I see some bands with black people performing, I feel I need to support them. I need to support my people. We have been through a lot, and these are just small chances for us to celebrate how brave we have been. Festive events create opportunities for people to listen to different kinds of music and to see different forms of art. They provide the public with opportunities to attend performances of artists that would not be affordable for many people if they had to buy tickets. They also provide a chance for unknown artists to have a stage to practice, perform and showcase their talents. In 2019, the BRIC, an arts and media organization in Downtown Brooklyn, and the Brooklyn Historical Society (­ BHS) curated and organized the exhibition “Beyond Contemporary Art and Muslim Exhibition”. The exhibition presented “­the works of nine New ­York-​­based artists whose work explores the multiple dimensions of the contemporary Muslim experience” (­BRIC, 2019). This inspired the DBP to invite Oddisee, a popular Muslim rapper and record producer, to participate in the annual Downtown ­Brooklyn Art Festival. During Willoughby Walks in 2022, I talked with a 4­ 0-­​­­year-​­old black man about his experience of DBP events. He said: You know, I’ve heard his (­Oddisee) name before but I never actually listened to him, until his performance here. It’s one thing to hear someone’s name or even listen to their songs but it’s something else to see singing for you right on the street. That create a connection like no other. You feel he’s one of you. Public festivals make public spaces visible. They can also serve as a medium for change by showcasing the benefits of dedicating those spaces to the needs and interests of local

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communities. In that way, they can convince city officials to implement more p­ edestrian-​ ­ riented strategies. In fact, in September 2019, the New York City Department of Transo portation announced Brooklyn’s first f­ ull-​­time, shared street configuration, transforming a section of Willoughby ­Street – ​­from Pearl Street to Lawrence ­Street – ​­into a permanently shared street, and restricted the traffic speed to 5  mph. The plan evolved from the success of the collaboration between NYC DOT and DBP in using public spaces for festive events, specifically for Willoughby Walks (­New York City Department of Transportation, 2019). Even with available funding, public programming initiatives intended to encourage organizations to promote festive events, not all the organizations in charge of BIDs are active on this front. Many focus solely on promoting the businesses in their neighborhoods by promoting those businesses on their websites. Or they hold just ­small-​­scale events. It would be interesting to investigate what causes this difference between organizations. Downtown Brooklyn events have been notably successful in achieving many goals. One feature that is missing is any effort to facilitate the presence of people with disabilities. This is something that could be addressed in the future.

References Amisu, E. (­2014). Bad (­1987). Retrieved from https://­m ichaeljacksonstudies.org/­­bad-​­1987/ BRIC. (­ 2019). Beyond geographies: Contemporary art and Muslim experience. Retrieved from https://­w ww.bricartsmedia.org/­­a rt- ​­e xhibitions/­­b eyond- ­​­­g eographies- ­​­­c ontemporary- ­​­­a rt- ­​­­a nd-­​ ­­muslim-​­experience Brooklyn BKLYN. (­2019). Willoughby Walks: Jazz age. Retrieved from https://­webcache.googleuser content.com/­s earch?q=cache:0ziI8bw9_W4J:https://­w w w.brook lynbk lyn.com/­c alendar/ ­2019/­5/­15/­­w illoughby-­​­­walks-­​­­jazz-​­age&cd=2&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us Downtown Brooklyn Partnership. (­2019). Downtown Brooklyn Partnership and NYC DOT announce the return of “­Willoughby Walks” to Downtown Brooklyn. Retrieved from https://­w ww. downtownbrooklyn.com/­news/­2 019/­­downtown-­​­­brooklyn-­​­­partnership-­​­­a nd-­​­­nyc-­​­­dot-­​­­a nnounce-­​ ­­the-­​­­return-­​­­of-­​­­w illoughby-­​­­walks-­​­­to-­​­­downtown-​­brooklyn Downtown Brooklyn Partnership. (­2022a). Activate our plazas. Retrieved from https://­w ww.downtownbrooklyn.com/­about/­­partner-­​­­w ith-​­us/­­activate- ­​­­our-​­plazas Downtown Brooklyn Partnership. (­2022b). Downtown Brooklyn Partnership and Van Alen Institute unveil ­Soft-​­Firm’s ­Drive-​­Thru at The Plaza at 300 Ashland. Retrieved from https://­w ww.downtownbrooklyn.com/­news/­2 022/­­downtown-­​­­brooklyn-­​­­partnership-­​­­a nd-­​­­van-­​­­a len-­​­­i nstitute-­​­­u nveil-­​ ­­outdoor-­​­­theater-­​­­at-­​­­the-­​­­plaza-­​­­at-­​­­300-​­a shland Downtown Brooklyn Partnership. (­2022c). ­Soft-​­fi rm’s ­d rive-​­thru. Retrieved from https://­w ww. downtownbrooklyn.com/­­d rive-​­thru Hellerman, A. (­2019, February 24). Personal Interview. Hellerman, A. (­2022, March 30). Personal Interview. Lethem, J. (­2007). The disappointment artist: Essays. New York: Vintage. Markie, B., Williams, M. L. R., & Wilson, N. (­1988). Albee Square Mall [Recorded by B. Markie]. On Goin’ Off. New York: Cold Chillin’ Records. (­1987). Myer, R. (­2019, Feburary 24). Personal Interview. National Association of City Transportation Officials. (­n.d.). Case Study: Willoughby Plaza, Brooklyn, NY. Retrieved from https://­nacto.org/­­case-​­study/­­w illoughby-­​­­plaza-­​­­brooklyn-​­ny/ New York City Department of Transportation. (­2019). NYC DOT and the Downtown Brooklyn Partnership announce Brooklyn’s first shared street. Retrieved from https://­w ww1.nyc.gov/­html/­ dot/­html/­pr2019/­­pr19–​­061.shtml NYC Small Business Services. (­n.d.). Business improvement districts. Retrieved from https://­w ww1. nyc.gov/­site/­sbs/­neighborhoods/ ­bids.page Quinn, B. (­2018). Festivals and social sustainability. In J. Mair (­Ed.), The Routledge handbook of festivals (­pp­­ . ­53–​­61). New York: Routledge.

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Smith, A., Vodicka, G., Colombo, A., Lindstrom, K. N., McGillivray, D., & Quinn, B. (­2021). Staging city events in public spaces: An urban design perspective. International Journal of Event and Festival Management, 12(­2), ­224–​­239. Woo, R., TenHoor, M., & Rich, D. (­2010). Street value: Shopping, planning, and politics at Fulton Mall. New York: Princeton Architectural Press. Zeiger, M. (­2010). Street cred. Retrieved from https://­doi.org/­10.22269/­101007

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Part VII

Research Methods for Studying Public Space

23 Recording Diverse Uses of a City’s Public Spaces Sverre Bjerkeset and Jonny Aspen

Introduction To a large extent what makes cities so intriguing is the diversity of human activities that take place in public spaces. Can this diversity of activities be categorized in a meaningful way? In this chapter, we present a system for doing so. Although numerous classifications of public space exist, those that address use tend to be either too partial or too general. What we present here is a classification that is comprehensive and detailed and that can be used as a tool for observing and for analyzing uses of public space. As a recording tool, it can facilitate the identification and documentation of the full range of activities that take place in public spaces. As an analytic tool, it can be employed to compare use at different points in time within the same space as well as use across various spaces. This way it can contribute to a more informed, empirically based analysis of the many shifting and contrasting forms of public space use. The classification we present here was briefly described in a previous publication (­Bjerkeset and Aspen, 2020). In this chapter, the categories are more fully explained and are grounded in field observations of public space use in Oslo, Norway. We also describe how the classification can be used for observation and analysis in future research.

Classifying Uses of Public Space Making sense of the world by way of classifying is a prime concern in the social sciences and humanities. This extends to other fields as well in which public space constitutes a research subject or an object of planning, design, and management. A broad range of classifications of public space exists. Among these are ones that focus on their historical evolution (­Low, 2000), form and shape (­Kostof, 1992) and management (­Carmona et al., 2008). When reviewing existing ways of classifying the uses of public space, one ought to consider the definition of “­use” that is employed. Two main approaches correspond to a basic distinction between action and behavior. The former refers to activities, the focus of this chapter, and comprises actions that are carried out with intent. In contrast, ­behavior refers to how

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-30

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people go about pursuing those activities, perhaps relating to social norms (­e.g. x behaved poorly or well). Many categorizations of use focus on particular types of activities (­e.g. playful activities, pedestrian activities, or economic activities). Some classifications consider different types, such as types of public space and their corresponding uses (­Carr et al., 1992; Carmona and Wunderlich, 2012). Carmona et al. (­2008) present a list of 17 public space uses, which comprise a mix of single activities, classes of activities, and public s­pace-​­related sites or institutions. None of these classifications, however, intends to be exhaustive of all types of public space use. Influential architect and urban designer Jan Gehl has classified the use of public space in different ways. The categorization for which he is best known distinguishes between ‘­necessary’ and ‘­optional’ activities, roughly corresponding to utilitarian and recreational activities (­Gehl and Svarre, 2013: 17). Although the two categories attribute significance to some essential dimensions of public space use, they are too general to capture the full diversity of activity types and their distinctive characteristics. Issues related to public space also draw the interest of a range of c­ ommunity-​­oriented actors. Central among these is the global placemaking movement. The movement’s hub, Project for Public Spaces (­2018), has proposed a way of characterizing activities in public space as fun, active, vital, special, real, useful, indigenous, celebratory, and sustainable. These can be considered categories but they represent ­qualitative aspects of use rather than the sort of activity types we are concerned with here.

A Comprehensive Classification Before going into the details of our proposed classification, some clarification is required. In creating a classification of uses, two basic rules apply: the categories should be both exhaustive and mutually exclusive (­Bailey, 1994; Lofland et al., 2006: p­p. ­146–​­149). In dealing with a fairly complex and ambiguous phenomenon such as public space use, we interpret the principles of exhaustiveness and mutual exclusion more as an ideal than an absolute rule. For our purposes, “­public space” refers to outdoor spaces in cities that in principle (­but not always in practice) are accessible to all and do not require payment by the occupants. These are streets, squares, parks, and promenades, and also more mundane spaces such as parking lots, walkways, and bus stops. The classification is based on our observations of dense, m ­ ixed-​ ­ se urban areas in Oslo. The terms “­activity” and “­use” (­terms employed interchangeably) u refer to individual or collective actions pursued in public spaces for various purposes. The classification we propose is primarily grounded in knowledge of Nordic settings. It results from three years of field research, mainly in the form of participant observation, about public space use in central parts of Oslo and from the processing of that material. In addition to fieldwork, some information is drawn from the authors’ experiences of how public spaces are used in other Nordic countries and beyond. The proposed system is a descriptive and tentatively exhaustive classification of individual and collective activities that take place in centrally located outdoor public spaces. Even though technically a taxonomy (­rather than a typology), for reasons of accessibility, this chapter employs the more common term “­classification”. Altogether, 16 categories make up the classification, each representing distinct activity types. The categories are listed in ­Table 23.1 with definitions and examples. In terms of user groups, an overall distinction can be made between those who have specific roles to play or are committed to specific tasks (­often related to ­income-​­generating work 330

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or voluntary engagements), and those who use the spaces in question for their own practical and recreational purposes (­i.e. regular users, of which there are the most). It should be stressed at the outset that, due to the complexity and ambiguity of the phenomena in question, some categories will necessarily overlap. Also, the classification can be further developed. It may also be useful to develop subcategories, especially for some of the broader categories, such as “­personal recreation” and “­everyday practical activities” (in order to distinguish between stationary activities and those involving motion) or between pedestrians and individuals moving around by mechanical or motorized means. When it comes to the category of personal recreation, a further subdivision into types such as play, athletic activities, romance, consumption, and relaxation might be helpful.

Everyday Practical Activities Technological development and societal changes have gradually rendered many everyday pursuits of urbanites on streets and squares obsolete or less frequent. People seldom have to be in or move through public space to hear the news, deliver personal and public messages, secure water, dispose of garbage, and body waste. However, an abundance of “­everyday practical activities” persists or has emerged that many people carry out on a regular (­a nd often daily) basis, and which necessarily include transient or stationary uses of public space: moving to or from one’s home, work, or school; running errands; walking the dog; accompanying children to leisure activities; fixing and maintaining personal belongings (­e.g. bikes and cars); and many others. For analytical purposes, we have placed a smaller selection of such daily practical activities, most importantly the purchasing of goods and being transported around (­in buses, trams, etc.), under separate categories. At some of the study sites, such as the hearts of the Grønland and Majorstua neighborhoods, a central location and proximity to public transport services (­such as a subway station) generates much pedestrian movement. The m ­ ixed-​­use character of areas like these produces a relatively large number of everyday practical activities. Such activities tend to have a faster pace than other activity types and involve rapid and crossing movements and brief interactions between people.

Personal Recreation Countless urban activities are related to leisure and recreation, supported by flexible working hours, extended holidays, and the presence of more elderly people of generally good health. Individual interests shape many recreational activities which often take place during leisure time. Individuals often carry out these recreational activities alone or with acquaintances. “­Personal recreational” refers to activities such as going for a walk, working out, enjoying peace and quiet in a park, and watching the urban bustle from a public bench. Such recreational activities frequently performed alone or with persons one knows are distinguished from recreational activities where some kind of interaction with strangers is typical (­e.g. leisure shopping or attending “­civic”, “­culture and entertainment”, and “­ceremony and celebration” activities, i.e. activities in which one is part of an audience or a crowd or in direct contact with people selling products, agitating for a cause, providing entertainment, participating in a procession, and so forth). In this ­post-​­industrial era, city harbor fronts have again become important leisure arenas. The upscale, ­m ixed-​­use Tjuvholmen waterfront development is such an area (­­Figure 23.1). While desolate on winter days, it fills with recreational activities as summer takes hold. 331

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­Figure 23.1 ­Personal recreation: ­Saturday-​­promenading along the harbor front at Tjuvholmen, Oslo

People stroll around, observe the lavish architecture, rest on a bench or a lawn, contemplate, read, sunbath, go swimming in the fjord, enjoy the view and each other’s company, eat and drink, party.

Transportation An important share of activities taking place in cities is the transporting of people, goods, and products from one location to another. Passengers may be transported across the city in cars, buses, or trams. Goods may be picked up, transported, and delivered. Unlike other “­transportation” activities, car driving is largely personal mobility (­here placed under “­everyday practical activities). Still, car driving is placed under “­transportation”, since it like most other such activities normally requires separate traffic lanes and implies that both drivers and passengers are encapsulated in a private or ­semi-​­public space, thus not interacting with public space proper. In Oslo, there is now a ban on private cars from large parts of the city center. A principal rationale is to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, but among the effects hoped for are also invigorated public spaces. Other related changes in city transportation: public transport is given high priority, and goods are now increasingly being transported on small electric cars, bikes and vehicles.

Selling and Buying Outdoor trade and exchange of goods and services have been a part of urban culture throughout the ages. This category refers to activities of selling and marketing (­primarily economically motivated), as well as to acts of purchasing in public space. It includes formal ­activities – ​­such as marketing of commercial products and sales from market ­stands – ​­as well as more informal ones like prostitution, ambulatory vending, and shoe shining (­­Figure 23.2). 332

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­Figure 23.2 ­Buying and selling: Vendors of food delivery subscriptions and potential buyers at Majorstu Square, Oslo

In large cities like Oslo, we find a wide array of individuals with a “­license” to approach others. Many are involved in some kind of commercial transaction: marketing people, street vendors, waiters, shop owners, and shop employees. A hierarchy exists as to how they are perceived, with aggressive vending at the lower end. Stalls outside stores constitute an important part of selling and buying in many public spaces. A large and ­well-​­stocked fruit and vegetable store on a pedestrian street of the city’s multicultural hub, Grønland, stands out with its hectic ­bazaar-​­like ambiance. Here, and in other similar places, goods on outdoor display can spur customers to comment and discuss price, quality and selection of products.

Civic Activities Public spaces frequented by large crowds have traditionally been important sites for activities of speaking out, public debate, and conveying political messages, news, and gossip. Although many such activities have now been displaced by new communication technologies, public spaces are still important for citizens, activists, and (­­non-​­governmental) interest groups to express and represent their opinions and will. Political campaigning, demonstrations, strikes, fundraising, and recruitment (­e.g. for charity purposes) are but a few examples. The Grønland district is a mere fi ­ ve-​­minute walk from Oslo’s commercial center. The challenges it faces are many (­h igh unemployment and crime rates, drug dealing), a fact the press frequently reports. Its more positive qualities are often overlooked. Civil society, for instance, has a strong presence, and particularly so in its central square. During elections, there are many intense political activities such as intense discussions between activists and passersby. Peaceful protests and demonstrations also occur regularly. Not least, there is much activity and soliciting by religious communities. Muslim communities dominate. There are others, perhaps engaging in street preaching, petitioning or the handing out of Bibles, 333

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­Figure 23.3 ­Civic activities: ­Here to listen to you. Group of Jehova’s Witnesses at Grønland Square, Oslo

the Bhagavad Gita, or the Watchtower. The most persistent ones are Jehovah’s Witnesses, who have an unobtrusive stand next to the subway entrance (­­Figure 23.3). A number of other voluntary and ­non-​­profit organizations and associations are often present. During the annual gay pride parade, playful activists dominate the street scene, to some locals’ disdain.

Health and Welfare Services In this category, we refer primarily to free, n ­ on-​­partisan and w ­ elfare-​­related help and assistance that the public, civil society or private institutions offer the general public. Examples are staffed stalls, tents and mobile stations in public space which offer health information, health controls, testing (­in relation to epidemics, such as covid 19), substance abuse assistance, blood donation, social services, food supply, library services, waste recycling, election information and (­­pre-​­poll) voting. “­Health and welfare services” differ from “­public aid” by being more planned and organized. The provision of health and welfare services in public space has increased sharply in the last year or so, due to activities associated with the corona pandemic. S­ emi​­and fully public outdoor spaces are used as temporary test station sites (­in some places vaccinations are also offered), most often at stands or in tents in a square or a parking lot. In some places, vaccines via ­d rive-​­throughs in parking lots are offered.

Culture and Entertainment This category includes organizing, staging and performing public e­ vents  ​­in order to entertain, enlighten or disquiet members of the public. It also includes attendance at such 334

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events. Examples are outdoor exhibitions, concerts, shows and street performances. These events may be free, with or without an expectation of gratuities, or require payment. Such activities have become increasingly important in recent years, as reflected in the notion of “­festivalisation” (­Cudny, 2018). Norway is no exception to this trend; its capital boasts a widely acclaimed music and festival scene. A variety of individual street entertainers also perform in parks, squares and pedestrianized streets. An important aspect of such activities is that bystanders engage in it through their contact with the performers or ­a rtists ​­or, more typically, with each other. This illustrates a widespread social phenomenon in cities: “­t riangulation” or the “­process by which some external stimulus provides a linkage between people and prompts strangers to talk to other strangers as if they knew each other” (­W hyte, 1988: p.154).

Ceremony and Celebration Ceremony and celebration are those activities that, more or less routinely, mark important historical or contemporary events. They may be religious events, recognition of past victories and disasters, national days, anniversaries, or special achievements in sports, culture or other fields (­­Figure 23.4). Such ceremonies and celebrations vary in scope and character from those of a more limited, and almost private, nature to ones having a more collective, national or even global reach. A most remarkable street celebration unfolded after Norway’s unexpected football World Cup defeat of Brazil two decades ago. Upon that triumph, thousands of people poured into the city center from all quarters. People behaved strangely indeed, hugging and talking to almost anyone as if they were close acquaintances. This victory, and the celebrations it unleashed, has become part of the collective national memory. The same holds true for the mass

­Figure 23.4 Ceremony and celebration: Spontaneous commemoration at Young’s Square, Oslo following the terrorist attacks of July 22, 2011

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mourning that followed the murdering of dozens in the 2011 terrorist attack, culminating in a “­rose parade” in downtown Oslo that drew some 150,000 people.

Production Throughout history, public space has been an arena for the production of goods of various kinds, representing a kind of use which is strongly dependent on changes in the urban economy, demographics and technology. Today, many urban public spaces are locations for media and film production, news coverage and live reporting. “­Production” also refers to cooking (­e.g. street food), c­ raft-​­making, and urban farming. Unlike “­culture and entertainment”, which are subject to immediate consumption, “­production” involves the making of goods or contents that are sold, distributed and used at a later time. For most of the day, the square outside Oslo Central Station buzzes with people and life. Individuals coming and going give the place a characteristic pulse. A wide range of more stationary activities unfold there too, including news reporting and filming for commercials and films. One weekday in spring, a Bollywood film shooting went on for most of the day. The male and female protagonists were treated with much respect, the female star relaxing under a large sun protection umbrella supported by a crew member when she was not acting. Other less important actors, as well as the local extras, spent most of their time waiting. Among the large crew, some were filming, one or two directing, while others took care of the actors or made sure the many curious onlookers stayed back.

Management and Maintenance Maintaining law and order, safety and security, as well as providing general physical upkeep and order, are essential functions in cities. Such activities constitute an important part of the daily management and maintenance of public space. Some examples are street cleaning, maintenance and repair, garbage removal, landscaping and policing and maintaining security. How public spaces are ­m anaged – ​­loosely or ­t ightly – ​­has a strong effect on their character. For instance, private security guards have largely replaced police on many local streets, contributing to tighter management regimes. But police, security guards and other caretakers also serve an important social function. Among other things, many elderly and socially marginalized individuals have a low threshold for addressing them, often just to chat.

Construction and Renovation Cities are continuously in the process of being made and remade. This category refers to constructing, transforming, improving, renovating, ­re-​­modeling, dismantling and demolishing buildings and other physical structures (­ for example, infrastructure). Construction works, earthworks, foundation engineering, façade renovation, road works and the setting up, or dismantling, of provisional edifices are but a few examples. Some such activities overlap with management and maintenance activities, especially when it comes to issues of upkeep and repair. Construction and renovation activities are rarely considered a vitalizing force in urban life. Yet, such activities constitute an important part of what goes on in many public spaces, for good and bad. Even though construction sites often are fenced off from the public, many ­construction-​­related activities spill out into the streets and squares, in the form of materials, machines and equipment being moved around or placed and workers who are on the move or are taking a break. 336

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Teaching and Learning Given their compactness and complexity, cities are fitting arenas for exploration and learning. This occurs both in organized and more unorganized ways, i.e. as an integral part of ordinary urban life. “­Teaching and learning” refers primarily to the former, i.e. to more structured forms of teaching, learning, training and examination activities, such as classes and colloquia held in the open, excursions, kindergarten outings, research and t­raining-​ ­related fieldwork, and the like. Cutting through the city from north to south, the Akerselva River Park is Oslo’s green artery. During the daytime, it is frequented by individuals from the many adjacent educational institutions. Kindergarten students on excursions are regulars. So are school children partaking in gym class, jogging on trails along the river or working out on the lawns. Groups of high school or university students are guided by teachers and instructors. Occasionally, pupils or undergraduates may ask passersby for comments or an interview for a project, while others, perhaps from the bordering schools of art, architecture and design, make use of the space for improving their hand drawing techniques or to build an installation.

­Work-​­Related Activities A defining feature of contemporary work life is flexibility, for instance, when it comes to when and where ­work-​­related tasks are carried out. The Internet and tools like laptops, tablets and smartphones allow traditional office work to be carried out practically anywhere. Many people even work “­on the go” (­phoning, reading, texting). Also, ­work-​­related meetings, meals, team building events and social gatherings are common features in many public spaces. Thursday afternoons in summer, ­co-​­workers from the many companies and businesses in the chic Aker Brygge neighborhood gather for t­ eam-​­building, after-​­work activities in one of its intimate, sleek, pedestrianized streets. Like practically all street events in this public space, the first privately owned neighborhood in ­post-​­war Norway, it is organized by the agency managing the area. This particular Thursday afternoon, the happening of the day is cornhole (­a game in which players take turns throwing small bags of corn kernels at a raised platform with a hole in the far end). The atmosphere is ­good-​­tempered and animated, and a few interested tourists and passersby are invited by the organizers to join in. Funky tones from a DJ fill the air. When they are finished playing cornhole, some participants seem to return to work or head home. Most, though, continue socializing with ­co-​­workers in nearby watering holes, some perhaps because they so desire, others maybe more out of a commitment to their colleagues and employers.

Public Aid Many actions in public space are what Gardner (­1986: p.37) describes as “­helping behavior among the unacquainted that are the right of citizens to expect and the duty of citizens to provide”. In the context of this chapter, “­public aid” refers to requesting minor favors (­e.g. a match, correct change and help crossing the street) and information (­e.g. time and directions), and acts of complying with such requests. Acts of begging and giving money, and of helping out in cases of emergency, are also included in this category. “­Public aid” requests can be addressed to practically anyone. But people with specific roles in public space, wearing outfits that identify them, be they security guards, caretakers or political 337

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campaigners. As for those potentially subject to receiving such aid, typical instances are individuals visibly in doubt about something, such as visitors looking bewildered at a map or discussing directions. More specific examples include the old lady collapsing on the pavement, causing several people to offer help and consolation, and the bag lady on the park bench whose notable misery apparently moved a young woman passing by to offer a bag of nuts.

Activities of the Homeless Due to circumstances of life, some individuals must carry out certain activities in public space. This is especially true for people who lack shelter. They have to take care of their most basic bodily and hygienic needs outdoors: preparing food, eating and drinking, body washing, washing and drying clothes, sleeping. Bottle and trash collecting are also common among the homeless and others in need. Homelessness has traditionally been relatively rare in Scandinavian welfare states. An influx of Roma people (­mostly from Romania) over the last decade has changed this circumstance. In the Norwegian capital, this group now has a strong visible presence in public space, as do related activities, not the least begging (­here defined as a “­public aid” activity due to its core element of asking for, and occasionally receiving, help).

Deviant Activities This category refers to activities that break with social norms, be they formal rules and laws, or more informal norms and conventions. Sex in public, drug dealing, physical and sexual harassment, and violence are considered offenses in most places. However, similarly to “­public aid activities”, it may often be difficult to distinguish between activity and behavior. While some types of deviance can be considered activities proper (­e.g. stealing), other ones (­e.g. verbal harassment) are often behavioral aspects of other kinds of use. What is considered “­deviant” is further subject to historical and cultural variation. Values, norms and laws vary across time, place and cultures. What is considered deviant might also shift from one urban context to another, depending on, for instance, management regimes. While playful skating is tolerated in most of Oslo’s public spaces, it is not tolerated in the privately owned and managed Tjuvholmen district (­skating in order to get from one place to another). However, depending on the circumstance and people involved, deviance may also be considered a more positive feature, as in cases of eccentric behavior and action.

Using the Classification The usefulness of the classification as a tool for observation and analysis can be illustrated by examining public spaces in the two aforementioned neighborhoods of Oslo’s western waterfront: Aker Brygge, and its more recent extension, Tjuvholmen. Both are pedestrianized, privately owned and privately managed neighborhoods. Jan Gehl has followed the Aker Brygge urban redevelopment project closely and sees it as particularly successful compared with other international counterparts. The area’s popularity, argues Gehl, arises from a combination of physical density, a mix of functions and attractive public spaces (­Gehl, 2010: p.69). That being said, Gehl does not specify what kinds of activities in public space create this attractiveness, nor does he say anything about ones that are absent. 338

Recording Diverse Uses of a City’s Public Spaces ­Table 23.1  A Classification of Uses of Urban Public Space Type of Activity

Definition

Everyday practical activities

Activities that are of a daily, Passing through (­e.g. walking or practical character, i.e. activities biking to/­from home, work, school, that are more or less imperative kindergarten, supermarket). Walking for the individual (­purchasing dogs. Accompanying children to leisure goods, etc. and being activities. Waiting (­e.g. for transport, transported around in buses, at traffic lights, queuing). Fixing and trams, etc., are placed under maintaining personal belongings and separate categories). property (­e.g. bikes, cars, façade of one’s home). Activities of a more optional Going for a walk. Sightseeing. Enjoying character; which are often peace and quiet in a park. Pausing. related to leisure time and which Smoking. Reading. Using digital devices. are typically performed alone or Lying down. Sunbathing. Hanging with acquaintances. out. Socializing. Flirting and romance/­ romantic contact. ­People-​­watching. Working out. Playing. Window shopping. Eating and drinking (­e.g. in parks). Partying. Transporting people, goods, and Private transportation (­driving one’s car). products from one location to Running public transport. ­Taxi-​­driving. another (­as well as ­pick-​­up and Delivery of goods and services (­mail, delivery, where relevant). packages, food, etc.). ­Cash-­​­­in-​­transit. Ambulance transportation. Marketing and selling goods and Formal (­selling): Outdoor serving (­incl. services (­primarily economically organizing chairs, tables, etc.). Marketing motivated), as well as acts of and solicitation. Sales from street and buying such goods and services market stands (­of goods, services, tickets, etc.). Handling merchandise. Organizing (­motivated by varying degrees goods on display. Informal (­selling): of necessity and choice). Prostitution. Ambulatory vending. ­Shoe-​­shining. Buying: Acts of browsing, bargaining, paying, etc. Activities by citizens, activists, Political and religious activism. Marches. (­­non-​­governmental) interest Demonstrations. Strikes. Information groups, etc., that express campaigns and petition signing. opinions, interests and will. Recruitment for clubs and organizations. ­Non-​­profit fundraising. Mostly free, ­non-​­partisan health Staffed stalls, tents, mobile stations, etc., in and welfare services offered by public space offering health information, public, civil society or private health controls, testing (­in connection institutions to a general public. with e.g. epidemics, such as covid 19), substance abuse assistance, blood donation, social services, food supply, library services, waste recycling, election information and (­­pre-​­poll) voting.

Personal recreation

Transportation

Selling and buying

Civic activities

Health and welfare services

Examples

(Continued )

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Definition

Examples

Culture and entertainment

Organizing, staging and performing events addressed ­ ublic – ​­in order to the general p to entertain, enliven, enlighten, or ­disquiet – ​­as well as acts of attending such events. Marking or celebrating important historical and contemporary events and phenomena.

Organizing, staging, performing or attending: outdoor exhibitions, concerts, theatre, shows, fairs, and sports events. Street performances. Sightseeing tours. Guided tours.

Ceremony and celebration

Production

Producing goods and content, mostly for later use, i.e. for sale, distribution or consumption.

Management and maintenance

Maintaining law and order, safety and security, as well as providing general physical maintenance and attractiveness.

Construction and renovation

Constructing, transforming, improving, renovating, ­re-​ ­modeling, dismantling, and demolishing buildings and other physical structures and features (­for example, infrastructures). Organized teaching, learning, training, and investigation.

Teaching and learning

­Work-​­related activities

­O ffice-​­related work, tasks or obligations carried out in public space settings.

Public aid

“­Instances of helping behavior among the unacquainted that are the right of citizens to expect and the duty of citizens to provide” (­Gardner 1986: p.37).

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Marking or celebrating: Religious and spiritual events. Historical victories and disasters. National days. Anniversaries. State visits. Newly elected ­office-​ ­holders. Carnivals. Parades. Graduations. Marriages. Funerals. Sports victories. Cooking (­e.g. street food). ­Crafts-​ ­making. Urban farming. Media and film production related to movie shooting, news coverage, reporting, advertisements, information purposes, etc. Street cleaning. Maintenance work. Minor repairing. Garbage disposal. Planting and gardening. Decorating. Parking enforcement. Traffic patrolling. Neighborhood watching. Security guarding. Policing. Military patrolling. Firefighting. Road works. Construction work. Earthworks. Foundation engineering. Façade renovation and repairs. Construction site inspection. ­Clean-​ ­up work. Setting up and dismantling provisional edifices. Open air classes and colloquiums. Excursions. Kindergarten outings. Research and ­training-​­related fieldwork. Practical outdoor training (­e.g. driving lessons, apprenticeships, law and order enforcement training). Archaeological excavations. Working from a bench in a park or square. Working “­on the go” (­phoning, reading, texting). ­Work-​­related meetings, meals, etc., and social events (­e.g. team building or ­after-​­work drinking) outdoors. Requesting minor favors (­e.g. a match, correct change, help to cross the street, help to retrieve lost objects) and information (­e.g. time, directions), and acts of complying with such requests. Acts of begging and giving money. Helping out in cases of emergency.

Recording Diverse Uses of a City’s Public Spaces Type of Activity

Definition

Activities of the homeless

Activities imperative for some Taking care of basic bodily and hygienic individuals to undertake in needs (­e.g. preparing food, eating and public space due to their life drinking, body washing, washing and situation, such as homeless drying clothes, sleeping). Bottle and people. trash collecting. Activities or behavior that break Eccentric behavior and action. Public with social norms, be they sex. Addictive use (­e.g. taking drugs, formal rules and laws, or more drinking). Uncivil acts and remarks. informal norms and conventions. Stealing. Vandalism. Physical and sexual harassment. Violence. Terrorism.

Deviant activities

Examples

We tested our classification system by recording ongoing activities in Aker Brygge and Tjuvholmen over two weekdays in June 2019. Both were days of nice weather, mostly sunny with temperatures around 20 degrees centigrade at midday. We walked through one major public space in each neighborhood, conducting observations every second hour between nine o’clock in the morning and five o’clock in the afternoon, recording every activity encountered (­i.e. what each person present was doing) using the categories of the classification outlined above. In brief, the testing revealed that two activity types dominated: everyday practical ones, that is people moving through the area on foot, and personal recreation. In many instances, it was difficult to distinguish between these two activity types, especially when there was a lack of supporting evidence, such as a person’s appearance or outfit, giving additional information to determine what kind of activity the person was pursuing. Other activity types observed included transportation ­of goods; selling and buying, goods on display outside a few stores, and licensed food trucks/­k iosks; culture and entertainment (­street performance by contracted/­licensed artists); management and maintenance (­security guarding, street cleaning, garbage disposal); teaching and learning (­k indergarten outings); and w ­ ork-​­related activities (“­on the go” phone meetings, ­a fter-​­work socializing/­d rinking). The testing also revealed that informal buying and selling (­e.g. street vending), n ­ on-​ ­professional cultural and entertainment activities (­e.g. street performances), civic activities (­e.g. political and religious ventures and demonstrations), certain public aid activities (­e.g. begging) and activities of the homeless (­e.g. sleeping) are practically ­non-​­existent in this part of central Oslo. This points to the little acknowledged fact (­in a Norwegian context) that in privately owned and managed spaces like these, nearly all such activities are either forbidden or strongly curbed, which testifies to a restricted publicness (­Bjerkeset and Aspen 2017). Using this method of observing and classifying activities in public space provides a picture of a moment in time in a given place. When recording activities, the observer must walk through the space, from one end to the other. It is important for the observer not to be distracted by what is going on behind him or her; the focus must be on what is going on abreast. The point is to capture one picture of a single moment in time rather than several moments. The main activity that each person is pursuing, representing the incident or “­unit” to be registered, is recorded on the form. The form includes one column where each category is listed and another column for checking off each time that category is observed. If feasible, one may also add in the second column where in the space each incident was observed. In order to capture activities throughout the day, one must observe over the course of a day. This can be done by recording activities at selected times throughout the day (­i.e. every second hour). Recording can also be conducted over longer periods to compare times 341

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of day, week or year. Recordings should preferably be made on days with good weather for the time of year, that is, the kind of weather that locally provides the best conditions for outdoor public life. Both weekdays and weekends should be covered, given the often substantial difference in use patterns. Activity recording of this kind is primarily aimed to reveal the variety of uses of public space, including variations throughout the day, week or year. Given the challenge of distinguishing certain activity types from others and the complexity of many public space situations, it is often impossible to give a precise number of incidents of each type of activity. Instead an activity recording helps to identify and record which activity types are present, or not, in given public spaces, as well as to provide numbers which enable a relative weighting between the different types of activities present. With such data, one can compare use at different times of the day, week or year both within the same public space and between different public spaces. Thus, it also becomes a tool for analyzing the use of public space over time and across different settings. This, in turn, produces findings that can form the basis for further analysis.

Advantages and Limitations Urban public spaces host a broad range of activities, many of which arise out of necessity, while others result from freedom of choice, spontaneity and coincidence. In many discourses about public space and public life necessary activities seem to be downplayed or even ignored with recreational activities given greater significance (­Gleeson, 2015). What tends to be overlooked are everyday activities of more prosaic kinds that contribute to the “­ballet of the street”, to paraphrase Jane Jacobs (­1992 [1961]). Assisted by a classification of the sort suggested here, it should be possible to recognize and to record the more everyday features of this intriguing, often poorly understood ballet, as well as to identify how it plays out in different ways from one space to another. The proposed classification can also shed light on challenges concerning the management of public space, including its o ­ ver-​­or ­under-​­management (­Carmona, 2010a; 2010b). While ­under-​­management may result in limited use and decay, ­over-​­management commonly reduces the public character of public space, as at Aker Brygge and Tjuvholmen. More generally, the patterns of use that we have identified and codified, and the n ­ on-​ ­technical terms to describe them, should make the classification simple to use as an observational and analytical tool for scholars and n ­ on-​­scholars alike. By providing a vocabulary to talk about the uses of public space, we also hope that the classification can help bridge discussions of the increasingly important topic of public space use between different scholarly disciplines. Using the proposed classification could also be of value for planning, practice and policy. For instance, it could provide urban planners and designers with an overview of activity types that ought to be supported to meet the highly valued aim of creating inclusive urban environments. It could also inform urban designers by raising awareness about what kind of activities to plan for and which ones may be more difficult to support. In this way, and more generally, the classification could be used to build more systematic knowledge about how public spaces actually work in terms of social features and activities. It might also provide important input for policy development. For example, reminding policymakers that the regulation of public space in itself is insufficient to guarantee variation in use and users. Some types of activities may need to be specified in a supportive manner in zoning ordinances in order to avoid prohibiting them. 342

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A comprehensive classification for such a complex phenomenon as the use of public space necessarily also has limitations. Urban public culture is not as simple or as static as the proposed activity types may suggest. By definition, urbanity is dynamic and ­shifting – ​­and no less so in a time of globalization, demographic diversity and digitalization. Digital technology has become an integral part of everyday life which complicates most matters of urban description and analysis (­Crang et al., 2007; Del Signore and Riether, 2018). When using public space, many people routinely engage in both online and offline activities simultaneously. For this reason, everyday involvement with digital technology should be treated as an integral aspect of other uses of public space use rather than as a separate category. A great variety of activities occur in public space, as reflected in the classification. People also often do several things at once and frequently switch between activities. A woman hurrying along a street on her way home from work (­everyday practical) might stop to text a colleague (­­work-​­related), then by impulse join a crowd on a square watching a busker (­culture and entertainment), before resuming her walk home (­everyday practical) listening to music with headphones (­personal recreation). A freelancer working on a laptop on a park bench may continuously switch between practical, ­work-​­related and recreational activities. A child on his way home from school might run into some friends, become distracted in playing for a while while simultaneously chatting with other friends on the phone, then recall his promise to buy some items for dinner and rushes on. Instances such as these, where different activities quickly succeed each other or take place more or less at the same time, are many and diverse. Moreover, shifting contexts can radically change the character of an activity. Take a mother walking her child in a stroller between home and kindergarten. Leaving home in the morning, she moves quickly and determinedly to her destination. On the way back in the afternoon, she might walk at a much slower pace, having plenty of time to let herself and the child amuse themselves by things they encounter on their way. Such differences require that the researcher pay careful attention to behavioral aspects of the activities being observed, such as the pace of walking or the purposefulness of movement. Clothing and appurtenances can provide useful clues, as may contextual factors such as time of day. Still, it can often be difficult to identify, correctly, what kind of activity is being pursued without having some knowledge of the individual’s subjective experiences or motivations. To determine whether a person walking along the street is walking to reach a destination or just for recreation (­or both) would require asking the person (­a nd even then one may not get an answer or an accurate one). In complex public space situations, it is advantageous for more than one person to record activities. For instance, while one person is recording, another could videotape the activities to enable subsequent ­double-​­checking of observations and the written recordings. Furthermore, in some recording situations, it may be useful to use a set of categories that is less comprehensive than the one presented here, where the categories are merged into larger, aggregate categories. Which categories should be merged and how would depend on the purpose of the recording. Classifying the highly diverse, rapidly changing and interwoven activities that people pursue in public space is clearly not a straightforward task. We believe however that the benefits of the proposed classification outweigh its shortcomings.

References Bailey, K.D. 1994. Typologies and Taxonomies: An Introduction to Classification Techniques. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE.

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Bjerkeset, S. and Aspen, J. 2017. “­­Private-​­public Space in a Nordic Context: The Tjuvholmen Waterfront Development in Oslo.” Journal of Urban Design 22(­1): ­116–​­132. Bjerkeset, S. and Aspen, J. (­2020). “­Public Space Use: A Classification.” In V. Mehta and D.Palazzo (­Eds.), Companion to Public Space (­p­­p. ­221–​­233). New York: Routledge. Carmona, M. 2010a. “­Contemporary Public Space: Critique and Classification. Part One: Critique.” Journal of Urban Design 15(­1): ­123–​­148. Carmona, M. 2010b. “­Contemporary Public Space. Part Two: Classification.” Journal of Urban Design 15(­2): ­157–​­173. Carmona, M., de Magalhães, C. and Hammond, L. 2008. Public Space: The Management Dimension. London: Routledge. Carmona, M. and Wunderlich, F.M. 2012. Capital Spaces: The Multiple Complex Public Spaces of a Global City. London: Routledge. Carr, S., Francis, M., Rivlin, L.G. et al. 1992. Public Space. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Crang, M., Crosbie, T. and Graham, S.D. 2007. “­Technology, Timespace and the Remediation of Neighbourhood Life.” Environment and Planning A 39(­10): ­2405–​­2422. Cudny, W. 2018. Festivalisation of Urban Spaces: Factors, Processes and Effects. New York: Springer. Del Signore, M. and Riether, G. 2018. Urban Machines: Public Space in a Digital Culture. Woodbridge: LIStLab. Gardner, C.B. 1986. “­Public aid.” Urban Life 15(­1): ­37–​­69. Gehl, J. 2010. Cities for People. Washington: Island Press. Gehl, J. and Svarre, B. 2013. How to Study Public Life. Washington, DC: Island Press. Gleeson, B. 2015. The Urban Condition. London: Routledge. Jacobs, J. 1992 [1961]. The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New York: Random House. Kostof, S. 1992. The City Assembled: The Elements of Urban Form Through History. London: Thames and Hudson. Lofland, J., Anderson, L., Lofland, L.H. et al. 2006. Analyzing Social Settings: A Guide to Qualitative Observation and Analysis. 4th ed. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Low, S.M. 2000. On the Plaza: The Politics of Public Space and Culture. Austin: University of Texas Press. Project for Public Spaces. 2018. “­W hat Makes a Successful Place?” Retrieved from https://­w ww.pps. org/­a rticle/­g rplacefeat [Accessed 7 July 2018]. Whyte, W.H. 1988. City: Rediscovering the Center. New York, Doubleday.

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24 Using Archival Sources to Study Mass Behavior in ­Public Space Johann Sagan

Introduction Urban public spaces are settings of intense human activity and, as such, make for a rich living laboratory for studying various aspects of human behavior and social interaction. One topic is mass behavior as exemplified by protests, festivals, many sporting events, or anytime large numbers of people gather in urban public space for a shared purpose. These phenomena are best studied using behavior mapping, behavioral observations, interviews and questionnaires during the event itself. However, all of these methods require that the researcher be present at the event. There are numerous situations where the researcher cannot be present because the events are dangerous or when the sites of the events are too geographically distant from the researcher’s home base or because the events have taken place in the past. Drawing upon archival materials is one good solution to these problems. Indeed, in these situations, archival research is the only method available that can yield rich data. The purpose of this chapter is to present an interdisciplinary method for conducting archival research that can be used to document protests, rallies, festivals and sporting events. In the literature about research methods for studying environment and behavior, there seems to be a general sense that archival research is less useful and less common than other methods. John Zeisel (­2006) notes that archival research is foundational to studying human behavior in the built environment, emphasizing its usefulness for studying historical events and finding secondary and tertiary sources. As importantly, he notes the role that imagination plays in using the method, how the researcher must discover new approaches to ­using existing archival material. Groat and Wang (­2013) state that archives are a “…certainly less frequently used tool for data collection…” (­­p.  299). They go further, calling archives “­a ncillary sources” (­­p. 226). They describe the use of archives in both ­h istorical-​­interpretive research and architectural case studies. However in describing these research methods, particular topics are not identified and readers need to do figure out how to make archival research useful for their particular projects. It is important to recognize that initially researchers may not know where archival research will take them. However, using the method

DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-31

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systematically, with rigor, imagination and diligence, will certainly reveal unexpected results and useful research outcomes. One prominent exception to this trend of overlooking the value of archival research is Galen Granz’s study of the history of park design and use (­Cranz 1982). In her book, Cranz explores four historical models of park design and use in their political and economic contexts. She lays out specific ways that archival research made her inquiry possible. Her method of gathering information from archival sources she could not access physically formed the basis for my own research project, which I use as a model throughout this chapter. This chapter is based on my own experiences studying political protests in public space using several ­in-​­person methods, when possible, and also relying on archival sources (­Sagan, 2015). The protests all occurred during American presidential political conventions: the Democratic National Committee’s meeting in Chicago and the protests that occurred there in 1968 and in Denver in 2008; the meeting of the Republican National Committee and protests in Dallas in 1984 and in St. Paul in 2008. For the 2008 events, I was present and used direct research methods, supported by archival research. I had to rely exclusively on archival sources for all research about the 1968 and 1984 events.

Existing Methods for Archival Research Broadly speaking, archives are collections of recorded data contained in a published, printed format. Archives usually contain primary source information in its original, raw state but sometimes archives are collections of processed data or secondary sources. Primary sources are ­fi rst-​­hand or eyewitness accounts, recorded by the people involved who have a direct connection to the event or site, in qualitative and quantitative ways. Such sources include: newspaper articles, narratives, diaries or journals, oral histories, videography or photographs, survey data and interviews. Secondary sources cover the same topic but tend to be produced by people who were not on site or directly involved with the event. Like primary sources, secondary sources can be qualitative or quantitative and almost always contain elements of interpretation. Some examples of secondary sources are analyses of data, scholarly or critical articles, documentaries, editorials or opinion pieces and books written after the event. While secondary sources are useful, primary sources contain the best, most directly applicable information. Archival research has important benefits for researchers. The researcher simply needs to locate, access and sort through available archives to find useful material. This material is generally static, meaning that it will not change over time. When the material is in a foreign language, translation is possible. Many archives have been digitized and are now available remotely, saving the researcher time, money and effort. Educational institutions almost always have information about archives that are located at other institutions and have archive sharing arrangements with those institutions and provide expert advice and guidance. Using archives is also relatively straightforward, relying on reading and ­note-​­taking to uncover useful information. If the material can be borrowed, copied or accessed remotely, researchers can follow their own research schedules. One drawback is the uncertainty of uncovering the necessary information. One can guess with some certainty what may be contained in archives, but one can never be sure in advance how useful the information will be until one accesses it and understands it within the framework of a given project. Likewise, given that not all archives have been digitized or are available on the web, one may have to travel to gain access to the archives. The degree of completeness is also a concern, especially with respect to historical records; elements may be 346

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missing, may have deteriorated or may have been redacted. Some archives are comprehensive based on the interests of the collectors, but some are meager or poorly maintained, often due to poor management or economic problems. The organization of individual archives may also pose a challenge, and so researchers will have to familiarize themselves with individual or idiosyncratic ordering and navigation systems. Languages unfamiliar to the researcher require additional time or tools to translate. It is rare, but occasionally information held in different archives contradicts other information, or is inaccurate. Especially with older or historic archives, the media used to record the data may be degraded, poorly legible or use obscure terminology when compared with more modern media. The ­low-​­fidelity nature of these archives may also require specific handling procedures. Further, archives may be incomplete or desired materials may simply be unavailable. When the subject of study is an event, which took place at a particular place and time, the timing and duration of the event should be considered. The concept of “­­event-​­site” is useful as long as the activity in question involves interdependent relationships between place, people, activity and time. The concept of ­event-​­site is applicable to diverse events including protests, marches, sports events, music festivals, civic festivals, political activities and cultural ­events -​­-​­all events where people gather in public space in large groups for a particular purpose. The conceptualization of the chosen activity as an e­ vent-​­site offers a toolkit and a set of methods to understand ­a s-­​­­yet-​­undefined emergent situations. The term “­­event-​­site”, linking location with people, activity and duration, is useful as both a practical tool of identification and as a concept for organizing other concepts and conditions. In addition, employing the name commonly used to refer to that event is a way of locating and isolating a particular set of behaviors in and data sets. And putting a name to the situation allows for communicating about the circumstances in an intelligible way. So using a popular term for these ­event-​­sites can be used as keywords in searches, or as a way to identify events in presenting research findings. Examples are the Stonewall Riots, the Bonus Army, Woodstock (­1969, 1994, or 1999), the 2017 Women’s March and Black Lives Matter protests.

Studying Protests and the Policing of Protests In developing my dissertation research about protests and policing during the late 20th and early 21st centuries, I became interested in the differences between how protesters and police understood and engaged with public space (­Sagan 2015). That is, how both groups view urban public space as “­theirs” to use, but with very different and adversarial motivations and practices. Protesters view urban space as a stage to enact political dissent, particularly as a result of feeling excluded from sanctioned political or d­ ecision-​­making processes. Protesters gather to express their political beliefs, to interrupt the regular processes of d­ ecision-​­making and governance, in an attempt to use the numbers of people gathered as demonstrations of popular political will ostensibly ignored by the groups they are protesting against. Protests are planned for and enacted in public spaces, often in close proximity to the d­ ecision-​­making processes they are protesting, in order to be seen and heard by others present and by the news media In contrast, police view public space as their domain that should be strictly regulated. Like protesters, they view access to public space as a public right but, when occupied by sizable groups of people, only under highly controlled circumstances. In principle, police view protest as legal and permitted when groups have applied for and received a permit from city governments to hold the protest at a particular time in a particular place. In practice, 347

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however, protest and protesters are generally unwelcome. Police use a variety of tactics of spatial regulation as well as intimidation to curtail protests. Through archival research for my dissertation, Specters of ‘­68 (­Sagan 2015), I learned that each group used a different, escalating and evolving set of spatial tactics for enacting their beliefs about protest and space. The spatial tactics of each side changed over time, spurred on changes in both political and economic contexts as well as in response to the effectiveness of prior tactics. The tactics of protesters and police evolved due to advances in technologies and techniques as well as a result of escalation on each side. For example, over the course of the 20th century, and into the early 21st century, four general models of tactics have developed in sequence. In m ­ id-­​­­20th-​­century protests, in particular in the early and late 1960s, protesters used a “­jamming the system” model of protest, where protesters would gather en masse to fill streets with large numbers of people. This would disrupt political processes and draw attention to their causes (­Eisinger 1972; Lofland, 1985). During this period, police would respond with an “­escalated force” model, with frequent and quick resort to arrest and violence to quell the protests (­Earl & Soule 2006; Noakes & Gillham, 2006). This resulted in the “­police riot” in Chicago in 1968, the public spectacle and violence which prompted a crisis and a r­ e-​­examination of policing tactics within policing organizations. Protesters took advantage of the increasing presence of the public and the media, and started focusing more on the visibility and media images of protests, while police adjusted their tactics to reduce violence and preserve civil rights. This balance continued until the World Trade Organization (­W TO) protests in Seattle in 1999, where the protesters used communication technologies (­such as cell phones and the Internet) to their organizational ­advantage –​­evading and frustrating the police. Protesters used a tactic of “­nodal control” – occupying a series of visually and tactically important sites to disrupt the WTO proceedings and used communication technologies to flexibly dissipate and plan their next move. Police were unable to respond effectively, prompting another round of ­re-​­evaluation and ­self-​ e­ xamination by policing agencies. This, combined with lessons in urban warfare learned in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and an increasingly militarized police force, eventually lead police to develop the “­strategic incapacitation” model, where their engagement was strategic in blocking, containing and limiting the movement of protesters (­Sagan 2015). My research method was h ­istorical-​­ genealogical, following the approach of Michel Foucault (­Foucault 1977, among his other works). I looked into the development of ideas and practices over time, and how both were conditioned by existing contexts and, in turn, changed ideas about what practices should be used. I chose to study protest as a series of historical and contemporary ­event-​­sites: the historical examples of the presidential conventions in Chicago in 1968 and Dallas in 1984, and the more recent examples of the 2008 presidential conventions in Denver, Colorado and St. Paul, Minnesota. In addition to extensive archival research, I used a variety of field work methods when possible including: ­semi-​­structured interviews with protesters, police and observers: spatial analysis of urban form and arrangements of people in space and observations. For the historical events, I had to rely on archival sources, including ­d irect-​­witness reports, secondary documentation and published media and Internet sources. To begin my study, I looked for sources and materials that could establish the details of the physical and geographic characteristics of each of the four cities at the time of the events. It was important to establish these features as independent variables and to make sure I had a good understanding of the physical parameters of the spaces where the protesting and policing occurred. Of special importance was discourse analysis and ­d iscursivity –​­the idea that language, terminology and narrative are closely linked to which activities are viewed as possible, desirable, 348

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or allowable (­Sagan, 2015, p­p. ­16–​­18). This required looking for sources that described: conceptions of urban public space; practices for spatial engagement; and the legality of the various approaches used by both protesters and the police. Policing is a professionalized practice and consequently abundant literature exists about both the theory and the practice of policing. In addition, there were studies available about the culture and d­ ay-­​­­to-​­day administration of policing power. However not all policing records are in public archives, and often I had to rely on secondary sources. With each event, there were archival sources that were primary accounts by protesters, organizational and planning documents, narratives of their experiences and reactions to the events. With each event, there were also abundant, relatively neutral journalistic and legal descriptions about permits, activities, events and processes. In tracing the development of some ideas, I had to range further afield into disciplines not immediately related to my topic. For instance, concepts of crowd behavior have existed in a wide range of fields from criminology and psychology to fluid dynamics to computer simulation. Also, there is a persistent idea in some fields that crowd behavior is always irrational and anarchic, which has formed the basis for the police view of crowds and how to deal with them (­Applegate 1943, 1964; Beene 1992). The idea of crowds being irrational is contradicted by other more sociological arguments that crowd behavior arises from a set of rational choices (­McPhail 1992). These two different understandings of crowd behavior have different consequences for spatial tactics. Since I was working within the field of architectural and urban design research, it was also important to look at possible spatial and design consequences and to look at the role that spatial design itself played in the policing of protest. Therefore, I had to examine the history of designing spaces to affect human behavior, crowd activity and law enforcement. This led to an exploration of the history of the social design movement, and its eventual transformation into the design subfield of C ­ PTED – ​­Crime Prevention Through Environmental Design, particularly in how the field shifted in emphasis over time from the protection of users to the protection of private property (­Newman 1972; Sagan 2015, p­p. 67–73). Finally, important to my use of archival sources was my realization that spatial engagement is both a set of practices and a set of ideas (­Sagan 2015, p.18). Participants on both sides have to conceive of space in their particular, instrumental way in order to enable the kinds of behavior they engage in. In other words, each side believed that space can be used in ways particular to their roles and their actions followed those beliefs. For my use of archival sources, this meant that I had to find testimony, statements of belief, references to specific laws, statutes and policies, and ­a fter-​­action reports from both sides. The information I collected from archival sources led to four major conclusions. First, within policing there is a focus on spatial “­control” at all costs: police see the need to avoid the appearance of loss of control and must always appear in command of any given space or situation. It is a function of policing in general to maintain control over space and the behavior of others, but in the case of protest policing this is magnified and intensified (­Beene, 1992, ix; Herbert, 1997). This is expressed in paramilitary command and control structures, strict setting and enforcing of spatial boundaries, a culture of machismo and a low threshold for using violence to achieve policing aims. Second, after the events of Chicago 1968, there was an escalation and evolution of tactics by both protesters and the police. These developments were driven by political and economic changes in society at large (­such as the change from liberalism to neoliberalism), the adoption of new technological tools (­such as the Internet and cellular phone technology) and new spatial tactics (­such as the use of military tactics in urban policing). A third conclusion is that social technology plays a role both in protests and in the policing thereof but it is used by the two parties in different ways. This is not social media. 349

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Rather, “­social technology” refers to techniques of organizing people to achieve certain aims, either interpersonally or spatially. In essence, these are technologies of power and the means by which larger scale ideologies are enacted in space. For example, the specific spatial tactics of protest policing are a social technology. Protesters use social technology in a horizontal, nodal, rhizomatic fashion, communicating with each other in horizontal networks. Police, however, use technologies vertically, with rigid command and control structures. And fourth, the design and planning of public space generally favor the police. That is, urban planners and designers generally design for the best cases (­the everyday) and not for crises or special events. However, this is beginning to change and design is playing a larger role in the social technologies of spatial control and protest nullification. Through the implementation of design strategies taken from practices like CPTED, space is being weaponized and used to prioritize property rights over public good and democratic politics (­Sagan 2015). This set of conclusions came after years of archival research about a broad array of topics in many disciplines. They came after tracing ideas through various bodies of literature, noting the paths of their development and sometimes their surprising transformations. In applying this method for my project, I encountered several problems. Since I relied extensively on archival sources during the initial stages of my research, particularly with the aim of developing the questions I would be examining in my field work, I spent a great amount of time tracing ideas through various bodies of literature. This method takes time and researchers must account for this and budget extra time for this process. On occasion, I was frustrated by the lack of texts addressing crowd behavior in urban space. The field of E ­ nvironment-​­Behavior Studies (­E BS, also known as P ­ erson-​­Environment Relations) tends to focus on everyday behaviors and spaces, on people in vernacular, domestic or work settings, and rarely examines mass behavior or crowd behavior. That subject tends to be examined by sociologists and criminologists. To go outside of my discipline into these fields required that I learn the basics of these disciplines, their tools and their language, and that I examine how they address protest and policing. Each of these fields has its own way of problematizing the issues, which meant r­e-​­informing and reorganizing my own approach. Sometimes, this meant that I had to “­read between the lines” to find usable information. It meant approaching issues from multiple viewpoints to get a more complete picture, based in different literatures with different viewpoints, ideologies and goals. Last, in working with historical narratives and testimonials, one must remain aware of possible differences, if not contradictions, both between and within sources. Sometimes, accounts of activities and events differ not only between the two groups of actors but often within accounts from one group. There was a consistent effort, on the side of the police, to present their actions as being professional at all times, and sometimes even heroic, and to view the protesters as always on the edge of rioting and violence regardless of the availability of more objective information (­­Figure 24.1). This “­blue wall of silence” extended to official documentation from all sorts of regulators, in which any accusation of wrongdoing would be suppressed. A dual system of reporting is apparent: police ­a fter-​­action reports, which portrayed nearly all police actions favorably, and journalistic accounts, which were ostensibly more objective. Likewise, in accounts by protesters, the facts and situations presented did not always align with more objective reporting; protesters were almost always painted as righteous defenders of democratic principles and freedoms, and any violence or destruction was described as either perpetrated by outsiders or wholly justified. Researchers who rely on archival research have to sort through accounts and parse out the ideologies of those whose words and deeds were recorded. 350

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­Figure 24.1 Reliance on different bodies of literature or different archives can result in radically different approaches to urban space and behavior by different user groups. (­a) Protesters have occupied an intersection and, with support of a small mobile sound system carried on a child’s wagon, have started to play music and to dance. On the left is a police officer mounted on a large motorcycle. For the protesters, based on their understanding, the space was to be occupied, used for protest, and celebrated. (­b) From a different angel, police behavior in this space is entirely different than protester behavior. The mounted police have driven their motorcycles in formation and pushed the protesters off the street and onto the sidewalk. It is important to note that the streets used by the protest were closed to vehicle traffic, so the ostensible police motivation of clearing pedestrians from thoroughfares was invalid. For the police, based on their understanding, space was to be occupied, controlled and protected from lawbreaking, however innocuous the protestors’ behavior

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Types of Archival Sources In my research, I relied on a wide variety of unconventional sources and n ­ on-​­traditional archives. ­Table 24.1 presents several unusual types of archives and the sources of recorded information that I found useful. It is important to emphasize the role that imagination plays in locating sources. Not all information will be held in traditional repositories. The researcher needs to think creatively about where to find information, what kind of data storage can be considered an archive and how to use what is found. What is an archival source in this context? In the broadest sense, an archive is a collection of organized data. It can be any printed, in text and photographs, or digital material. This traditional definition of archives is a bit limited, however, especially in the context of public records readily available online, social media, governmental data and web communications. If we think creatively about what an archive is, we can extend the definition to any kind of recorded media. It does not necessarily need to be collected into organized stacks with call numbers. Instead, the definition can be expanded to cover a broad range of materials produced by participants at the chosen e­ vent-​­site as well as materials about those participants (­­Figure 24.2). This archival information falls into three categories. ­First-​­degree sources are direct. They have been directly produced by people participating in the event being studied. These primary sources include documents of intent, records of behavior, statements of fact or observations and other personal communications. Who was there? What did they see and do? How did they participate? What was their role? This category also includes literature produced by

­Figure 24.2 (­a) Unconventional archival research can reveal attitudes or beliefs not readily apparent in “­official” stories. The ­t-​­shirt, expressing eager anticipation of violence against protesters, was sold by the Denver police union after the Democratic Convention protest events of summer 2008.  (­b) Makeshift, handmade or improvised documentation also serve as archival. sources, such as this poster on display in Denver 2008, giving directions for protesters to assemble Source: (­a) Luning, Ernest. (­2008, September 25). ‘­Denver police ‘­Beat the Crowds’ ­T-​­shirt no laughing matter, protesters charge’. Colorado Independent. https://­w ww.coloradoindependent.com/­2008/ ­09/­25/­­denver-­​­­police-­​­­beat-­​­­the-­​­­crowds-­​­­t-­​­­shirt-­​­­no-­​­­laughing-­​­­matter-­​­­protesters-​­charge/

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managers or operators of the event. Depending on the type of site, this can be guides, pamphlets, published sets of rules or guidelines for use, ­a fter-​­action reports, field notes, posted hours or access procedures and promotional materials. This means casting a wide net to gather as much printed and recorded material as possible that has direct information about your ­event-​­site, especially if it comes from ­non-​­traditional archives. Materials in ­second-​­person sources are about the event site but not produced by those present or directly involved. Such material should be carefully assessed to ensure that it has a high degree of credibility. It can address particular events or processes that occur at the site or objective information about the site such as topography, planning information, statistics and laws. It can include some editorialization or commentary but in general does not include material that analyzes the situation. It can consist of news reports, produced by people drawing on eyewitness accounts. One example is documentation from governmental or legal hearings surrounding an event (­for example, the Walker Report was produced by the National Commission on the Causes and Prevention of Violence after the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago). Sources such as this one have a high degree of reliability and credibility. ­Third-​­person sources are also useful but are produced at a greater distance from the eventsite itself. These are sources that present the facts of the situation but often alongside academic or professional analysis, comparing the event site with other, similar situations. These sources often include opinions or present the situation through a particular ideological lens or as part of a program of analysis and critique. With respect to my research, two examples are Todd Gitlin’s The Sixties: Years of Hope, Days of Rage (­1987) and Frank Kusch’s Battleground Chicago: The Police and the 1968 Democratic National Convention (­2004), published 36 years after the events it describes. In some cases, ­event-​­sites are discussed significantly later as part of an overview of a particular moment in history or of a phenomenon in a particular location that extended over time. The researcher who uses third-person sources should take care to use the most authoritative sources possible and to be aware of bias and ideological position when using the sources. Researchers have to select types of materials and archives carefully, based on the needs of their individual projects. It is important to find the best fit of literature with the specific conditions of the e­ vent-​­site in question. If researchers cannot be present at the site, then they will have to secure information about the site’s physical characteristics from an empirical standpoint; spatial arrangement, topographic and geographic concerns, weather data, maps and photographs of the site. If the researcher can be present, but not during the event, then sources that describe the events with specific references to the spaces where the events were held are valuable. Creativity plays a role here as well – in imagining what kinds of material best present the conditions at the chosen event-site and how that data is stored and disseminated. There is a need to see beyond the typical archive and to be speculative and inquisitive. One way forward is to think horizontally about material: how is the same event described in different kinds of sources? What do the sources focus on or omit? This requires filling in the bigger picture through identifying gaps in the record. Clearer views of the event can be developed through triangulating sources and data even though sometimes the material will be contradictory. Here again it is up to researchers to use their imagination to work out the most likely set of events and conditions, based on multiple sources. ­Table 24.1 presents a variety of sources and archives, both conventional and unconventional, taking into account recent technological developments and the variety of viewpoints discussed above. The table lists the strengths and weaknesses of each type of source. It also 353

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Historical

Journalsm

Conference proceedings, design, construction and engineering documents, newspaper articles, local laws, building codes, systems or service design, urban design, architecture

Planning

Considerations for Analysis

Strengths

Drawbacks

Clear and systematic, tends to High degree of validity, ­High-​­level perspectives might approach issues from a t­ op-​ relatively neutral, very make individual experiences d ­ own perspective. The field useful for understanding hard to work out. The legal design intentions and framework of urban planning is broad with many practical outcomes. Often provides and design can obscure ­real-​ planning philosophies. Generally, ­evidence-​­ and comprehensive site ­world user experiences and ­statistics-​­based, analytical. information, public opinion, events, as real experiences alternate design plans, and do not always line up with Can also be repressive so on. One of the strongest legal frameworks or design or regressive, especially kinds of sources for public intentions. historical material, when behavior research. dealing with race, class, ethnicity, or difference Printed articles and videos, Generally neutral, but Lots of information available, Sometimes will lack detail, or that are factual, opinions, publisher needs to be many providers, many be editorial; researcher needs editorials, and analysis, considered. As ‘­official’ as editorial viewpoints. to be very careful of opinion statistics possible, ­well-​­supported, Comprehensive and pieces, clickbait articles, objective. Some of the publisher bias, ­well-​­archived. strongest sources a researcher can use. Various kinds of ­first-​­person The analytical perspective, The ­higher-​­level perspective Historical accounts often miss and ­second-​­person accounts choice of subject, and and comprehensive focus details of direct experience, and documentation, approach to the ­event-​­sites of historical sources provide and depending on their analysis, but also primary reflect the values of the valuable overviews and completeness, need to be documentation, photos, researchers and institutions changes over time. Excellent ­cross-​­referenced with other diaries or journals, ­first-​­hand at the time of the research. sources of collected sources for more specifics. accounts, published and It is helpful to establish the information and generally Older sources can sometimes unpublished identity and position of be contradictory, reflecting ­well-​­supported. the individual historian or the biases of their producers curator of the collections. or their contexts. Anecdotal history can be fallible.

Type of Source

Discipline

­Table 24.1  Sources of Information

Johann Sagan

Criminology

Sociological

(Continued )

Testimonials, interviews, data The analytical approach of Has some of the strengths of A stronger emphasis on general analysis, qualitative and most sociology emphasizes historical material, but with trends or behaviors than quantitative information, objectivity, but researchers additional layers of analysis historical accounts but not primary and secondary must still be aware of the and critique. Sometimes as comprehensive as history. sources, experiments, aims of any given study. Tends to focus on specific ­event-​­sites are studied from observation, dissertations Sociology can be ­mis-​ a variety of perspectives or elements or processes within or theses, service or systems with different theoretical larger events. Might be a­ pplied or imperfectly design, urban design understood. Anthropology approaches. challenging to generalize is closely linked here, from specifics in sociological but with a historically sources. Also the systematic problematic political and analytical approach of position regarding othering. sociology can be difficult to More recent sociological relate to specific ­event-​­sites. and anthropological researchers accounts are generally more sensitive and aware. Academic literature, manuals, In general, all undesirable Often comprehensive Clear bias toward law white papers, court public behavior is with a fairly theoretical enforcement, problematic proceedings, statistics, criminalized; biased background, linked to characterization of logistics toward law enforcement established social science ‘­undesirable’ behaviors as (­the ‘­thin blue line’ or the research and statistics. criminal, unclear boundaries ‘­blue wall of silence’ result Authoritative, clear, between what is criminal and in obscured, falsified, or relatively objective. Valuable what is terrorism, implicit partial information). Law for academic research. racism; associated, but has a enforcement literature is fundamentally different kind often professionalized, but of outcome from sociology. lived experiences differ Prescriptive and instrumental, drastically from printed not reflective. material.?

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356

Type of Source

Surveillance, recordings, location data, planning documents, policy documents, white papers, statistics

Field manuals, instructions, policy, procedures, personnel and service records, maps, video, pictures, text, artifacts, journals, policy documents

Discipline

Technocratic But this isn’t a discipline!

Military

Strengths

Drawbacks

Authoritative, good Technocratic sources use Can be presented in opaque detail, responsibility for technical and ­neutral-​ or technical language that thoroughness and (­in s­ ounding language, but are requires interpretation based on broad assumptions an American context) or ‘­translation’ for the about human behavior that committed to public researcher’s purposes. Some might not be supported information, publicly recent material might not by sociological literature, available online. be available. Sometimes for example, how people statistics are incomplete. or events are classified or Implicit assumptions need to viewed as threats be unpacked and examined. Military information comes Often clear and direct Some documents may from a position wholly about spatial formations, require fees to access. view completely focused movement, spatial control, The focus on threat and on threat, violence, and urban form, security. Very violence leaves little room control. The vast majority of useful for studying methods for context or subtlety, so military sources will not be and means of control. these sources should always reflective or ­self-​­critical but be used in conjunction might be analytical about with more sociological or the effectiveness of certain anthropological sources tactics or maneuvers. using direct observation. Law enforcement or emergency management documentation is often closely related to or based on military documentation.

Considerations for Analysis

Johann Sagan

Using Archival Sources to Study Mass Behavior in Public Space

lists some basic considerations for each source and other information the researcher will have to consider in finding and using these sources.

Additional Considerations While ­Table 24.1 presents a range of possible sources and considerations for their use, it is not exhaustive. There are ideas and conditions that do not fit neatly into the table that still have a bearing on using archival sources for the study of human behavior in space. There are additional things to keep in mind when using this method. Sources may be incomplete and will reflect the particular political viewpoints of their producers. It will be the task of clever researchers to parse through the political viewpoints and ideologies of the recorders of information about public behavior and identify biases within the texts. It is also useful to reflect on one’s own biases in selecting sources and finding facts. Archival sources by their nature tend to tell stories from the viewpoints of their producers and also reveal the biases and conceptual frameworks of those producers, which can limit what is reported and how it is discussed. This means that the researcher needs to rely on a wide array of archival sources about each event and piece together a comprehensive overview of the event from a large number of sources. This part of the process can be ­time-​­consuming and frustrating, especially if the sources contradict each other or come from wildly divergent political and ideological viewpoints, using the same language but entirely different terminologies and priorities (­­Figure 24.3). Coordinating and triangulating data to find a more complete picture of events is challenging even for experienced researchers. So be prepared to work through several different sources from different archives to get a better overall picture of the event site. Further, researchers will have to recognize their own interests and biases. Archival research is always contingent and individual and comes from the researcher’s own disciplinary training, experiences, preferences, politics and values. In the course of my research, I discovered that protest events are dynamic, complex and dangerous. They are dynamic in that their conditions can change rapidly depending on the actions and emotions of the crowds, the political context of the protests, the aims and tactics of the protesters, the local policing culture and the public visibility of the protests. Protests are also complex in that there are many stakeholders, processes and participants. Protest events can also be dangerous to the researcher and participants alike. At any time, tensions can escalate into violence or suppression. If police decide to crack down, or if a protest escalates into a riot, researchers are in as much danger (­a nd possibly more) than any other person present, regardless of the degree of their participation. While researchers can plan to study particular kinds of events and prepare a research strategy that will work for studying those events, new types of events and new types of sources are always emerging. For instance, 2020 has seen a large number of protests across the United States and around the world in the wake of the police killing of George Floyd. Protests against police violence and for racial justice in the United States and elsewhere have resulted in demonstrations, occupations and marches, which have been broader in scope and scale than any events since the late 1960s. Researchers can plan to study certain kinds of events at certain scales, but with mass human behavior as a research topic, prediction limits the range of possible data gathering opportunities. It is better to be prepared with a set of methods and examine each event as the research develops, rather than to limit, in advance, the possible sources of data. The methods of studying protests in public space described in this chapter are also useful for examining other behaviors in public space. Protests have much in common with other sorts 357

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­Figure 24.3 Information uncovered in archival research may contrast with actual, lived experiences. The actual distribution of gas for crowd control in St. Paul in 2008 was nowhere near as orderly as promised by the manuals

of events, with many shared features and responses. Both protests and other sorts of events are contested, both macropolitically and in the immediate goals and actions of participants. By their very nature, protests are marked by acts of public contestation and resistance. Other events also involve contestation, although rarely as dramatically as protests do. Such events are still outcomes of the desires and intentions of a variety of individual participants, all of whom bring their own unique histories, identities and perceptions to the situation. Likewise, participants hold a wide variety of viewpoints, partially based on politics, partially on their role in the protest event and partially contingent upon their own goals and aims at the event. So too at other events the participants have a wide variety of viewpoints. In fact, each participant is unique, each outlook is contingent and each viewpoint is contested. Public behavior is an important part of the democratic process. The public character of urban space is a constituent element in the formation of democratic politics. The need for a public space and a public sphere for discussion, debate, exchange of information, free access and being seen as citizens under a common law undergirds democratic processes. This means that all behavior in public space has a political dimension that the researcher must consider. It is also important to consider the political context of sources and archives. Who is doing the reporting? What do they want to accomplish by recording and storing this information? What is their goal? For whom is the information intended? Academics have a commitment to the dissemination of objective knowledge but are sometimes constrained by publication rules or knowledge sharing. Governmental documentation sometimes emphasizes or exaggerates the success of a particular initiative or law, or protects the status quo or competing agendas. Critics or theorists will have their own agendas and ideas about the process. Researchers will have to find the most objective sources possible and carefully weigh the positions and opinions of the authors. Also, online searches have limits. Public search engines are powerful, with algorithms that are constantly being refined, but bear in mind that the goal of such services is often to present sponsored or promoted information. Further, the Internet is regulated by different rules in different regions and countries (­such as the European Union’s General Data Protection Regulation or China’s Golden Shield and “­Great Firewall” system). This means that 358

Using Archival Sources to Study Mass Behavior in Public Space

data available in one country may not be accessible in another. Search engines associated with educational institutions have a different purpose and in most cases will be more robust in accessing sources but researchers need to a have a general sense of the subject matter and key concepts involved. Working through archives of any sort is often a trial and error process and the specifics of search engines need to be understood to make them useful and to save researchers time and effort. Bear in mind that not all materials in archives have been digitized. Many archives still require physical visits to access their materials. This is especially true of older records and legacy media recordings. Researchers will have to learn the methods of accessing outdated record storage systems in the search for good information. Issues of time should also be considered. How old can sources be and still be relevant? Researchers may have to isolate specific factors in order to conduct useful longitudinal comparisons and to examine change over time. Also, consider that spatial information can be presented differently in different contexts. Each city is unique in its governance and regulations. Different countries and regions have different modes of organizing and administering spaces. Researchers will have to be aware of the organizational logic behind the administration of any public space. A useful tactic in archival research is “­bibliography mining”. This is a process of locating academic or ­well-​­researched sources that address the ­event-​­site in question, and then carefully examining the bibliographies in those sources, finding more sources that are relevant and digging through those to find even more details. Sometimes, this is best done in libraries and public archives where sources are readily available. Be advised, as valuable as this process is, it can be very ­t ime-​­consuming and it may be easy to lose your way and get ­side-​­t racked. A benefit of mining bibliographies is that the researcher can discover connections between sources and so can trace ideas and processes back to their origins, and perhaps assemble a new body of literature around a chosen line of inquiry. This process can reveal relationships or conflicts or present existing data in a new light. Source chains can reveal the development of a concept over time, assembling a train of thought where none had existed before. It is this kind of research that can be particularly exciting to researchers as they uncover connections and gaps in existing knowledge that had been either hidden or unknown before. It is important to limit the scope of the research. At the outset, research frameworks and research questions need to be formulated. In doing so and in adopting a clearly defined set of parameters at the beginning, particular bodies of literature can come into focus as being more useful than others. It helps to narrow the scope of the project and to target specific issues or areas of investigation. Without using bibliography-mining and source chains, it can be easy for archival researchers to run into trivia and overemphasize details. The purpose of conducting research is to discover the truth and to convey the story in a clear, convincing and ­well-​­supported way. In conclusion, archival research is a highly valuable method in the study of human behavior in public space. It can sometimes be the only research method available due to political, economic, social or epidemiological conditions. It needs to be planned carefully but if engaged with imaginatively, it can yield robust research results.

References Applegate, Rex. (­1943) Crowd and Riot Control: Riot Control Techniques, Manhandling, and Close Combat, for Police and the Military. PCN ­140–­​­­128000-​­0 0. Department of the Navy.

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Applegate, Rex. (­1964) Crowd and Riot Control, including C ­ lose-​­combat Techniques for Military and Police. Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole. Barker, Chris & Jane, Emma A. (­2016). Cultural Studies: Theory and Practice. London: SAGE. Bechtel, Robert B. (­1997) Environment and Behavior: An Introduction. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE. Beene, Charles. (­1992). Police Crowd Control: ­Risk-​­reduction Strategies for Law Enforcement. Boulder, CO: Paladin. Bouma, Gary D. & Atkinson, G.B.J. (­1995) A Handbook of Social Science Research: A Comprehensive and Practical Guide for Students. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cherry, Edith. (­1998) Programming for Design: From Theory to Practice (­1st ed.). Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons. Cherulnik, Paul D. (­1993) Applications of ­Environment-​­B ehavior Research. New York: Cambridge University Press. Cranz, Galen. (­1982) Politics of Park Design: A History of Urban Parks in America. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Cranz, Galen. (­2016). Ethnography for Designers. New York: Routledge. Denzin, Norman K. & Lincoln, Yvonna S. (­2005) The SAGE Handbook of Qualitative Research. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE. Eisinger, Peter. 1972. The Conditions of Protest Behavior in American Cities. Retrieved from https://­w ww. irp.wisc.edu/­publications/­dps/­pdfs/­dp10872.pdf Emerson, Robert M. (­2001) Contemporary Field Research: Perspectives and Formulations (­2nd ed.). Long Grove, IL: Waveland Press. Foucault, Michel (­1977) Discipline and Punish. New York: Pantheon. Geertz, Clifford. (­1973) The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books. Gehl, Jan & Svarre, Birgitte (­2013). How to Study Public Life. Washington DC: Island Press. Girouard, Mar (­1985) Cities and People: A Social and Architectural History. London: Yale University Press. Groat, Linda  & Wang, David. (­2013) Architectural Research Methods (­2nd ed.). Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons. Hamilton, D. Kirk  & Watkins, David H. (­2009). ­Evidence-​­Based Design for Multiple Building Types. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons. Knox, Paul (­2010) Cities and Design. London: Routledge. LaGro, James A. (­2013) Site Analysis: Informing ­Context-​­Sensitive and Sustainable Site Planning and Design (­3rd ed.). Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons. Lang, Jon, Burnette, Charles, Moleski, Walter & Vachon, David (­1974). Designing for Human Behavior: Architecture and the Behavioral Sciences. Stroudsburg, PA: Dowden, Hutchison & Ross Inc. Lofland, John. (­1985) Protest: Studies of Collective Behavior and Social Movements. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction. Lofland, Lyn. (­1998) The Public Realm: Exploring the City’s Quintessential Social Territory. New York: Aldine de Gruyter. McPhail, Clark. (­1991) The Myth of the Madding Crowd. New York: Walter Gruyter. Newman, Oscar. (­1972). Defensible Space: Crime Prevention through Urban Design. New York: Macmillan. Sagan, H. N. (­2015) Specters of ‘­68: Protest, Policing, and Urban Space. (­Doctoral Thesis). UC Berkeley. ProQuest ID: Sagan_berkeley_0028E_15521. (­Merritt ID: ark:/­13030/­m 5k38z3n). Retrieved from https://­escholarship.org/­uc/­item/­5fw554xm Saukko, Paula. (­2003) Doing Research in Cultural Studies: An Introduction to Classical and New Methodological Approaches. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE. Sommer, Robert & Sommer, Barbara (­2002). A Practical Guide to Behavioral Research: Tools and Techniques (­5th ed.) New York: Oxford University Press. Sommer, Robert. (­1983) Social Design: Creating Buildings with People in Mind. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: ­Prentice-​­Hall. Walker, Daniel. (­1968) Rights in Conflict. New York: Bantam. Zeisel, J. (­2006) Inquiry by design: Environment/­B ehavior/­Neuroscience in Architecture, Interiors, Landscape, and Planning (­1st ed.). New York: W.W. Norton & Company.

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25 What is the Question? Answer the Question Karen A. Franck and T ­ e-​­Sheng Huang

Introduction A common way to begin a research project is to choose a topic or topic area. Contributors to this handbook did so when they chose to study a new type of public space (­Part I) or a kind of activity that occurs in urban public space (­Parts II to VI). After choosing a topic, researchers may proceed in a very systematic manner or in a more ­open-​­ended and evolving way. When researchers choose to conduct their research in a very systematic way, they start by determining the research questions or questions they wish to answer and what techniques or sources of data they will use to do so. In this chapter, we first describe these two overall approaches to conducting research about urban public space, using T ­ e-​­Sheng’s research as an example of the systematic approach and Karen’s research as an example of the more ­open-​­ended approach. We then review the research designs and the techniques for collecting data commonly used in studying public space. We conclude the chapter with a review of the advantages and challenges each technique poses.

Two Approaches to Studying Urban Public Space To choose and to pursue the topic of privately owned public space in New York City for his dissertation, Te Sheng followed a systematic way of planning and conducting his research. Karen’s research about memorials illustrates a more ­open-​­ended approach. However, each of them chose a type of urban public space to study. Viewing urban public space through the lens of type helps researchers frame their research. Franck and Huang (­2020) call this technique “­typing”. It is a way to discover similarities and differences between different types of public space or to delve into one type. Researchers also choose a type of activity to study such as protesting (­Hou  & Knierbein, 2017), skateboarding (­Borden, 2001; Németh, 2006), parkour (­A meel & Tani, 2012; Kidder, 2017) or flash mobs (­Molnár, 2014). Each of the chapters in Parts II to VI of this handbook is about a type of activity. In other cases, researchers have chosen a type of person to study such as children (­Lorne, 2012), youth (­Demant & Landolt, 2014), women (­Bagheri, 2014; Day, 1999), unhoused people (­Parker, 2021) or LGBTQ+ (­Stillwagon & Ghaziani, 2019). DOI: 10.4324/9781003104421-32

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Systematic Approach ­ e-​­Sheng chose the general topic of urban public space because he had developed an interest T in that type of space during his coursework. That choice was just the beginning since there are three types of urban public space. One type consists of public spaces that are owned and managed by the public sector such as streets, parks and squares. Two other types in New York and other cities are those that are privately owned and privately managed (­called POPS or bonus spaces) and those that are publicly owned and privately managed such as Central Park, which are managed by private conservancies. Of these three types, T ­ e-​­Sheng chose privately owned public space as his topic for several reasons. Many of spaces of this type are located indoors and so are heated in the winter and cooled in the summer. This allows them to be used during the daytime and into the evening over the entire year. He was also interested in determining whether these spaces are as exclusive with respect to who uses them and what those occupants do as other researchers have argued (­M iller, 2007; Németh, 2009; Smithsimon, 2008). Based on that research, he strongly expected that they would be. ­Te-​­Sheng found comprehensive, detailed information about all bonus spaces in New York in Privately Owned Public Space: The New York City Experience (­2000) written by Jerold Kayden in collaboration the Municipal Art Society and the Department of City Planning. In that book, he was able to identify 37 fully enclosed, privately owned public spaces. After visiting most of them, he decided to exclude those spaces that are difficult for people to find and those that are treated as passageways because they have no tables, chairs, retail shops or cafes and so do not support a variety of activities. Based on these criteria, his fieldwork and the descriptions in Kayden et al. (­2000), ­Te-​­Sheng chose 24 cases in 23 buildings. The process he followed is diagramed in ­Figure 25.1. After choosing the type of public space he planned to study and determining the rationale for that choice, ­Te-​­Sheng defined his research questions. These he grouped into four topic areas. He also chose the sources of data he would use to answer his research questions (­­Table 25.1).

­Open-​­Ended Approach Karen has adopted a more ­open-​­ended approach than ­Te-​­Sheng did but, like him, she focuses on a particular type of public space and like him she takes a quite analytical perspective. The

­Figure 25.1 Selecting a Type of Public Space to Study

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What is the Question? Answer the Question ­Table 25.1  Research Questions and Sources of Information Research Question 1. Users/­Uses a. Who uses these spaces? b. What do they do there? 2. Design a. What are the design features of the spaces that make them exclusive based on observations of users? b. What was the original design? What was the rationale for the design choices?* c. How was the space redesigned? What was the rationale for the redesign?* 3. Management What are the management practices in the spaces that make them exclusive?

4. ­Decision-​­Making Process a. How were the design features and management practices determined? b. What was the rationale behind the choice design features and management practices?

Sources of Information

Observations to document the gender, age and race of the occupants Observations to document the activities of the occupants Observations to document design features Newspaper articles, published books, and magazines

Reports from City Planning Commission, newspaper articles, and websites

Interviews with building managers, architects/­designers, and/­or city planners Reports from City Planning Commission, newspaper articles, published books, magazine articles, and websites Observations to document how ­on-​­site security guards manage the spaces Interviews with building managers to understand how the spaces are managed Signs posted in the spaces that limit certain activities Interviews with building managers, architects/­designers, and/­or city planners Reports of City Planning Commission Interviews with building managers, architects/­designers, and/­or city planners Reports of City Planning Commission, newspaper articles, published books, magazines and websites

Notes: *Research question applies only to spaces that were redesigned.

type of public space she has studied is memorials, both formal and informal ones. She had no interest in memorials until she saw the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, DC for the first time, in 1982 before the construction was complete. It was the first memorial in the U.S. that, unlike statues on pedestals, created an environment that could be occupied. Many years later, Karen pursued her interest in spatial memorials by: (­1) examining, through the existing literature, their evolution and repeating design features and (­2) discovering, through visiting many memorials in the U.S. and Europe, the kinds of experiences people have in them. In the resulting book, Memorials as Spaces of Engagement (­2015), she and Quentin Stevens present many cases of spatial memorials, chronicle the evolution of that type of public space and describe the experiences and activities they generate. A few examples are the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain in London, the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin (­see ­Figure 1.7 363

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in C ­ hapter 1), the National 9/­11 Pentagon Memorial in Arlington, Virginia and the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial in Washington, DC. The design of two of these memorials inspires children and even adults to engage in very playful activities of running, jumping and standing on the memorial as at the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin (­see ­Figure 1.7 in ­Chapter 1) or walking in the channel of water at the Diana Memorial Fountain in London. These are hardly behaviors one would expect in sites that commemorate tragic events but their design features seem to invite such forms of physical engagement with the memorial. Karen documented the design and use of other spatial memorials in her research conducted with Philip Speranza about September 11 memorials in New Jersey (­Franck & Speranza, 2014) (­­Figure 25.2). She is also interested in controversies that emerge over the

­Figure 25.2 Formal Memorials: (­a) Closter 9/­11 Memorial, Closter, New Jersey (­Steven Arcella) and (­b) Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Washington, DC (­Maya Lin)

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design of a memorial, situations where architectural critics and the general public take strong positions, often opposing the design of a memorial so strongly that the design is changed and then possibly modified after it is built. One example is the Memorial to Franklin Delano Roosevelt in Washington, DC (­Franck, 2018).

Research Designs A research design is the overall structure of a research project. Researchers studying public space begin their projects by choosing one of the following five research designs: purely descriptive, historical, longitudinal, an experiment and a single case study (­or multiple case studies). All these research designs involve an element of description since they result in descriptive text but some may be purely descriptive. A researcher could adopt a combination of research designs such as a case study that is historical. A case study could be both historical and ethnographic (­if it is about a culture different from the researcher’s own culture). Nearly all the contributors to this book used a case study approach (­­Table 25.2). Notably, the writers of two chapters about living in public space conducted ethnographic research: Kristien Geenen whose chapter is about gangs living on the street in Kinshasa and Daniel ­Table 25.2  Research Designs Contributors Used Section

Chapter Number, Author

1. Franck & Huang Part I 2. Yan Emerging Types of Public Spaces 3. Stevens 4. ­Vardi-​­Topal Part II 5. Elmenghawi Recreation 6. Bezemes 7. De Silva 8. Ameel & Tani Part III 9. Mehta Commerce 10. Badran 11. Huang 12. Vargas 13. Jones Part IV 14. Abdelazim Protest 15. Verebes 16. Atasoy Part V 17. Parker Living 18. Geenen 19. Kina & Van Blerk Part VI Celebration Part VII Research Methods for Studying Public Space

20. Franck 21. Tülü 22. Hosseini 23. Bjerkeset & Aspen 24. Sagan 25. Franck & Huang

Research Design N/­A Case study Case study Case study Historical Case study Descriptive Case study Case study Case study Case study Case study Case study Historical Case study Historical Case study Case study (­Longitudinal and ethnographic) Case study (­Ethnographic) Descriptive Descriptive Case study Case study N/­A N/­A

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Jupp Kina and Lorraine van Blerk who wrote about youth gangs living in public space in São Paulo, Brazil. Kristien’s study was longitudinal as well as ethnographic. Longitudinal research is very useful when a public space has been changed and one wishes to discover how and why. T ­ e-​­Sheng used a longitudinal research design to study the original design of the Lincoln Center campus and how it was changed (­Huang & Franck, 2021). The architect and urban designer Oscar Newman, well known for his concept of defensible space (­Newman, 1972), conducted longitudinal research about a public housing project in the Bronx called Clason Point Gardens to determine whether his redesign of the project had its intended impact. His research team observed residents’ use and maintenance of the yards and other outdoor space there. The team also interviewed the residents before and after the design changes had been made (­Newman, 1980). In redesigning Clason Point Gardens and interviewing residents before and after the redesign, Newman conducted an experiment intended to determine whether his redesign led to the expected changes in people’s use and maintenance of the spaces outside their homes. The research findings, derived from observations of the use and maintenance of these spaces and interviews with the residents, demonstrated that it had. After the front yards had been redesigned to be clearly distinct from each other and from the shared space outside their front yards, residents improved their yards by planting plants and grass and maintaining them (­Newman, 1980) (­­Figure 25.3). Cara Kronen and Molly Makris also chose to conduct an experiment concerning urban public space. They set out to determine if privately owned public spaces are as exclusionary as some researchers have asserted (­K ronen, Makris & Huang, 2020). They recruited two groups of young black and Latino men (­t wo in one group, three in the other) to participate in their study. They briefed these participants on what privately public spaces are, what the purpose of the study was and what they would be doing. The researchers accompanied the participants to three different privately owned public spaces in New York City. With respect to each space, one researcher entered first, followed separately, by one group of the participants and then, separately, the second researcher entered the space. As instructed, the young men found a place to sit. There, they talked with each other but did nothing to attract attention nor did they acknowledge the presence of the researchers. The researchers, sitting in two other locations, watched other occupants of the space to see how they reacted to the presence of these young men. To their surprise, no one paid attention to them except one woman who looked at them several times. After leaving the space, the researchers and the young men met at a predesignated space for a ­follow-​­up interview. The young men reported that they felt comfortable in the space and planned to come back with their girlfriends.

Techniques for Collecting Data While the choice of a research design is extremely important, it does not dictate what techniques should be used to collect the data. That choice is equally important. The research topic and the research question(­s) guide the choice of technique(­s) for collecting data. Other factors to be considered in choosing a technique are how much time and effort that technique will require and, for archives, whether the information is available and accessible, which may be serious challenge if they are physical archives located at some distance from the researcher’s home. Researchers setting out to study public space have a choice of five d­ ata-​­collecting techniques: observations, interviews, surveys, digital or physical archives and experiments. ­Table 25.3 lists the techniques each contributor used to collect information for the research they describe in this handbook. 366

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­Figure 25.3 Clason Point Gardens, Bronx, New York: (­a) Prior to redesign; and (­b) after redesign by Oscar Newman

Observations Conducting observations on site either in person or with an ­on-​­site camera (­as William Whyte did) is a very popular technique for studying public space. Researchers can record design features and conditions of the space, who is occupying the space (­including specific characteristics of the users such as age, race and group size), what people are doing and how the uses and users change over the course of the day and the week. In some cases, when researchers cannot be present on site, they collect data from photographs taken by the study’s participants (­Laughlin & Johnson, 2011; Makris, 2015). 367

Karen A. Franck and T ­ e-­Sheng Huang ­Table 25.3  Data Collection Techniques Contributors Used Section

Chapter Number, Author

  1. Franck & Huang Introduction Part I   2. Yan Emerging Types of Public Spaces   3. Stevens   4. ­Vardi-​­Topal Part II   5. Elmenghawi Recreation   6. Bezemes   7. De Silva   8. Ameel & Tani   9. Mehta Part III Commerce 10. Badran 11. Huang 12. Vargas 13. Jones Part IV Protest

14. Abdelazim 15. Vererbes 16. Atasoy

Part V Living

17. Parker 18. Geenen

19. Kina & Van Blerk Part VI Celebration

20. Franck 21. Tülü 22. Hosseini

Part VII Research Methods for Studying Public Space

23. Bjerkeset & Aspen 24. Sagan 25. Franck & Huang

Data Collection Techniques N/­A Observations, survey, interviews, digital archives Observations, survey, interviews Observations, survey, interviews Observations, survey, interviews, physical archives Observations, interviews Interviews, focus groups Observations, interviews Observations, survey, interviews Observations, survey, interviews Observations, interviews, social media Observations, survey, interviews Observations interviews, social media Observations, digital archives Observations interviews, digital archives, social media Observations, participant observations, physical archives, digital archives Observations, participant observations, interviews Observations, participant observations, interviews, digital archives Observations, participant observations, interviews Observations, digital archives, social media Observations, digital archives Observations, interviews, social media Observations Observations, physical archives, digital archives, social media N/­A

Note: Physical archives are collections of printed matter, including documents, news articles, books, magazines and diaries as well as visual items such as photographs, drawings and maps stored at physical locations that researchers visit in person. Digital archives consist of digitized materials that people can access through the Internet. Social media includes Facebook, YouTube, Instagram, Twitter, Weibo and YouKu.

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For her book Death and Life of Great American Cities (­1961), Jane Jacobs observed the uses and users on the sidewalk immediately outside her home. As described above, Oscar Newman used observations to study the effects of the redesign of a public housing project (­Newman, 1980) as did Kronen et al. (­2020) in their study of the exclusiveness of privately owned public space. The contributors to People Places, edited by ­Cooper-​­Marcus and Francis (­1990), observed several types of public space including urban plazas and campuses to explore what design features attract people and what features do not. ­Harrison-​­Peppe (­1990) observed Washington Park by mapping the different types of activities and the locations of those activities. ­Loukaitou-​­Sideris and Banerjee (­1998) observed three bonus spaces in Los Angeles and four in San Francisco to find out what kinds of people use them and what kinds of people are absent. In their research about memorials, Karen and Quentin Stevens noted what activities were taking place and how people were physically interacting with the memorial (­Stevens & Franck, 2015). Mehta (­2014) observed three commercial streets in three ­m ixed-​­use neighborhoods in Massachusetts to map what people were doing and where. Once ­Te-​­Sheng (­2014a) had decided to observe the use and users of the bonus spaces he had chosen to study, he observed those spaces over the course of 26 weeks from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. He recorded the age, gender and race of occupants as well as the presence of homeless people to determine if these spaces attract a diverse body of people. Age was recorded in four categories younger than 10, between 11 and 20, between 21 and 50 and over 51. Race was recorded in three categories: white, black and Asian. The criteria used to determine whether someone was homeless included (­but were not limited to): wearing dirty, smelly, layered or tattered clothes, having bags around them, being alone or sleeping. No matter how carefully one plans to employ observations as a research technique, unexpected situations arise. ­Te-​­Sheng encountered two. First, recording the number and the characteristics of all occupants of the public spaces he was studying was impossible since there were so many people present (­sometimes more than a hundred) and many of them were moving around. To overcome this problem, T ­ e-​­Sheng recorded the characteristics and activities only of those people who were sitting down. Second, it was impossible to determine accurately the characteristics of occupants when he remained at a distance but if he came too close to the occupants, his presence could disturb them. To resolve this problem, ­Te-​­Sheng wore a headset connected to his cell phone and spoke into it in Chinese to suggest that he was talking to someone when, in fact, he was recording the number of occupants at each table, their gender, age and race and what they were doing. After that, he mapped the information he had collected on a floor plan of that space by listening to his recording. Fortunately, given the time and effort it takes to observe public spaces in person, there are other observation techniques that do not require the researcher to be present. Instead, a camera can be placed at the site to record everything that occurs during predetermined time periods. Using time lapse photography, William Whyte (­1980) was able to document the use and users of public spaces over the course of an entire day without being present on site. This enabled him to discover significant differences between the spaces studied. That is, some were heavily used, particularly during lunch hours in good weather (­more than 150 people on average), while some were not (­fewer than 25 people). In her study, described in this handbook, Mariam Abdelazim deployed a ­Go-​­Pro camera in a hotel window to record the use of the public space in front of Mogama in Cairo, Egypt to determine how security guards managed that space. It is notable that observing public space was by far the most popular technique among contributors to this handbook. The use of that technique is described in 23 of the 25 chapters. 369

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For example, Fathia Elmenghawi observed women’s use of space in three public spaces in Tripoli, recording in each space what women were doing, who they were with and what they were wearing. Two other particularly interesting cases of observation are John Bezemes’s observations of gay men in parks in New York and Boston and Lieven Ameel’s and Sirpa Tani’s observations of parkour in Finland. Observation as a research technique is nearly essential in studies of parades and protests, as demonstrated by the chapters about protests and parades. One kind of observation can be particularly challenging for researchers. That is participant observation where the researcher joins the activity he or she is observing. All of the contributors to the chapters about living in public space used this technique. In two cases, their research was both ethnographic and longitudinal: Kristien Geenen’s study of one street gang in Kinshasa, DR Congo and the research about young people living in public spaces in Sao Paulo, Brazil by Daniel Jupp Kina and Lorrain van Blerk. Zehra Betül Atasoy also lived for a period of time in Gezi Park in Istanbul when she joined a large protest against the planned redevelopment of the park. One can also observe public spaces in a much easier and less t­ ime-​­consuming ­m anner – ​­by discovering what John Zeisel (­2006) has called “­t races” or evidence of past activities as well as official and unofficial messages people have left to communicate with others. After the attack on the World Trade Center in 2011, Lynn Paxson and Karen observed the missing person posters posted in public spaces in New York and the very dense informal memorial created at Union Square where many people gathered to hold vigils (­Franck & Paxson, 2007) (­­Figure 25.4).

Interviews Holding interviews ­face-­​­­to-​­face (­online or in person) give researchers opportunities to collect detailed information and to uncover kinds of information they may not have anticipated. The researcher can use a structured, ­semi-​­structured or unstructured interview protocol and either take notes by hand or record the interview. When researchers wish to record the

­Figure 25.4 Informal Memorial at Union Square after September 11

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interview, they need to request permission from the respondent to do so. Interviews allow researchers to collect detailed information and to learn about situations or details they had not anticipated in advance. They can also follow up on answers the respondent gives to get additional detail or to clarify what the respondent meant. For his dissertation research about bonus spaces in New York City, T ­ e-​­Sheng prepared three ­semi-​­structured protocols to interview the architects/­designers, the city planners and the managers of the bonus spaces he was studying. He interviewed the architects/­designers to discover what design and redesign processes they had used, what design features they had chosen and why. He interviewed city planners in the New York City Department of City Planning about their opinions of the design and management features of the bonus spaces. He also interviewed managers of bonus spaces to discover: what rules govern the use of the spaces; how strictly security guards enforce those rules; and their attitude toward the people who use the spaces (­Huang, 2014a; Huang & Franck, 2018). To locate the managers of the 24 bonus spaces he was studying, T ­ e-​­Sheng used the Internet to discover which private corporations own and manage those spaces. He sent emails to the managers of the buildings where those spaces are located. Only one of the ten managers responded to his request and agreed to be interviewed. He then made phone calls to those who had not replied to his emails and received agreement from five additional managers. To recruit additional building managers, he asked each building manager whom he interviewed to refer him to persons they knew who were currently working in any of the private corporations managing the spaces in his study. This is what is called “­snowballing”. Through their referrals, ­Te-​­Sheng contacted another six building managers who accepted his interview request. Using the same approach, he was able to get three additional interviews. To explore the gendered experience of public space, Kristen Day (­1999) used snowball sampling to conduct ­semi-​­structured interviews with 43 ­m iddle-​­class women of different races. If this handbook is any indication, interviews are a very popular technique for c­ ollecting data in research about public space. Seventeen of the contributors to Parts I through VI conducted structured or s­emi-​­structured interviews. For instance, Fathia Elemnghawi, in Tripoli, Libya, interviewed three different groups of people for her research: young women in the spaces she was studying, several architects and planners and older women who could tell her about how women’s use of public space in Tripoli had changed. Researchers conducting interviews can also ask respondents to make drawings. For example, for his research that resulted in the book The Image of the City (­1960), Kevin Lynch interviewed people who lived in cities with very different kind of plans: Boston, Jersey City and Los Angeles To explore people’s images of their cities, he asked respondents to draw a mental map of their city as follows: “­Make it just as if you were making a rapid description of the city to a stranger, covering all the main features. We don’t expect an accurate ­d rawing –​ ­just a rough sketch” (­­p. 141).

Surveys A survey allows the researcher to gather more information from a greater number of respondents than is possible with interviews. The survey can be conducted by mail, online or in person. A survey is likely to include both ­fi xed-​­choice and ­open-​­ended questions. The researcher may administer and fill out the survey form or ask the respondent to do so. Seven of the contributors used i­n-​­person surveys to gather data. Han Yan conducted one to collect information about the basic demographic characteristics of visitors to the ecological parks she was studying, the means of transportation they used to get to the site, whether 371

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they live locally and their impression of the design of the park. By conducting a survey with visitors to Little Damascus in Sixth of October City, Egypt, Amira Mostafa Badran gathered information about the purpose of their visit, the frequency of their visits, overall satisfaction, their expenditures, one thing they liked about the place and recommendations for improvement. Fahtiya Elemnghawi conducted a survey with women using the three public spaces she was studying in Tripoli, Libya.

Archives, Physical and Digital Archives often contain a variety of items including written materials of all kinds (­e.g. reports, other documents, diaries and letters) as well as visual materials such as photographs, films, videos, maps, drawings, postcards and cartoons and even large physical items (­a s large as a damaged truck in the permanent display in the 9/­11 Memorial and Museum). Fortunately, many items in physical archives have been digitized so that they can be viewed on the Internet. If items are only located in a physical archive, the categories of items are often listed on the Internet site for that archive. That way, researchers can determine in advance if they should visit the archive in person. Hampton, Goulet and Albanesius (­2015) analyzed recent and older film footage to measure the presence of women in four public spaces: Chestnut Street in Philadelphia, Downtown Crossing in Boston and two locations in New York (­Bryant Park and the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art). For her chapter about parades in Manhattan, Karen used the Internet to view photographs and film footage of historic and recent parades in Manhattan that have been digitalized and posted on websites or social media platforms such as YouTube. In his chapter, Johann Sagan describes the advantages and drawbacks of the many archival materials, both printed and filmed, that he used for his research about protests during several U.S. presidential conventions. If the archive is only a physical one, the researcher must visit that archive in person. For their study of memorials, Karen and Lynn Paxon visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Collection in Lanham, Maryland to view the many thousands of artifacts visitors have left at that memorial (­Franck & Paxson, 2007). Each night, staff of the National Park Service collect the offerings left that day (­w ith the exception of perishable items and small American flags). The website for the memorial reports that 400,000 items are in the collection (­Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund, 2022). Offerings are also left at the September 11 Memorial in New York City. The museum there houses 21,000 artifacts, including remnants of the towers, items left behind after the blast and offerings continuously left at the memorial (­9/­11 Memorial & Museum, 2022). Archives are particularly useful for researchers who want to discover how and why the design and use of a public space (­or spaces) have changed over time. Galen Cranz (­1982) describes the evolution of American parks in The Politics of Park Design: A History of Urban Parks in America. She drew information from a wide variety of physical archives. To discover the source of specific statements made in the book, the reader can check the section called Notes at the end of the book that list, according to the chapter in which that item of information appeared. The Bibliography lists every source of archival information used in one of five categories: books; other periodicals; pamphlets; newspaper articles; and government documents. ­Te-​­Sheng and Karen (­2021) studied changes in the design and use of outdoor public spaces in Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts in New York. From the Lincoln Center Archives, ­Te-​­Sheng was able to retrieve: old photographs and meeting minutes related to the site before and after Lincoln Center was built, the concept for its overall site design, its relationship to 372

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city streets and the design of its outdoor spaces. Secondary sources were also used to understand how these outdoor spaces were used after Lincoln Center was built and the rationale for its renovation in the 2000s. The items available included books, reports, meeting minutes as well as articles from newspapers and magazines. Several contributors to this handbook consulted written and visual materials in physical or digital archives to determine how the design and use of public space had changed. To discover how three public spaces in Tripoli, Libya had changed from the 1830s to the 2010s, Fathia consulted physical archives in Tripoli. She also consulted them to discover how women’s use of the spaces had changed since the 1850s. Mariam Abdelazim viewed maps, photographs, travels’ accounts, books and articles and film footage she found online to document the evolution of the design of Tahrir Square in Cairo, Egypt and its use as a site of protests from 1919 to 2016. She drew information as well from two online sites: the Bibliothéque National De France (­G alica) archive and the Travelers of the Middle East Archive (­for travelogues, photos and postcards). For her chapter about changes in the use and design of Taksim Square and Gezi Park in Istanbul, Zehra Betül Atasoy drew information from books, journal articles, book chapters and newspaper articles either online or in a library.

Advantages and Challenges of Different Techniques As this chapter demonstrates, researchers who wish to study the use, design and/­or management of public space can choose from a variety of techniques for collecting data. Which technique(­s) they choose depend upon the research question(­s) they wish to answer (­see ­Table 25.3). They can also consider the advantages and challenges posed by each technique. One challenge for researchers using any data collection technique that requires people’s participation is that an IRB (­Institutional Review Board) review and approval is often required before the study begins. This is true for surveys, interviews and experiments. Any university in the U.S. that receives federal funding is required to have an Institutional Review Board. Its job is to review all research projects faculty or students propose in order to “­protect the rights and welfare of all human research subjects recruited to participate in research activities conducted under the auspices of that university” (­Oregon State University, 2022). Institutional Review Boards typically require that researchers explain to potential participants what the study is about and what their participation will entail. The researcher must also describe any possible consequences that may arise from participation in the study ­ e-​­Sheng and how these can be addressed. For his study of privately owned public space, T planned to interview architects/­designers, city planners and building managers. Since they are professionals and since he was gathering information related to their professional roles, the university’s Institutional Review Board granted permission with one condition: that the participants remain anonymous. Once a respondent agrees to be interviewed, the researcher presents a consent form that outlines the purpose of the study for the respondent to sign before the interview begins. At that point, the researcher also volunteers to answer any questions the respondent may have.

Observations As a technique for collecting data about public space, o ­ n-​­site observations have several advantages over other techniques. One can collect a considerable amount of data about the design, use and management of public space quite easily. It does not require the participation 373

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of others and so avoids all the challenges that come with interviews and surveys. Also, it does not require an IRB review. Depending upon one’s research questions, observing public space can generate a considerable amount of different kinds of data. Analyzing this information can be both challenging and ­time-​­consuming. ­Te-​­Sheng’s observations of bonus spaces generated all kinds of information, including design characteristics of the space, conditions of the space, whether any rules about conduct are posted and, if so, what the rules are, whether security guards or police officers are present and, if so, whether they interact with users. Researchers can record the use and users of the space as well as how the use and users change over the course of the day and the week (­Huang, 2014b; Huang & Franck, 2018). At the same time, being on site, in person, to record who is there and what they are doing can be hard work and ­time-​­consuming. For his dissertation research about privately owned public space, ­Te-​­Sheng spent approximately five hours a day observing the spaces (­or walking between) over 26 weeks, a total 910 hours. Using an o ­ n-​­site camera to record activities in public space, as William Whyte (­1980) did, eliminates that problem but then the film footage must be analyzed. There are other challenges. People in the space may question what researchers are doing when they are observing the space and may complain that the researcher has no right to watch other people. To avoid this possibility, researchers can record what is happening verbally on a smart phone while pretending to be talking with someone on that phone. Or they might invite a friend to accompany them and then pretend to take pictures of that person while actually taking pictures of the people and the activities in the spaces they are observing. Another challenge is the amount of time required for analyzing the data once it has been collected. The amount of time required depends upon what kind information was recorded and how. ­Te-​­Sheng was interested in what he believed would be the exclusivity of privately owned public space (­Huang & Franck, 2018). So, when he was observing these spaces, he recorded the gender, race and age of each occupant as well as the presence of homeless people.

Interviews Interviews are usually conducted in person with the interviewer reading from and completing a questionnaire or audio recording the interview. They could also be conducted online via a virtual meeting. The questions can be ­fi xed-​­choice or ­open-​­ended. Since the interviews are conducted in person, one advantage is that during the interview the researcher can ensure, as best as possible, that the interviewee understands all the questions and answers each one. Another advantage is that the interviewer can answer any questions the respondent may have, clarify the meaning of questions and record additional comments the respondent volunteers. The research technique of conducting interviews also poses challenges. One is determining and locating the people who should be interviewed and obtaining their agreement to be interviewed. Also, depending upon how many interviews are to be conducted, they can be ­time-​­consuming to conduct and to analyze. Answers to o ­ pen-​­ended questions will have to be content analyzed which requires determining what the repeating themes are and when these themes apply. If the interview is recorded, the recording needs to be transcribed or written notes made of the relevant parts. This is the technique ­Te-​­Sheng used to analyze the interview data he collected in his dissertation research (­Huang, 2014a).

Surveys Researchers conduct surveys using questionnaires they have designed to answer their research questions. The questionnaires can include both ­fi xed-​­choice and ­open-​­ended questions. 374

What is the Question? Answer the Question

Responses to the ­fi xed-​­choice questions are easy to tabulate. Analyzing answers to the ­open-​ ­ended questions takes more time and effort since they require content analysis to identify repeating themes and then using those themes to determine how often they appear. With surveys researchers can collect data from a greater number of people than is possible with interviews. However, the information they generate is less detailed than that generated by interviews and surveys do not offer as many opportunities for uncovering circumstances or conditions previously unknown to the researcher. Surveys raise additional challenges. It is very important that the questionnaire be pretested to ensure that the questions are understood and to make any necessary changes. A pretest is also a means of testing the reliability and validity of the questionnaire. Another challenge is to get a sufficient number of people to participate in a survey.

Archives Archives, both physical and digital, are extremely useful sources of information as demonstrated in several chapters in this handbook. Physical archives may be located at some distance from the researcher, even in another country, in which case a digital version of that same material is invaluable. Both physical and digital archives may contain a vast amount of material, which poses another challenge for researchers. Fortunately, archives may be so well organized that researchers are able to locate the items they need without difficulty. For instance, the online site for The New York Library in Manhattan reports that 921,358 items are digitized and new material is being digitized every day. That library lists all its physical archives online, describing each archive in considerable detail, which allows researchers to decide whether to visit the library in person or not. To view a physical archive in that library, one makes an appointment with a librarian (­The New York Public Library Archies & Manuscripts, 2022). Online video and film footage is another valuable source of data for researchers, saving them the time and effort of collecting such information themselves (­if that were even possible). However, mining the footage for the information they need to answer their research questions can be challenging due to the amount of data available and because of possible problems of confidentiality and crowdsourcing (­see Hargittai and Sandvig (­2015) for a discussion of digital research). Through Internet research (­mostly from YouTube), Molnár (­2014) developed a criterion that she used to select 203 cases of flash mobs in 62 cities. This criterion consisted of seven factors: the location of the flash mob (­country, city and type of public space); type of activity participants engaged in; number of participants; whether the flash mob was part of a simultaneous event taking place in other cities; the organizer; visual documentation of the flash mob; and websites and commentaries about the mob. Molnár and Hsiao (­2015) identified five types of flash mobs: atomized flash mobs, interactive flash mobs, performance flash mobs, political flash mobs and advertising flash mobs

Experiments In order to conduct their study about the experiences of black and Latino youth in privately owned public space, Cara Kronen and Molly Makris had to receive IRB approval. The university’s Institutional Review Board first required that the researchers receive permission from the owners of the buildings where the experiment was to be conducted to get their permission. To address that requirement the researchers promised not to name the locations of the spaces. The review board members were also concerned about 375

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how the young men participating in the experiment might be treated in those spaces and how that would make them feel. In response to that concern, the researchers established a protocol for alerting their faculty advisor if any such troublesome situations arose and, if so, the advisor would provide options for free counseling to the participants (­K ronen et al., 2020).

Conclusion As this chapter demonstrates, when researchers choose to study a type of urban public space or a particular activity there, they can choose from a variety of research designs and an even wider range of techniques for collecting data. Their research questions will help them decide which research design and which data collection technique(­s) to use. They also need to consider the time, effort and other challenges each technique poses. The advantages of different techniques can be considered as well. Once a research project is completed, it may well merit efforts of the author to publish it. So, another factor researchers might well consider in planning a project is where they plan to publish it when it is completed and, accordingly, what format the finished text and images should take. If the researcher’s intention is to publish one or more journal articles, it is useful, before drafting the article, to determine in advance which academic journals would be appropriate and what the format of articles in those journals is. Books offer the greatest freedom of choice in choosing a topic and developing a format. In all cases, the finished text and images undergo stringent ­reviews –​­by reviewers for journals or editors in publishing companies and reviewers enlisted by the editors. In all these cases, publishing the work is daunting but does ensure that the finished text will be of high quality and its appearance in print can be very satisfying to the researcher. In thinking about what final recommendations we can make to future researchers about what qualities they need, the following terms came to mind: focus, hard work, determination, patience and flexibility.

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Oregon State University. (­2022). What is the institutional review board (­I RB)? Retrieved from https://­ research.oregonstate.edu/­i rb/­­f requently-­​­­a sked-​­questions/­­what-­​­­i nstitutional-­​­­review-­​­­board-​­i rb. Parker, C. (­2021). Homelessness in the public landscape: A typology of informal infrastructure. Landscape Journal, 40(­1), 4­ 9–​­66. Smithsimon, G. (­2008). Dispersing the crowd: Bonus plazas and the creation of public space. Urban Affairs Review, 43(­3), 3­ 25–​­351. Stevens, Q. & Franck, K. A. (­2015). Memorials as spaces of engagement: Design, use and meaning. New York City: Routledge. Stillwagon, R. & Ghaziani, A. (­2019). Queer ­pop-​­ups: A cultural innovation in urban life. City and Community, 18(­3), ­874–​­895. The New York Public Library Archies & Manuscripts. (­2022). The human experience through primary sources. Retrieved from https://­a rchives.nypl.org/. Vietnam Veterans Memorial Fund. (­2022). Items left at the wall. Retrieved from https://­w ww.vvmf. org/­items/ Whyte, W. H. (­1980). The social life of small urban spaces. Washington, DC: Conservation Foundation. Zeisel, J. (­2006). Inquiry by design: Environment/­behavior/­neuroscience in architecture, interiors, landscape, and planning. New York: W.W. Norton & Company.

378

Index

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables and italic page numbers refer to figures. Abdelazim, Mariam 6, 14, 195, 369, 373 Abdul-Kafi, M. N. 74 activities 1–3, 5, 8–11, 15–19, 25–28, 30, 36, 43, 44–47, 55, 57–64, 72, 76–83, 86, 96, 100, 101, 103–109, 117, 119, 121, 122, 129, 133, 134, 142, 144, 149–151, 164, 167, 197, 200, 212, 240, 251, 254, 265, 266, 272–275, 291, 299, 302, 305, 318, 321, 330–343, 348–350, 362, 363, 369, 370, 373 affordance 14, 114, 118–121 airport 1, 3, 12, 14, 100, 209, 214, 214, 252, 257 Al, S. 210 Albanesius, G. 372–373 Albee Square 312, 315, 318, 321 Ali, Mohamed 196 AlSayyad, N. 203 Ameel, Lieven 5, 14, 20, 111, 370 al-Anany, Khaled 204 Ancient Order of the Hibernians (AOH) 282 Anderson, C. 137 Anti-Extradition Law 220 appropriation (of public space) 13, 257 apps 86, 215, 218, 219 archives 2, 70, 345–347, 349, 351, 352, 353, 357–359, 366, 368, 372–373, 375 Arens, J. J. 304 Arkitera Architecture Center (AKM) 230–231, 231 Aspen, Jonny 329 Atasoy, Zehra Betül 6, 14, 222, 370, 373 Attia, S. 201 Avenue C Plaza 60–64 Badran. Amira Mostafa 5, 14, 141, 372 Balbuena, P. 166 Bayat, A. 167 beach 86, 103, 239, 318; city 1, 3–53 Belle, David 111 benches 33, 51, 58–60, 72, 76, 80, 88, 202, 203, 240 Bezemes, John 5, 14, 85, 370

Bhowmik, S. K. 169 Bjerkeset, Sverre 329 Black Block 302 Black Lives Matter 11 Blacks, exclusion of from public space, from parades 10–13, 292 Blesser, B. 299 bonus space 15, 54, 362, 369, 371, 374 Borden, I. 5, 14 boulevard 197, 254, 257 Brooklyn Commons 312, 315, 316, 322, 323 Bryant Park 15, 288, 372 business improvement districts (BIDs) 64, 160, 312–314, 325 Camera 17, 26, 82, 92, 188, 208; cellphone camera 199; digital camera 26; Go-Pro camera 203, 369; phone camera 188, 199; security camera 149 Capital One cafes 3 Carnival of Cultures 300, 307, 308, 310; free and pluralistic society 307; refugee crisis 307; space and sound 307–309, 308 Carr, S. 54 carritos tilines 170 case study 2, 90, 94, 282, 345, 365, 365 celebrating, celebration 1, 7, 13, 15, 80, 167, 201, 202, 203, 226, 282, 294, 321; space and sound 299–310 Cellucci, Paul 96 Central Park 8, 15, 16, 284, 286, 289, 362 chairs 13, 17, 43, 43, 44, 47, 55, 57–60, 144–145, 182, 315, 319 Chanba Wetland Park 29–30, 33, 34, 36 Christie, Mike 116 Christopher Day Celebration (CSD) 300; Berlin Gay Pride 304; history 304–305, 305; space and sound 305–306 city beaches, Germany: community-based beach 47; cultural association 46; design features and organized activities 43, 43–46; 379

Index

Frankfurt Citybeach 45, 45; history and location of 40–42; interviews and surveys 39–40; Kulturstrand beach 48; new urban public spaces 52–53; public realm 49–50; Skybeach, Stuttgart 41, 42, 45, 53; social inclusion 50–52; Urbanauten project 47; Vaihingen an der Enz 40, 40; Vaihinger Aktion Innenstadt 48 classifying, classification systems 130, 211, 329–330, 341, 343 clothing 45, 74, 146, 223, 284, 289, 343 commerce 1, 5–6, 15, 128–131, 133–138, 146, 167, 216, 241, 245 commercial streets: businesses 129–130; cosmopolitan canopy 137; e-commerce 136; esthetic pleasures 134; interactional pleasures 134; Open Restaurant program 138; physical features 129, 131–133, 131–134; private and quasi-public spaces 128; as public space 134–136, 136; social gathering 137; systematic behavior 128 Conticini, A. 264 Covid 19 18, 26, 173, 187, 188, 216, 217, 219, 231, 250, 303, 334 Cranz, G. 13, 372 Crem Helado, distribution line 169, 170 Croton Reservoir 288 cul-de-sacs 93–94 defensible space 366 De Silva, Chathurthi S. 5, 14, 99 Deleuze, G. 220 descriptive 330, 365 design 25, 39, 57, 58, 60, 72, 349, 363, 364–365, 371–374; amenities 33; critical features 144– 146; entry and edge 29–30, 30; features and organized activities 43–46; ground surface 31–32, 32; park 26–28; pathways 30–31, 31; professions 96, 97; research 365–366, 365; site 185, 186, 187; Tahrir Square 195, 199, 202–203, 222–226, 223; urban public space 1–20, 173, 176, 350; vegetation 33–34, 34; wildlife 34–35 Dewey, George 285 digital 6, 26, 36, 86, 216–220, 343, 352, 368, 372–373, 375 discrimination (against homosexuals, blacks, Jews) 245, 284, 304 diversity: advantages and limitations 342–343; ceremony and celebration 335–336, 336; civic activities 333–334, 334; classifying uses of 329–330, 339–342; construction and renovation 336; culture and entertainment 334–335; deviant activities 338; everyday practical activities 331; health and welfare services 334; homeless activities 338; management and maintenance 336; personal 380

recreation 331–332, 332; production 336; public aid 337–338; public space 330, 339; selling and buying 332–333, 333; teaching and learning 337; transportation 332; work-related activities 337 do-it-yourself (DIY) urbanism 55 Downtown Brooklyn Partnership (DBP) 312 Duling Eco Park 29, 36 Duneier, M. 164 Earhart, Amilia 284 ecological restoration, definitions 25–27 ecological restoration parks, China 25, 26; amenities 33; data 26; entry and edge design 29–30, 30; ground surface 31–32, 32; implications 37–38; management and maintenance 36–37; pathways 30–31, 31; and public space 26–28; use of 35–36; vegetation 33–34, 34; wildlife 34–35 Ehrenfeucht, R. 13 Elmenghawi, Fathia 5, 14, 69, 370 El-Sghir, N. 72 Elshahed, M. 199 encroachment 167, 170, 174–176, 249 Erdoğan, Recep Tayyip 225, 230, 231, 233 Ethnographic research 169, 176, 250, 365, 366, 370 event-site 347, 348, 352, 353–355, 359 experiments 50, 318, 366, 373, 375–376 Feng-Chia Night Market 162 festival, festivals 1, 7, 15, 46, 47, 80, 167, 179, 182, 214, 286, 300–303, 306, 309, 310, 317–321, 323, 324, 335, 347 Finnish Parkour Academy 112 food truck rallies: characteristics 188, 188; data collection 179–180; at Grand Army Plaza 182, 183; history of 180–182; implications 189–190; location and management 184–185; in Red Hook, Brooklyn park 182, 183; site design 185, 186, 187; social media 187–188; spatial arrangement 182, 184 Foucan, Sébastien 111 Foucault, Michel 348 Francis, M. 54 Franck, Karen A. 1, 2, 6, 7, 11, 15, 117, 120, 281, 361–364, 369, 370, 372 Gaetz, S. 264 Gandolfo, D. 169 garden 27, 33, 37, 46, 50, 82, 93, 145, 196, 214, 301, 340, 366, 367 gay intimacy, New York and Boston see urban parks Geenen, Kristien 6, 249, 365, 370 Geertz, C. 167 Gehl, J. 44, 330, 338

Index

General Merchandise, Apparel, Furniture and Other Goods (GAFO) 130 Gibson, J. J. 14 Glenn, John 285 Goulet, L. S. 372–373 gourmet food trucks 180 Granz, Galen 346 Groat, Linda 345 guerilla urbanism 55 Guodu Forestry Park 33, 36, 37 Hampton, K. N. 372–373 headphone usage: activities 100, 101, 103; congruity 103; environmental circumstances 102; locations 102, 102; micro-ecology 109; ownership 99; responses 100; Sony Walkman 99; in urban parks 103–109, 104–106, 109; urban public places 100, 101; zones of acoustic separation 100 Hébert, Georges 112 Hellerman, A. 314, 321–322, 324 Hester, R. 135 historical 29, 69–70, 72–76, 85, 134, 229, 232, 306, 329, 335, 338, 345–348, 350, 365 Hobbs, R. J. 28 homeless 17, 59, 238–240, 342–346, 251–259, 264, 338, 341, 369, 374 homelessness 90, 237–239, 241, 244–246, 245, 338 homosexuals: harrassment of 11, laws about 86, 284, 304; use of public space 11 homosexuals (use of public space by, harassment of ) 11, 86, 87, 284, 304, 306 Hosseini, Maryam 7, 18, 287, 312 Hou, J. 6, 14 Hsiao, A. 375 Huang, Te-Sheng 1, 5, 6, 11, 16, 17, 18, 83, 153, 293, 361, 362, 366, 369, 371, 372, 373, 374 Hulme, D. 264 Humphreys, L. 86 Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) 181 indoor 3, 6, 16, 18, 54, 73, 79, 83, 122, 149, 187, 254, 255, 362; indoor space 62, 72, 83 instiuiional Review Board (IRB) 373–375 the Internet 3, 18, 86, 116, 117, 136, 202, 218, 220, 337, 348, 358, 371, 372, 375 interviews 1–2, 16, 17, 26, 35–37, 39–40, 43, 63, 70, 72, 79, 100, 111, 128, 143, 172, 368, 370– 371, 374; informal 143, 146; semi-structured 154, 348, 371; vendors 154, 156–158, 161, 172 Irish Lesbian and Gay Organization (ILGO) 282, 289 Jacobs, Jane 86 Jiménez, Corsín 254

Jones, John 5, 179, 181 Jupp Kina, Daniel 6, 263, 366, 370 Kayden, J. S. 16, 362 Kensington Plaza 57–58 The Kensington Stewards (non-profit organization) 58, 61–65 Kidder, J. L. 114 Kinshasa city: colonize 253; governmental attempts, public space clearance 255–257; governmental campaigns, ineffectiveness of 257, 257–259; implications 260; Las Vegas’ members 254, 254, 255; limitation 255; negotiations, public space 250–252, 253; parlementaires-debout 246; social space 254 Knecht, M. 308 Knierbein, S. 6 Kohn, M. 2, 3 Kostof, Spiro 127 Kronen, C. 366, 375 kuluna gangs 257–259 Labor Day Parades 283, 284 Larchet, N. 180 Laval, Pierre 286 Lefebvre, H. 299 Lemon, R. 181 LGBT+ community 87, 88, 96 libraries 3, 12, 45, 100, 359 Libyan Muslim community 73 Likofi campaign 258–259 Lincoln Center 15, 366, 372, 373 Lind, Jenny 285 Lindsay, John 8 Little Damascus, Sixth of October City, Egypt 141–142, 142; activities 146, 147; critical design features 144–146; implications 151; management and maintenance 149–151; passageway 142, 145, 145; Syrian refugees 143–144; use and users 146–149, 148 living 1, 6–7, 7, 75, 80, 85, 116, 166, 238, 245, 246, 324; Democratic Republic of Congo 249–260, 253–254, 263; in groups 266–269, 268, 270, 271, 271–272 Lo Shiu Hing Sonny 209 Lofland, L. 134 longitudinal research 38, 359, 365, 366, 370 loose space 117, 120, 153 Loukaitou-Sideris, A. 13 lunch wagons 180 lunch trucks 180 Madbouly, Mostafa 202 Makris, M. V. 366, 375 Mall-Oriented Complex 210 management 2, 363, 371, 373–374; communication 46; maintenance 26, 28, 381

Index

36–37, 55, 57, 64, 149–151, 336, 341; policies 164; poverty 238; public space 15–17, 143, 173, 296, 342; rallies 184–185 Manhattan parades 296; after parade 289–290, 290; civic achievement 286; demand civil rights 283–284; group/cultural identity 282; honor “heroes” 284–285, 285; before parade 287–289; during parade 289; participants 291–292; partners 291; police 293–294; religious/secular holiday 286, 287; spectators 292–293, 293; sponsors 291; state visitor/famous person 285–286; St. Patrick’s Day Parade 281; types of 295 Mark Morris Dance Center (MMDC) 317 Martin, N. 181 Martyrs Square, women’s recreation: less frequent activity 80, 81; location of 69, 70; national identity 71; outdoor public spaces 76, 77, 78 mass behavior 345, 347, 349, 350 Mazhar, Shehab 202–203 McNamara, B. 294 Mehta, Vikas 5, 127, 134, 369 memorials 2, 13, 54, 199, 361, 363, 364, 369, 372 Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe 13, 14, 363, 364 messy urbanism 164 microclimates 27 Miller, K. F. 2 Ministry of Housing, Utilities and Urban Development (MHUUD) 144 Molnár, V. 375 Morsi, Mohamed 202 Müller, Lothar 41, 53 Municipal Art Society of New York 54 Mwanamputu, Pierre 258 Myer, R. 321 Myfest: history 300–301; space and sound 301–303, 302 Nasser, Abdel 197 Ndjio, B. 256 negotiation 112, 120, 153, 210, 239, 240, 242, 247, 250–252, 259; BIDs 160; everyday urbanism 153; implications 164–165; with police officers 160–163; public space 154, 155, 156–159, 157, 158; relationships 163–164; semi-structured interviews 154; technology 159 Newman, Oscar 366, 367, 369 New Urban Communities Authority (NUCA) 144 New York City Police Department (NYPD) 287 Niedermüller, P. 308 NYC Plaza Program 56, 57 382

observations 7, 26, 33, 55, 60, 79–81, 94, 129–130, 135–136, 147–149, 294, 363, 367, 368, 369–370, 373–374 Occupy Wall Street movement 6, 17 Oldenburg, R. 135 Open Streets Program 18 Parade, parades 281–296; life of 286–290; participants 291–292; partners 291; sponsors 282, 291; St Patrick’s Day Parade 281, 288, 289, 291–293, 295; Steuben Day Parade 288, 293; types of 295 park see individual entries Parker, Cory 6, 237 Parkinson, J. R. 3, 6 parkour, Finland: history of 111–112; implications 121–122; Jump Britain 116; Jump London 116; as loosening urban space 117–121, 118; parkour eyes 115, 115; physical and architectural features 111; as practised 115–117; as represented 115–117; urban spaces 112, 113, 114–115, 115 party, Downtown Brooklyn: advertising 322– 323; Albee Square 318; BIDs 312–314, 313, 314; Brooklyn Commons Park 315, 315–316; challenges 323; Drive-Thru 317–318; Plaza at 300 Ashland 316–317, 316–318; plazas 314–319; public festivals 324; Willoughby Plaza 318–321, 320; Willoughby Walks 319–321, 324 Paxon, Lynn 372 pedestrian plazas, New York City: Avenue C Plaza 55, 60–64, 61, 63; characteristics 55; implications 64–65; Kensington Plaza 55, 57, 57–60, 58, 64; parklets 54; public space 55–57 Peterson, M. 8 plaza see individual entries Plaza at 300 Ashland 312, 315, 316, 321 police/policing 86, 157, 162, 227–230, 231, 233, 238, 273–276, 293–294, 336, 347–350, 351, 357; negotiating with 160–163; public space 203–204; responses 94–96; riot 213–215, 217, 218, 348; strategies 160; violence 11 political conventions 346 political symbolism 213 Poole, K. 90 pop-up urbanism 55 Portman, John 210 Princess Diana Memorial Fountain 363–364 privately owned public spaces 3, 6, 13, 17, 18, 52, 54, 209, 211, 213, 220, 366 private sound environments (PSEs) 100; see also headphone usage procession/processions 7, 10, 197, 286, 289, 292–295, 320, 331 programming 25, 26, 28, 36, 47, 57, 61–64, 92, 93, 96, 312, 319, 323, 325

Index

Prospect Park Alliance 184, 187–188 protest, Hong Kong: American civil rights movement 208; Black Lives Matter 208; Confucian values 211; digital connectivity 218–219; Double Tenth Day 212; HKSAR government 212; implications 219–220; interior protests 214; media and mass protests 216; MTR 213; National Anthem Law 216; pro-democracy protests 216; protesters and riot police 218 public spaces 209–211; social media 217; student-led movements 212; Umbrella Movement 215 protesting 134, 229, 289, 293, 294, 347, 348, 361; space and sound 299–310 public-private hybrids 2 Pype, K. 257 Queen City Food Truck Park 187 Quinn, B. 312 reclaimed plazas 56 recreation 1, 5, 15–16, 28; personal 331–332, 331, 339, 341; women’s 69–83, 70–71, 75, 77, 78, 81 refugee crisis 307 research method 345, 346, 348, 359 Rifaat, N. 72 Rivlin, L. G. 54 Robison, Julia 13 roofs 40, 41–46, 49, 53, 112, 122, 173, 176, 230, 250, 286; rooftops 39, 41, 43, 44, 49–52, 116 Rossi, Mario 196 Sagan, Johann 345, 372 Salter, L. R. 299 Santa Cruz, California: anti-homeless regulations 245; homeless occupation 238; hygiene facilities 246; public-private boundary 245; public space 239–240, 240, 245–247; rhythms and movement 240–243, 241, 243; social service organizations 241–242; transgression 243–245, 244; unhoused people 247; Water Street 237 Schafer, R. M. 299 Schneekloth, L. H. 11 seating 12, 44, 50, 76, 93, 144–146, 185, 187 self-sustaining community 25 Sennett, R. 10, 135, 164 September 11 memorials 364 Shibaura House 3, 4 shopping mall 49, 100, 121, 128, 136, 144, 168, 169, 208–211, 213, 214, 217, 219, 225 sidewalk 1, 5, 7, 13–15, 18, 56–59, 130–135, 148, 149, 150, 156, 182, 187, 259, 296 Silent Protest Demonstration 292 Sisi, Al 202

64th German American Parade Official Line Up Book 288 Skinner, C. 166 smartphone 18, 215, 337 Smith, R. J. 312 Snowballing 371 social media 2, 18, 20, 26, 100, 116, 159, 164, 179–180; use of 187–189, 188; 217, 227–229, 349, 352, 368, 372; Facebook 117, 154, 159, 181, 187, 188; Instagram 116, 117, 159, 164, 188, 322 Social Snack 173 Society for Ecological Restoration 26–27 Sommer, Robert 117 Sorkin, Michael xi Soto, H. de. 168 space and sound, Berlin: Carnival of Cultures 307–309, 308; CSD 300, 303–306, 305; Myfest 300–303, 302; roadways and traffic circles 299 Speranza, Philip 364 square see Tahrir Square; Taksim Square and Gezi Park, Istanbul St. Patrick’s Day Parade 281, 282, 288, 289, 291–293, 295, 295 Steuben Day Parade 288, 293 Stevens, Quentin 2, 14, 117, 119, 120 Stone, A. M. 54 street 45, 142–150, 213–218, 237–239, 241–243; food trucks and rallies 180–182; Kinshasa 249–260; network 64; rallies, location and management of 184–185; in US 127–138; vending 1, 5, 6, 14, 18, 146, 149, 153–165, 155, 157, 158, 166–176, 201; see also negotiation; urban public spaces, Bogotá structured business model 169 subway station 195, 318 Suffrage Parades in New York 283, 292, 296 surveillance camera 17, 82 surveys 2, 26, 35–36, 40–41, 55, 79–82, 128, 143, 368, 371–372, 374–375 tactical urbanism 55 Tahrir Square: design and use of 195; Egyptian population 202; evolution of 196–198, 198; implications 204–205, 205; Mogama functions 195–196; political expression 198–199; public space 203–204, 204; redesign 202–203; 2011 revolution 199, 200; revolution-inspired products 201; social and cultural activities 200–201; state security 199 Taiwan street vending see negotiation Taksim Square and Gezi Park, Istanbul 223; AKM 230–231, 231; Black Lives Matter 232; Feminist Night Marches and Pride Parades 226; Gezi Park protests 227–228; History Foundation 228; Justice and Development 383

Index

Party 224–226, 225; Kavuşma Durağı 231–232, 232; May Day celebrations 226; nineteenth century to early twentieth century 222; republican period 223–224; student rallies 226; Taksim Artillery Barracks 222 Tani, Sirpa 5, 14, 20, 111, 370 telecommunication 164 temporary plazas 57 Thurman, H. 246 Todd, M. L. 73 Topal, Hanife Vardi 15, 54 traces 370 Tuan, Y. -F. 253 Tülü, Banu Çiçek 7, 299 Twinkle Ngan Chi Sing 209 type, definitions 11, 12 types of public space 1, 11–13, 15, 18, 54, 69, 73, 102, 330, 361, 369 unhoused 3, 7, 7, 12, 17, 59, 137, 228, 237–247, 244, 361 urban parks: Back Bay Fens, Boston, Massachusetts 89–90, 91; Belle Isle Reservation, East Boston, Massachusetts 88; Cunningham Park, Queens, New York 87; Forest Park, Queens, New York 88–89, 89, 95; gay cruising evolution 85–87; implications 96–97; police and public responses 94–96; ramble spatial configuration 93, 93; space and cruising 90–94 urban public space: advantages and challenges 373–376; ancillary sources 345; archival research 346–347; archival sources, types 352, 352–353, 354–356, 357; archives, physical and digital 372–373; bibliography mining 359; Capital One Café 3, 4; celebrating 7; circulation 5; commerce 5–6; Commons 10; data collection 366–367, 368, 369–370, 370; George Washington Statue 9, 9; features 2–3, 13–15, 14; formal memorials 364, 364; interviews 370–371; living 6–7, 7; openended approach 362–365; outdoor activities, Vanderbilt Avenue 18, 19; outdoor dining during pandemic 18, 19; privately owned, privately managed 16, 16–17; protests policing 6, 347–350, 351; public behavior 358; publicly owned, privately managed 15–16; publicly owned, publicly managed 15; recreation 5; research designs 365–366, 366; research questions and of information sources 362, 363; Shibaura House, Tokyo 3, 4; smartphones 18; sources 357; surveys 371–372; systematic approach 362; types 1–2, 11–13, 12; users of 10–11; uses of 5–10; Vanderbilt Avenue, Brooklyn 8, 8 urban public spaces, Bogotá: end street vending 168; formalization approach 168–169; 384

implications 176; informal commerce 167; legal vending 173–176, 175; urban renewal projects 168; vending without license 169–170, 170, 171, 172–173 use 35–36, 92, 117–118, 118, 130, 143, 144; applications 159; design and 174, 195, 205; formalization approach 168; headphone 99–109; land 27, 28, 239, 243; social media 179–181, 187–188; stairs 113; Taksim Square and Gezi Park 222–226; public space 1–20, 47, 166, 176, 263, 264, 329–343; and users 146–149, 147, 148; women’s 69–70, 72, 73, 75–76, 77, 82, 83 Vargas, Ana Maria 5, 166 van Blerk, Lorraine 6, 263, 366, 370 vending 134, 167, 169; food 180, 301; legal 173–176, 175; street 1, 5, 6, 14, 18, 146, 149, 153–165, 155, 157, 158, 166–169, 201; without license 169–170, 170–171, 172–173; see also negotiation vendors 5–6, 157, 159–165; avoid law enforcement 158; buying and selling 333; Chiayi City 157; informal 149; interviews 154, 156–158, 161, 172; Shi-Lin Night Market 155; street 1, 5, 6, 14, 18, 146, 149, 153–165, 155, 157, 158, 166–176, 201; see also negotiation; urban public spaces, Bogotá; vending Verebes, Tom 6, 14, 208 Vietnam Veterans Memorial 13, 363, 364, 372 violence escape and social exclusion, São Paulo, Brazil: children in street situations 263; city spaces 264–266; living in groups 266–269, 268, 270, 271, 272; policy implications 275–276; street children 263; street-connected children 263; subway maloca area 268, 268; surviving 272–275; welfare system 276 Wacquant, L. 265 “Walking while black” 11 walls 10, 13, 29, 44, 71, 121, 129, 131, 149 Wang, David 345 Wessel, G. 189 Whyte, W. H. 10, 13, 14, 16, 374 Wi-Fi 15, 46, 215, 217, 319 Willoughby Plaza 312, 318–319, 321 Willoughby Walks 312, 318–322, 324, 325 women’s clothing 74 women’s rights 76 women’s recreation, in Tripoli, Libya; activities 72–81; Al-Forosya Club 72; cultural and architectural changes 70; dressing ways 74, 75; Grand Park 72, 78; implications 82–83; less frequent activities 79–81, 81; male accompaniment 79; meeting female

Index

friends 79; norms 73; outdoor public space 76, 77, 78; perceptions and preferences 82; Piazza Castello 71, 71; Second Ottoman Rule 70–71; urban design 69; venturing out 74–76; see also Martyrs Square, women’s recreation Xi’an Eco Park 26, 28–34, 36 Yan, Han 20, 25, 371 Yanming Hu Park 30, 33, 34, 36

yards 27, 366 Yellow Cab Food Truck Rally 184 youth 47, 51, 62, 250–252, 257–259, 361, 366, 375 Young, L. 269, 273 Zaghloul, Saad 198 Zeisel, J. 345, 370 Zimmerman, Paul 217 Zweig, David 209

385